"The past,' he thought, 'is linked with the present by an unbroken chain of events flowing one out of another.' And it seemed to him that he had just seen both ends of that chain; that when he touched one end the other quivered." Anton Chekkov

Thomas Wolfe once wrote "You can't go home again." Or can you? I found myself pondering this when I received an email from an old friend from the old neighborhood where I grew up. I had long since relegated those old memories to my mental filing cabinet where they remained stored away collecting dust because, realistically speaking, you can never relive the past. Time alters everything - places change, familiar landmarks disappear, old neighborhoods often become unrecognizable.  The memories are often all that is left because you cannot experience those times again.

Then it occurred to me that no matter how much the old neighborhood has changed it's still an integral part of me. When I opened that email the cobwebs suddenly cleared, the memories gradually filtered back and I realized that much of who I am right now has been shaped by that very place I called home for so many years. Time can erase buildings but it can't erase memories. It's comforting to know that even though I might not be able to physically return to the old homestead my memories will always be there to reflect upon. Memories create our legacy. They are uniquely ours to hold and remember, they are what make our lives not only special but richer. So although technically it might be impossible to go home again, emotionally and spiritually it's good for the soul to revisit your roots.

Which brings me to Hubert's roots - if Hubert is indeed Albert C. Hubert, as has been suggested, then his birthplace would have been Austria. The only biographical details I could uncover for Albert C. Hubert were the date of his birth (1878) and the date of his death (1932). The 54 years in between remain a complete mystery. The only example of his work that I could locate was the above oil painting. To my untrained eye it looks similar to my Hubert's etchings but I'm not sure if that's due to the actual style or merely because the subject matter is similar. Attempts to contact various auction galleries have not elicited any response to date. Hubert's roots may still remain an uncertainty but, as American photographer Paul Strand so aptly stated, "The artist's world is limitless. It can be found anywhere, far from where he lives or a few feet away. It is always on his doorstep." Wherever that doorstep may be...

"Slow down and enjoy life. It's not only the scenery you miss by going too fast - you also miss the sense of where you are going and why." Eddie Cantor

I've taken an unintentional Hubert hiatus this summer. Life events took over and my search for Hubert fell somewhere between family, work, and trying to keep pace in a hurried world. Sadly, Hubert fell from an overriding obsession to a random rumination. Hubert's fall from grace was perhaps also due to the dearth of information from any of the many resources I contacted over the last 22 months.

What started out as a delightful journey to discover the identity of my beloved artist I had, through sheer impatience, allowed my quest to become a chore. So wrapped up in my earnest endeavor to identify Hubert as more than a mystery etcher with a distinctive signature, I slowly lost the joy in my purpose.

For the same reason I read the last page of a book first, and scan the dessert menu before ordering the first course, and sometimes finish my husband's sentence before he can get the words out of his mouth, I'm anxious to cut to the chase, to reach the final conclusion. A member of the instant gratification generation I expected if not immediate results then surely a positive identification after a year of intensive searching.

It took a speeding ticket to slow me down. Heading north for a mini-vacation, I was looking forward to a chance to chill out and relax. I packed 3 books to read, a knitting project to finish, several magazines, a few new recipes to whip up and my laptop to complete a work assignment. Anxious to get there, focusing on the ultimate destination, I overlooked everything along the way - including the speed limit. A piercing siren, flashing lights and one stone-faced state trooper ensued writing up a very costly ticket that made me realize my need for speed was instead setting me up for failure.

And so, here I am again, bolstered by the realization that sometimes you have to simply let life run its course and wait patiently for the benefits of hard work...

"The job of the artist is always to deepen the mystery." Francis Bacon

I've noticed a preponderance of publications lately on the subject of happiness. There are entire sections in bookstores devoted to achieving happiness. Newspaper articles and  magazine features tell us where to live to be happier, what foods we should eat to make us happy, what colors induce happy moods, even the amount of income we should endeavor to earn to be a happier person - the list goes on.

But is it really necessary or even desirable to be happy ALL of the time? If we walked around in a perpetual state of bliss wouldn't that gleeful high lose its effect and become mundane? Would we appreciate a sunny day as much if we didn't have a little rain now and then? Am I the only person who thinks there is something very wrong when a person needs instruction to be happy -  doesn't everyone have an innate capacity for happiness?

