Manhattan, Extra Cold, Extra Dry

That's been the weather all week. The wind has been slicing and dicing its way through lower Manhattan. It's amusing to see everyone bundled up a la Nanook of the North. And it smells a lot better when the ubiquitous urine streams are either frozen or blown away.

I've been reading Lush Life by Richard Price. I've been wanting to read this gritty tale about a Lower East Side murder for a while now but never found it at the library. Last week it was sitting there under Staff Picks so I grabbed it. Turns out it's large print so I can read it from across the room.

Harry finished his first semester at Vassar and is taking the train to our apartment tomorrow. Mark, who's still got finals, will join us for a family dinner Sunday night, as will my brother Charlie. Friends from Rhode Island will also drop by. It will be crowded around here, but it will also be fun.

The best dog in the world is still at the animal hospital. I visit him every day. I talk; he listens. Sometimes he barks. Something is wrong with his balance and he can't stand up. An 80-lb. dog that can't stand on his own is a problem. We are facing a difficult choice in the next few days. Turbo is the last of our red hot bouviers. He's 13 years old and has lived a long and interesting life.

Family Reunion in the Boonies

We spent Thanksgiving at our cute little house in the country. Guests included Marty's mom, who served as my sous chef (small-knife wielding and endless chopping are among her talents), and my dear children. Here are some snapshots of the long weekend.

Wednesday afternoon, I loaded the car and we drove uptown to pick up Mark. There was little traffic once we left Manhattan. Once we arrived and unloaded, I picked up the turkey at the local market, along with some other groceries. Later that evening, Marty arrived, and then Mariel and Harry.

We had snow flurries on and off Thanksgiving day. Since I had made a number of dishes in advance, it was fairly relaxing for me. I quickly came to the conclusion though that my NYC micro kitchen is better for cooking in than my commodious country kitchen. Sure, you can dance a waltz in the center of the room, which is fun but does little for the relative lack of counter space.

Since our dining room has no overhead lighting, we used a couple of lamps and lit a lot of candles, which was actually quite lovely. The best part of the feast was the after-dinner chatter, which in my family can run overtime. Sometimes, it's hard to get a word in edgewise and you're forced to raise your hand so you can go next. It's nice to see that some things don't change.

Nephew Mark and his wife Brie joined us for lunch Friday. Our friend Doug drove over from his country place in PA and joined us for dinner Saturday. There was much drinking and chatting and eating and laughing.

The dishwasher was begging for mercy by the time we left on Sunday.

Manhattan Marathon

We had another great New York weekend, this time with our New Hampshire friends. It was a combination birthday celebration and a chance to watch the NYC marathon. Our apartment may be small, but it's conveniently located, has a cozy futon and kitchen priviledges.

On Saturday, we did a walking tour of lower Manhattan that included Ground Zero and the Financial district. Our friends had already done a self-guided running tour of Battery Park City. Mariel took the train in from New Haven and subwayed down to our apartment later in the day. That evening, we had a delicious meal at a small restaurant in the West Village. We went there by limo because it was the cheapest way to go with 5 passengers. We waited for the cash cab, to no avail.

Four lucky theater-goers had tickets to see Mamma Mia! I was not one of them. I came back to the apartment to keep Turbo company and try to snooze away my exhaustion. The Abba fans returned around 11, singing and dancing their way through the door. Mariel had the option of sleeping here but wisely chose a bed in Brooklyn, where the bruch would be held.

Sunday was a beautiful day for a 26.2-mile run. We were co-hosting the 25th Annual Marathon Brunch, a tradition that dates back to our Brooklyn days. Neighborhood friends carried on the concept after we left for greener pastures. Our New Hampshire friends are avid runners, so they were psyched to see it. One of them had even run it years ago.

We cheered the elite women runners, after which I went inside my friends' house to grab a bite. Mark had arrived by then and various other friends and relatives. I went back outside to catch the elite men pumping up the long hill that Fort Greene uses to test your mettle. Many runners decide to take a granny break here (walk), get food and/or water, and use the long row of porta potties that line the street behind our old house. What a sight that is, to watch doors open and close, spitting out runners in varying degree of wobbliness.

Before I took in the waves of "regular" runners, I had the chance to catch up with some old friends from the neighborhood. This was priceless. A number of college and post-college kids showed up, and it was great to see them and chat for a bit. This is the next generation of marathoners and brunch hosters.

No trip to Fort Greene is complete without visitng our old block. Strangers (to us) went up and down the stoops of the old brownstones. Our house looks fairly similar to what it did in 1998, save that the paint has been blasted off and the natural wood doors have been painted. The garden has many of the old plants in it, ones I put in. The biggest shock was the traffic light at the end of the block. Of course, the crack house has been renovated and is probably worth a fortune.