A close friend recently related a story that reinforced my belief that you don't  need an instruction manual to learn happiness. Standing under a cherry tree while walking the dog, my friend was caught in a sudden wind burst that caused thousands of cherry blossoms to rain down creating a maelstrom of pink petals and making them the living centerpiece in a spring snow-globe. It was a moment of sheer bliss, one of those ordinary extraordinary moments that remain forever etched in your memory.

A few days later on my way to work I found myself stopped at a stop sign that happened to be under a cherry tree. The wind blew and cherry blossoms formed a funnel cloud swirling around my car simulating my friend's blissful experience. As I attempted to snapshot the feeling, the car behind me began honking wildly, the driver giving me a very un-blissful-like gesture. Moral of the story - one man's bliss is another man's miss.

I did have my own blissful experience this month though, when I discovered an amazing blog devoted to forgotten, under-appreciated or little known artists. I emailed the blogger and was thrilled to receive a quick response and ecstatic to hear his thoughts. Once again, the question arises as to whether or not Hubert really exists or is merely a random name assigned to etchings to make them appear more authentic and desirable. Although I must accept this as a possibility, I can't help but believe that there really is a Hubert because all of the works are of the same style and seem to be created by the same person. It was also suggested (and here it gets very interesting) that a good match for my etchings might be Albert C. Hubert (1878-1935), an Austrian artist. The dates match up, however, I could only find one example of his work with which to compare likeness to my Hubert. The style was quite similar but the work was a different medium,  making it difficult to tell for certain. So far, I've had little luck in obtaining information on Albert C. Hubert but I'm just happy to have a new road to follow, even if my road to happiness is filled with potholes...

"Happiness is not so much in having as sharing." Norman MacEwan

Losing Hubert was inevitable. After years of admiring, collecting, and chasing Hubert I had grown to believe that he was exclusively MY mystery artist. After all, I was the one who saved him from oblivion when I found his etching hidden beneath an old mirrored beer sign. I was the one who started a blog to track him down. I was the one who spent endless hours contacting strangers all over the world to find the identity of this elusive artist.

For a long time I was the lone person who showed an interest in Hubert ...... until several weeks ago when I noticed a Hubert etching in an online sale. I was the first and only person to place a bid and I was confident that I would soon have another etching to add to my collection. Because I would be at work and unable to log on for the final crucial minutes of bidding, for insurance I foolishly placed my highest bid higher than my affordability, never dreaming that there would be anyone else as interested in Hubert.

You can imagine my anguish when I arrived home and logged on to discover I was outbid. Someone won my Hubert and paid a pretty penny to acquire it. I felt like a jilted bride left at the altar. After experiencing four of the five stages of grief - denial, anger, bargaining, depression - I eventually arrived at the final stage of acceptance. Losing Hubert, although extremely disappointing, was an encouraging sign that others adore Hubert as well. It was time to relinquish my possessiveness towards Hubert and embrace the possibility that Hubert has grown a following. The Hubert Fan Club does have a certain ring to it....

One man's priority is another man's paltriness.

We all have our priorities. I've been guilty of neglecting Hubert lately. Daughter #2's wedding has taken precedence - most of my time over the last several weeks has been consumed with wedding plans. When did weddings become such complicated affairs? Steve Martin said it best in Father of the Bride "I used to think a wedding was a simple affair. Boy and girl meet, they fall in love, he buys a ring, she buys a dress, they say I do. I was wrong. That's getting married. A wedding is an entirely different proposition." Truer words were never spoken.

Weddings are complex, costly and time-consuming ventures that most girls spend a great deal of time fantasizing about. Most, that is, except for Daughter #2 who regarded her impending nuptials as a tremendous imposition and who would be completely contented with merely signing the wedding license and doing away with the ceremonial hoopla. If the definition of a bridezilla is a difficult, perfectionist bride, then Daughter # 2 would qualify as the blasé bride.

Nothing was a problem for this bride-to-be. Then again, nothing much excited her either. Nonchalant during the wedding dress selection, apathetic about the reception venue, indifferent towards the music, photography, flowers, you can imagine my surprise when this passive bride-to-be came out of emotional hibernation with an impassioned opinion about...garlic mashed potatoes! It was a simple spud that finally roused some emotion in this impervious bride when faced with making the menu selection for the reception dinner. She stood her ground through suggestions for wild rice, chive buttered new potatoes, twice-baked stuffed potatoes and requested - no, demanded - garlic mashed potatoes.