We took the subway back to Manhattan, where we had a brief birthday celebration for the former marathoner who doesn't look a day over 43. Once they were gone, Marty and I collapsed with glasses of seltzer and watched a truly dreadful Bruce Willis movie. We pulled out some stuffed cabbage from the freezer (thanks Frances!) and watched TV, resembling zombies who inexpicably eat food. I crashed early, after learning Mariel had returned home safely and knowing that the Marathon brunch would be held again in one year's time.

New York Day

We vowed to do New Yorky things today. It all started with french toast and bacon, and of course coffee from our ultra luxe Italian coffee maker. Next we hopped on a subway to get our car fom the garage. Normally we'd leave sleeping dogs lie but we were headed to Fairway in Harlem to buy food, a lot of food. We hauled it all back to our apartment, found a parking spot, and geared up for some more NY fun.

First we had homemade curried mushroom-squash soup with some crusty bread. Then we took the subway uptown to MOMA, the museum of modern art. We saw two exhibits: the abstract impressionists which are old hat, and contemporary art which went from the ridiculous to the sublime. Viewing art always makes me hungry so we stopped at Cafe Sabrett before getting back on the subway. Hot dog!

Once home, we had cocktails with cheese and crackers, an old standby. The we got gussied up and subwayed to El Charro, a Spanish restaurant in the West Village we used to go to pre-children. The one thing I remember from this jewel is that it served one of my favorite dishes of all time, flounder or sole a la plancha with a rich buttery banana/cinnamon sauce. No matter that it's been 25 years since I last ate it there; I expected it to still be on the menu. It was not, so I requested they make it for me. For want of a banana they could not. The flounder was delicious anyway. Marty had the paella. What he remembered: it was two steps down; the cowboy (el charro) painting, and I think some of the waiters. What we forgot: the tininess of the place and how loud it is. For dessert we had creme brule (average) with El Charro coffee which was entertaining due to the flame factor and the brandy. We spoke Spanish with the waiters the entire evening and vowed to return soon, possibly with our friend Doug and/or our daughter Mariel.

We took a taxi home because we were sick of the subway and how erratic it was running.

It was a great day, in a great city.

Spooner, a Brief Review

This book by Peter Dexter is hysterically funny if you like droll humor. Too much drollity, however, can be, well, too much. The first 100 pages of Spooner was amusing; then it got tedious. Dexter also wrote Paris Trout, which I'm not sure I've read. The men in Spooner are smart, accident-prone and don't know what to do with women who are lovely but weak. If you are a man, perhaps you will enjoy Spooner more than I did.

Now I'm reading Freedom (finally) by Jonathan Franzen, also droll but not annoyingly so. It's funny how thin the line can be. More on this book when I finish it.

I left the woods and am now back on West Street, trading the Babbling Brook for the Mighty Hudson. Peace and serenity have given way to manic schedules: doctor appointments, haircut, job hunting and endless filing and phone calls. I will get this new life organized. Tonight I'm having dinner with my tall running son (his Indian name). Tomorrow, it's dinner in Brooklyn for which I'm making bread pudding with rum sauce. Then it's a New York weekend, complete with museum (MOMA), possible cafes and shopping.

Will update soon.

Time Keeps on Slipping

It's a good thing I left rainy Jeffersonville yesterday. I needed human contact beyond the Recycling Center's cashier. It was Harry's 18th birthday, and I drove to see him at Vassar. We went out for lunch, opened a bank account and shopped for some flannel pants.

Today it was 35 degrees at 6:30 am. The first frost is predicted for tomorrow, just in time for Esther, Lenny and Marty's arrival. Maybe we'll make enough hot air to keep the house toasty. During the day, it's supposed to be in the 70's. I think we're at 60 now.

I haven't run since Saturday due to the rain, but this morning I went for a short jog even though it was freezing. Yoga tomorrow. On Sunday, I return to my city life where I can distinguish one day from the next. Time slips away here, yet it doesn't seem to move.

Back in the Woods

Greetings from Jeffersonville, where I've been off the grid since Friday. I saw Harry race Friday in Bethlehem, PA and then drove here with Turbo in tow. We had a lot of detours due to road closures from the heavy rain. In fact, my brook is raging.

I'm writing this from the library. It's been raining for two days and today I finally turned on the heat, once I got oil in the tank. It's a good thing I'm self-sufficent. My big afternoon activity is to figure out how to install an over-the-door ironing board. Dramatic ironing is in my future, as is much unpacking.

My college roommate Susan was here over the weekend as was Marty. This was when the weather was warm and beautiful. They left on Sunday, and things turned ominous. A cold rain all day yesterday, when I went to the Post Office and Yoga. Yoga was great--I had a private class. There are only 400 people in Jville. My neighbor John came over at 5:30 for a gin and tonic. Then it was dinner and bed.

Today I walked to the bank, paid my water bill at the town offices and came to the library to check email, etc. In a little while I'll go home and get the car, drive up a big hill and use my cell phone to call people. I plan to stay home the rest of the day and unpack some books, read, think and stare at the rising brook. I may lose power, but fear not, I am prepared with flashlights, batteries, a landline and gas stove.

Worst case scenario.

The City That Never Sleeps

We saw the Yankees play the Red Sox last night at the Stadium. It all ended at midnight with a walk-off walk by Juan Miranda in the 10th inning. After 4 hours eating hot dogs and drinking beer on a cool, windy, misty night in the Bronx, the Bombers came through and avoided a series sweep.

We brought Harry from school; Mariel came from Providence on the train; and Mark couldn't make it so we invited our friend Victor. The seats were great--worth the money. It was great to finally be away from Red Sox Nation, in the heart of the Bronx. Yankee fans are a special breed: brash, passionate and mostly drunk. The sellout crowd was irreverant and so New York, meaning that no matter where you are from, you were part of the Yankee family, dysfunctional but obviously related.

When they finally won, the Stadium was still packed, and we joined the flow of fans heading for the exits. These little town blues were melting away, and we were a part of it. We took Mariel to the Metro North train, and we took the 4 to Wall Street, arriving home around 1 am. The concierge had watched the game on his iPhone, fully aware of what we'd witnessed.

Today we're all tired but when we think about why, it will be with smiles on our faces.

Let's Go Yankees!

Stop Making Sense

Harry will be 18 next week so I thought I'd get him an American Express Gift Card. I walked over to the Amex office. They'd sell me one for cash and a processing fee. Thanks. I went to Borders, thinking I'd buy Harry a card and send him a (free) check.

I saw the new Jonathan Franzen book Freedom and couldn't resist. The card and the book cost $20.57 which seemed like a steal. I do have a Borders Rewards card.

The book's protagonist is named Patty, so I'm slightly appalled. Of course she's around my age, hence the name. The book flap refers to her as a member of the Whole Foods generation. Did I ever tell you what I think about Whole Foods? That they're fascists? I don't want to give them any more press, so I'll stop here.

Poor Patty has some kind of meltdown. We can rely on dark comedy here, if the book is anything like The Corrections.

Franzen is a graduate of Swarthmore College, a Swattie like my daughter.

I will seriously review the work after I slog through its 562 pages.

Book Notes

These won't be reviews of the sort I like to write, more of a laundry list of what I've read recently. It's too early to think deeply.

Await Your Reply, Dan Chaon. Why do I read such depressing novels? Jaw-dropping resolution.

Once a Runner, John L. Parker. Get inside a runner's head; it's foreign territory.

Sag Harbor, Colson Whitehead, beach book for black folks. Great author; this was fluff.

Olive Kitteredge, Elizabeth Strout, profoundly bleak and Maine-like.

A Meaningful Life, L. J. Davis. Buying a brownstone in Bed-Stuy and losing your soul. Read it and weep.

The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, David Wroblewski. The heart of a dog. I cried.

The Help, Kathryn Stockett. Toilet segregation in the South. No really, it's a good read.

I'm currently reading Spooner by Peter Dexter, which is funny so far, a welcome respite from the dark.

Speaking of dark, there's still 15 more minutes to sunrise.

Time for coffee and a good book.

Buy This

The following three items are for immediate sale.

E11 wood clarinet for intermediate players valued at $500. Practically new!

2002 Mini Cooper with only 41,000 miles. Bright red, manual transmission, great gas mileage. Asking $11,000.

4-bedroom house in the woods of Rhode Island. Beautiful setting on 1.4 acres 20 minutes from Providence. Offers over $449,000 will be seriously considered.

Buy the house for full price and I will throw in the clarinet for free. I can't throw in the car, but there will be a serious discount for homebuyers.

Operators are standing by ...

Scammed!

Okay, so Mrs. Wu is a bad person. She contacted me three times to tutor her darling son Zemin, blessed me each time and then fell off the face of the earth. Forgive me if something bad has happened like a plane delay or lack of funds.