I guess we all have our own priorities. I suppose that's true of the galleries, libraries, hotels, organizations and people I've emailed over the last several months about Hubert. Hubert may be my passion but he's just not that important to most everyone else. I can't expect everyone to equal my enthusiasm in my search for Hubert. Yet, every once in a while, someone will come forth and renew my fervor to further the cause. Recently, someone contacted me via email with a "I think I have a Hubert" message. Bought at a bag sale with the intention to re-sell, she came across my blog and contacted me giving me the opportunity to purchase the etching and add to my collection for basically the cost of shipping. Hubert may be my priority but it's truly rewarding to discover another's understanding and appreciation for that priority. Thanks, Kate!

"You can't think you are going to win all the races by being quicker, because it's not possible. So you need to find another way." Alain Prost, French race-car driver

This week Hubert research has taken a backseat to my car woes. My nine year-old Volvo has been experiencing the aches and pains of old age. Like the old wives tale about dogs, I believe that one car year is equal to seven human years. Which would put my trusty Volvo at somewhere between 63 and 70 years old - past its prime but certainly not ready to be relegated to the junkyard.

I refused to accept the advice of my favorite (and uncharacteristically honest) mechanic friend to trade it in for a new, less expensive, lower maintenance car. Believing I needed a Volvo specialist to save it, I brought it to the Volvo dealer for a second opinion. Big mistake. Hundreds of dollars and a suspiciously broken dipstick later the bangs and clunks were still there.

Unable to accept the grim diagnosis about the faithful vehicle that transported me safely and comfortably each day, I brought my ailing automobile to yet a second Volvo dealer. Huge mistake. Here it was diagnosed as having a compromised breather box, injured tie rods, loose motor mounts, and a multitude of other problems. I was determined to rescue it from a slow death but thirteen hundred dollars later it was still banging and clunking so back again to dealer #2 who then proceeded to diagnose transmission trouble, the coup de grace of coupes. If I had been told at the onset that my car issues were due to transmission trouble I would have issued a do not resuscitate and taken the advice of my first (and favorite) mechanic friend. Now, with too much money invested, I have no choice but to hang onto my debilitated Swedish sedan.

With cars currently on my mind, I have noticed that Hubert has etched an occasional automobile into some of his scenes. I've been trying for quite some time to date Hubert (numerically, not romantically) but because only one of his etchings is titled with a date (1914-1918) it has been difficult to pinpoint his lifespan. Perhaps cars could be the key to placing Hubert in a specific time period establishing a chronology of his existence. Now, I just have to research thousands of cars to isolate the few that Hubert etched. I might be taking the slow lane but it's not how fast you drive, it's how you drive...

"Stop thinking in terms of limitations and start thinking in terms of possibilities." Terry Josephson

Question of the week - when do we accept our limitations and when do we stretch a little further? It was a long, hot, Hubert-less summer. Every minute lead I gathered over the past months seemingly evaporated in the oppressive humidity of the dog days of summertime. Even my hope went on holiday. But it was the words of my yoga guru that led me to doubt the likelihood of ever finding Hubert

My co-worker, good friend and current car-pooler, and I recently enrolled in a yoga class to limber up and de-stress. During a particularly challenging pose, our instructor's chant "accept your limitations" seemed directed exclusively towards me in more ways than one. Nearing the one year mark of my search it was time to face the realization that I might never find Hubert.

A last ditch effort to contact the bouquiniste society resulted in a terse reply from the man in charge. Emails to three different hotels that were depicted in three different Hubert etchings has yet to yield a single response. My attempts to locate a library, gallery, or museum in the same town as the hotels has been an exercise in frustration due to my French language impairment. Downward Dog may be a popular yoga pose but it could just as easily describe the downhill direction my Hubert quest has taken.

The yoga guru might have me submitting to that which is beyond the realm of possibility but it was the words of art teacher, part-time French resident, and Hubert supporter whose email gave me the shot in the arm I needed to realize that your limitations are not an excuse for failure.  Along with some valuable suggestions she pointed out that waiting was also an alternative, "be patient and persist, you might be a pioneer in exposing Hubert." So for now, I persevere AND wait because, as they say, good things come to those who wait....