Marty said it sounded ridiculous but hey, nothing ventured nothing gained. (Confucious?) I wasted some email time and showed up at the library today but other than that I'm unscathed.

Maybe she found somebody cheaper. Maybe she's delusional. Maybe she's part of the Chinese mob and they're going to get me while I'm sleeping snug in my apartment. I did divulge my address and cell phone number although not my banking information! I only give that to my Nigerian friends who beg me for money.

Fortune cookie for Mrs. Wu: Progeny who speak other tongues like English fare well in Amerika.

To all my Chinese blogging fans: Please keep Mrs. Wu off the Internet.

Back to the Woods

I arrived at the old homestead Friday noonish and started sorting through the wheat and the chaff. There was much more of the latter. This was exhausting labor so it was most fortuitous that Sue arrived to help me. I needed to make a stop at Hilltop Creamery to get my soft-serve fix. It was not an ice cream day, but that doesn't matter to a true afficionado. By this time of the season, the nuts and brittle topping is finally fresh since they've used up last year's stock. I was in creamery heaven.

Patty Sidor was happy to see me and started fussing over me immediately. I was really tired, so I took a shower and a power nap. We had a delicious dinner and I crashed around 9:30.

Saturday was a test of my organizational skills. I returned to the Moose and hauled trash to the curb. Then I jumped in the Mini and went to the Resource and Recovery Center to dump some electronic devices. On my way back to EG, I stopped in Providence to pick up Mariel's and my race packets for Sunday's 5k. Then I got the van and took it to be serviced and went out for lunch with my friend Susan. I returned the cable box to the provider, picked up the car and headed back to Patty's, stopping off for a quick coffee with Lisa Ross.

Reinhardt made wiener schnitzel for dinner, which was fabulous. I slept really well, and prepared to go to the race. I met Mariel at her apartment and we walked downtown. It was a pretty hot day for a race.

Rhode Island Moment: the woman lined up in front of me was swishing her pony tail in my face, and when she turned around to apologize, she said, "Patricia?" She looked familiar. Turns out it was Dianna Glass, Mark's Team in Training Coach four years ago when he ran the San Diego Marathon for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society.

The race was true torture. I felt like my head was going to explode from the heat. The rest of me was generally numb. I did my personal worst, something like 45 minutes and change. I think had I walked it, I might have gone faster.

We went out for lunch at a cute little place called Duck and Bunny. I had the Eggs Buniduck. We finished the meal with yummy cupcakes. Then it was back in the car for me for the drive to NYC. It gets so tiresome. 95, my nemesis, made sure it wasn't easy, but I made it in just over 3 hours. Marty had a martini waiting for me in the freezer, which I desperately needed. We went out for Chinese food after that, really good Chinese food. The peking duck appetizer was superb.

This will be a social week, capped off by a trip up to the country house and a weekend at Vassar visiting Harry. Sunday night we have tickets to the Yankee-Red Sox game at the Stadium.

All good things.

See The Plog Blog

Please see The Plog for the latest word news, which I posted on the wrong blog by mistake. The storm rattled me, I guess.

No word yet from Marty.

Word on West

I'm blogging from Manhattan where women glow and men plunder.

I'm no longer a RI resident. You can find me in the Big Apple. No fresh air. Times Square!

What I did today:

Jogged

Shopped at Gristedes

Went to the library

Met with Turbo's sitter

Got hopelessly confused with the massive amount of paperwork spanning 2 states and 3 locations

Had a manicure & pedicure

Tried to fill a prescription

Got a tutoring gig

Am imbibed red wine awaiting M's arrival

Had a ball

A First

Last night, after we'd packed up and moved to Manhattan, after Stuart and Emma (old friends from Costa Rica) dropped by, after we tried to return the moving truck and couldn't, parking it on the street, after realizing we had no time to treat our friend Steve who helped us move to a nice dinner because he had to catch a train in 40 minutes, after having a delicious meal at Gyro II, after whisking Steve off to Penn Station, and finally, returning to our apartment in the minivan, Marty made me an ice cold martini, the most exquisite I've ever had, I became so zombified (not drunk), I couldn't finish the drink.

This has never happened before.

I stumbled off to bed, where I quickly went unconscious. Thing is, I only slept for two hours. I got up and joined Marty in some unpacking. I finally called it a night at 1 am.

The rest of the martini sits in the glass in the freezer. I plan to finish it later.

One more thing. This is hardly word in the woods anymore. My friend Sue asked me if I planned on changing the name of this blog. I'm thinking about some possibilities. I live on West Street, so I though word on west might be good.

Any ideas?

House Still for Sale

We thought we'd be out of here by now and in many ways we are. Marty has been living in NYC since the end of January and we just settled into our Catskill retreat last weekend. We haven't moved much there but you can spend the night comfortably.

Starting this weekend the three little birds fly away. Harry leaves for college Sunday; Mariel moves into her apartment next Saturday; Mark returns to campus next Sunday. Nest closed. It's been a wonderful, chaotic, challenging run but every show closes and this one is about to.

Then it'll be me, the dog and 3200 square feet to rattle around in. We had an open house over the weekend which seemed to generate some interest. My realtor says that when he gets a bid he'll announce it by skywriting.

I know it will sell eventually. It's a really nice house, in good shape on a bucolic piece of property. Please make an offer. You can move in just to watch the leaves change color. That's already starting to happen.

Driving to Barcelona

Van Gogh, Anyone?

Sagrada Familia

Old Town

Toes in the Mediterranean

The train wasn't available and the plane cost too much, so I rented a car and drove to Barcelona. Sounds easy, right? The drive was easy and fun, until I tried to locate my hotel, which was tucked off the main road and you couldn't get there from anywhere. I finally had to have the concierge talk me through it. I was never happier to dump a car in a spot and head into a luxurious hotel.

My room was on the 11th floor. The bathroom was the best feature. The toilet closet had a bidet. There was a huge tub and a separate shower--always appreciated. After freshening up, I went walking in the area, only to discover I was starved. But it was way to early to dine in Barcelona, so I went to an outdoor cafe and ordered tapas and a caipirinha. Then I walked some more, window-shopped and found a cute little place where I had a delicious pizza margarita. I would've preferred a Spanish restaurant, but I was beat from the driving, and the next day would be filled with touring.

The next morning I jogged and stopped at a cafe for an espresso and a croissant. After showering, I hailed a taxi and went to Las Ramblas and the Old Quarter. I won't bore you with my purchases. I had lunch at a small restaurant where paella was the specialty, although not very good. The highlight of the day was walking to the Mediterranean sea and sticking my toe in. Then I sat at a seaside cafe and had a sangria.

I dined al fresco at a nice restaurant with excellent food. I wrote a little note to the chef, who came out to see me to see to receive his accolades in person.

The drive back to France would have been a breeze except I put the wrong gas in the car and had to be towed to a garage somewhere on the border of France and Italy. It's a good thing I speak Spanish, a thing thing my French is so rusty. I took a cab to the airport and rented another car and drove to Toulouse where Peter picked me up. Mecca waited back at the chateau with dinner and champagne. I needed both.

Sunflowers fill the fields around the Ross Compound. It's easy to see where Vincent got his inspiration. I was inspired while in France to buy a bikini. When in France ... I'm not posting a photo here because I want to get a job in the near future. I don't know if it would hurt or hinder my chances.

Greetings From France

I can see the Pyrenees from where I write this. I wish I could download my photos so you could have a visual of my experiences thus far. They have been magnifique.

Yesterday we went into Toulouse and did a little shopping. Sadly, all clothing is American. We had a great lunch: cold tomato soup and lentil salad washed down with rose. We relaxed by the pool but not before I made travel plans to drive to Barcelona for two days. Yes, drive. A little stick shift French car through the Pyrenees. I have Costa Rica to thank for my lack of fear. They have marked roads here, good ones. The train was all booked, and flights were expensive. I'm staying at a fancy hotel in the old district that allegedly has parking. If it doesn't I shall cry.

We're off to see a chateau and pick up dinner makings. Then I'm doing nothing the rest of the day except eat, drink, read, and socialize.

Au revoir...

A Great Read

I stumbled onto a short novel called A Meaningful Life by L.J. Davis. Aside from bring darkly comic (an unbeatable combination for me), it had special meaning because it takes places several blocks from our old house in Fort Greene, Brooklyn. Mr. Davis bought a rooming house on Greene and Washington in 1971 and began the impossible task of renovating it on his own. This was on the Bed-Stuy border, a no-man's land of crumbling real estate and lost souls trying to live as best they could. Davis still lives in Brooklyn in the same house I believe. What he paid $7,000 for is no doubt worth $1.5 million now. The neighborhood is very different these days, expensive to live in and with a certain cachet that Davis might not comprehend (or want to). I know I can't, and I moved there in 1985. Even with crack dealers living across the street in a house the plumbing had been stripped from, it was already a fairly mild environment. Sure there were bums staggering around, but there was also Mr. Ferguson, a southern gent who grew roses and clipped them for the neighborhood ladies. Before we left in 1996, Range Rovers began parking on the block. What had been extreme diversity is now a very narrow slice of life. Age, income, race, occupation--whatever defines an area, has been packaged and can be purchased at the now chi-chi corner store.

Well, I'm glad we lived there when we did, and that the kids grew up there for a while and saw that everyone wasn't all like them, and didn't even necessarily like them. Mariel went to P.S. 20 for three years and got a good education there, one that prepared her for real life, not the fauxburban one that we live in now.

Moving back to NYC poses challenges, especially after living in tropical paradise for six years and the woods for eight. NYC is crowded and filthy and nature is an after-thought. The tourists gawking at the World Trade Center site raise shadenfreude to a new art. The streets are slicked with human and dog effluvia, so much so that we remove our shoes when we walk into the apartment. There's little greenery, but, there's life, lots of it. And diversity, entertainment, culture, jobs; even the welcome oases of parks and small gardens.

We may move back to Brownstone Brooklyn eventually. Most of our friends live there. We can't afford to buy anything now but we could rent. We're no longer hipsters (our hips are crumbling), but we remember the days when Fulton Street had few services, when alarms blared night and day and when saying you were from Fort Greene raised eyebrows. I could look up L.J. Davis and we could chat about the really olden days. We could grab a Starbucks and marvel at the changes we've seen.

Free Travel Voucher

For my hardship on Amtrak the other day, I am receiving a travel voucher to be used within the year.
Customer Service actually called me and asked about my experience.

Astonished, I hung up. I've asked for refunds from customer service in my time, and I may have received a few, but this is the first time a company has extended the offer to me without me asking. I I own a slice of this company, so it's nice to know it's heart is in the right place, if not it's bottom line.

Travel Travails

After my last nightmare trip to New York, I vowed never to drive again. I'd take the bus or the train and relax while someone else did the work. I would sleep, read, snack, annoy other passengers by making phone calls. Hah!

I took the train this weekend and I must say, it was awful. The trip down wasn't bad, but the trip back definitely tried my soul. Here's what my $45.50 got me.

The trip starts off on time and I have a seat by myself. Suddenly it's pouring--who knew the weather would be so extreme. It gives everyone something to talk about.

After New Haven, things start to go bad. There's track work. There's signal trouble. There's only one track open and two trains. Blah blah blah. At least they're announcing something, even if it's lies.

We stop. We go. We stop. We go 5 miles an hour for an hour. They say we'll be delayed, but that once we get beyond New London, we'll go at a normal clip, and maybe even make up some of the time.

Harry has already arrived to pick me up when they announce that a tree has gone down at Westerly and that service is suspended indefinitely. Driving on I-95 suddenly seems like a great way to travel. The conductor announces that we've received special permission to pull into the New London station where we may choose to disembark or stay on the train. The train will back up to the middle of nowhere to allow work crews to get by. By this time, rumors are swirling that there are four hot dogs left in the dining car, along with a bag of potato chips and some soda.

I got off the train. Not everybody did. I called Harry and told him how to navigate to the station in New London, about 40 minutes from where he was waiting for me. Props to Harry for good driving and having the patience to drive through two states to pick me up. Thankfully, I'll be moving permanently to NYC at the end of August and won't have to worry about transportation from E.G. to NY. We'll have to come to RI to close on the house, but Marty can drive and maybe we'll time it so it doesn't take five hours.

Anything can happen (and has), but at least in a car you can look for alternate routes.

Only the Strong Survive

It's a tough town but someone has to live in it.

I took the train to Penn Station Thursday afternoon where my prince met me to whisk me away for dinner at Becco. It was as noisy as a construction site. We started with mint juleps and went on to order a bottle of Prosecco. Food? Yeah, we had that. We had the pasta special: all you can eat from among three choices. We dropped my bag off at the apartment and went over to Battery Park City in search of a nightcap. They were actually rolling up the sidewalks at 11:00 pm. That I was was awake at this hour is shocking. You can take the girl out of Rhode island AND Rhode Island out of the girl.

The next morning I jogged along the river before breakfast. Marty went off to work, and I hatched plans for the day, which involved copious amounts of shopping. I went to the supermarket to buy dinner for the evening, which I needed to cook early because I wanted the food to be nice and marinated and cold by dinnertime. The Prix Fixe Menu started with ice-cold cocktails and the proverbial cheese and crackers. The next course was shrimp on a bed of shredded fresh mozzarella cheese, followed by a tortellini salad.

Earlier, I went up to Macy's to look at chaise longues and kitchenware. I found a chaise I really liked--so me, and on sale. I resisted the urge to buy it on the spot because we were going to Brooklyn the next day to shop the antique stores on Atlantic Avenue. In the meantime, I did some damage in the Cellar, buying 4 mexican-glass tumblers and one very sharp knife.

On Saturday morning, we'd return to Macy's because the trains to Brooklyn were running in reverse. This was fortuitous, because we bought the chaise, which happened to be even cheaper than I'd thought. It is petite in size, comes in a subtle animal print (mainly brown) and has a curved shape. Oh, and it's comfortable, too. I will spend many hours reading and napping on this piece of furniture.

After buying the chaise, we returned to the cellar to buy more tumblers, a set of dishes and another really sharp knife. We returned to the apartment and ordered a pizza. Then it was out for more shopping, mainly for food. We'd planned on having middle eastern yummies purchased in Brooklyn, but since we never made it to the hip outer borough, we had to settle for something else. I made a wonderful spinach salad and Marty perfectly simmered some Nathan's hot dogs, purchased at the Amish Market where preservatives are allowed.

We went to the New Amsterdam Branch of the NYPL and got library cards. This was the high point of the day. I hope you know I believe your library card is the most valuable card in your wallet.

Before dinner, however, we fell unconscious due to all the steamy shopping. We got up around 8 o'clock and had dinner, washed down by gigantic gin and vodka tonics mixed in our new tumblers.

It's early Sunday morning. I've already had my coffee (in new mugs) and plan to go for a jog. Today should be quieter, although I'm taking Marty to Syms for new duds and I have to buy another plastic pitcher at Bed, Bath and beyond for under $7 including tax. I can't pass up these bargains! Then I hope to read a lot in air-conditioned comfort, maybe nap. We have a dinner reservation at ma peche at 7 pm. It's a chic new restaurant they probably don't want us to come to because it'll dilute their hipsterness. They can always sit us behind a large plant.

I return to Rhode Island tomorrow, further in debt but having lived.

A Week and a World Away

Sunset at Murray Harbour, Canada

Dinner at Windows on the Water, Montague

Turbo on the Grass

Rossignol Winery, PEI

Miles to go ...

...before we sleep.

The closing went off without a hitch. It was a long day, but it all came together, bankers and attorneys notwithstanding. We drove back to RI to meet the kids for dinner and celebrate the purchase of 37 Maple Avenue. We went to Hemenways on the water for a little al fresco dining.

We spent the next day doing errands to get ready for vacation. At 6:30 am Sunday we began our journey to Murray Harbour, Prince Edward Island, Canada. Some 14 hours later, we arrived. The next morning was cool and sunny. Marty and I sipped coffee outside overlooking the harbor. The house is nice, and suitable for us all. It has three bedrooms and is even Turbo-friendly. We discovered that the northeast has been under an intense record-breaking heat alert, but in Murray Harbour it was 80 degrees and breezy. We all ran or biked everyday. Tuesday was the only day with rain, and it wasn't even dreary. Marty, Mariel and I went to a local winery and sipped samples before buying several bottles.

We drank a lot of beer. The drinking age in Canada is 19, so Mark was legal. Harry was not, but we allowed him to imbibe anyway under the close scrutiny of his liberal parents. My parents treated me the same way when I was a teenager. They would allow me to drink with them at home or in a restaurant, not that I did very often, or even wanted to. By the time I got to college, I was an experienced drinker, and almost never drank to excess. What was the point? I had nothing to prove.

We watched the Tour de France and World Cup Soccer. We spent a lot of time together as a family doing nothing but reading, eating and talking. It was a nice change of pace from the usual scenario where we don't spend time together due to work and other commitments. It probably won't happen again any time soon.

The drive home was another 14-hour torture, but nobody complained. One thing we're not is a family of complainers. We go with the flow and deal with what's thrown at us. It's not a bad way to live.

Bankers with ADHD

I think we're buying a house today. Let's just say Marty and I are driving to Jeffersonville this morning and meeting with our broker at 1 pm to do a walk-through. At 3 pm we are to close if the money's there. I say "if" because even though I have a receipt for a wire transfer from my bank, I'm not completely convinced the money will actually be in Jeffersonville.

Yesterday I went to the bank to get a bank check for cash. This is how my attorney originally said I should do it, so I did it that way. When I spoke to my attorney's assistant, she said oh no, the money won't go in as cash; it won't clear for 2 weeks! This is of course baloney since banks can't hold money that long any more. But they can hold money for a certain period, which would jeopardize the closing.

I went back to the bank. After about an hour, alternating between agitation and unconsciousness, I said I had to leave to take my son to work. This was a lie, but I felt like I was going to kill the banker and decided to play it safe. As it happened, I was picking up a prescription for ativan at the drug store, so I decided to pop one. I figure it couldn't hurt. As I was getting back in my car, the bank called and said everything was all set. Could I come in and sign one more thing? Sure.

I signed one thing three times because she was so slow, the people she needed to countersign the wire kept leaving work for the day. These are bankers after all. I suggested she count out a pile of $100 bills and throw them in a sack. Finally, she told me to go home and she'd bring me the receipt. Now that's service! She finally showed up close to 8 pm. Do you see why I'm worried?

It doesn't really matter. It's not like we'll be homeless if the closing doesn't happen today. On Sunday we're leaving for a much-needed vacation where all I have to do is watch the clouds blow by. I won't need to concern myself with lawyers, guns and money. I won't need ativan either.

Best Laid Plans

I left for New York City Friday around 3 pm, thinking it would take maybe 4 hours. I was driving against rush hour and weekend traffic, so I'd be okay. What I didn't count on was the horrendous drivers that came into my path. Sure there was volume. But there was also dangerous weaving, drivers crawling in the passing lane at 55 mph, and cars speeding along at 80 mph on the bumper of the car in front. Talk about a white-knuckle ride. The only satisfying thing was that a little blue car that had been particularly annoying had an accident and was removed from the mix. He wasn't hurt but his poor car was badly smashed. Ungraciously, I cheered.

Turbo and I finally arrived around 7:30. Marty came down to rescue us and went to look for parking. 45 minutes later, I left with Turbo to meet him at the river where we sat outside and had much-needed margaritas. Rats the size of cats ran in front of us. Turbo took it in stride. We had a lot of explaining to do about Turbo's roots. Even in the most diverse place in the universe, bouviers are rare.

By 9:30 we were eating Korean take-out in our apartment and watching the Yankee pre-show. I actually stayed up until nearly midnight.

We were due in Yonkers for a loan closing at 11 am the next morning so we bailed out the car and drove to a branch of our local RI bank. The bad news was, the loan amount was wrong and there was nothing we could do about it since bankers call all the shots. We'd figure out something. As we were driving back to NYC, my cell phone rang. More bad news. The reservation we'd made at Le Bernadin for our anniversary dinner was cancelled due to a small fire in the restaurant earlier that morning. There are a zillion restaurants in NYC so we could easily get a reservation somewhere else, but probably not at a 4-star restaurant. Not that night.

Always known for being relentless, I went on line as soon as we got back and procured a reservation at a top eatery, Jean-Georges. We had the prix-fixe menu, which for me included soft-shell crab, asparagus with morel sauce and sea bass. Marty also had the crab, along with sweetbreads and lamb ribs. The food was excellent as expected. Dessert went a bit off the rails. We both had the chocolate course, consisting of four rich morsels on one plate. Had it ended there, we would have been fine. But no, they brought us a complimentary flan with a marzipan Happy Anniversary sign. Apparently they'd overheard our toast. Then they brought out a huge jar filled with marshmallows--I kid you not. They were awful. On our way out, we were handed a small box in a small bag that contained two chocolates. Wretched excess.

We limped back to the apartment, changed, and took Turbo out to the doggie park. Turbo doesn't know he's a dog, and refuses to socialize with other dogs. He happily accepts human interaction, however. Not wanting the evening to end, and still feeling bilious from the marshmallow, we went down the street for a nightcap.

By 9 am the next morning I was running along the river, enjoying the breeze. Doug was coming for dinner so shopping was in store. It was hotter than the hinges of hell so we moved slowly and canceled plans to look for furniture or go to a museum. We had a delicious meal (no marshmallows) moistened by fine liquor in the air-conditioned comfort of our pied-de-terre.

The ride back to Rhode Island was a breeze. I stopped off at Connie's house in Larchmont for a drink and a chat. The rest of the ride was problem-free .

Buying, Selling. Or Trying.

Our Rhode Island house is still on the market. Only the mice seem to be nibbling. We've dropped the price three times. We've only had one offer, and that was a long time ago. On the bright side, my kids can live at home this summer instead of staying at friends' houses. This is a lot more comfortable and a lot less disruptive as they work/interview. It was not my plan for the summer. I enjoy having them around, but it means I have to shop, cook, clean and organize more than I'd hoped.

I'd planned to move to Manhattan and start that life, along with the one in Jeffersonville. Buying, like selling, has been illusive. Tomorrow was to be our closing date. We have the money lined up and a signed contract, but no closing in sight. The seller apparently hasn't sold all his furniture yet, furniture he somehow expected us to buy for $4000. One of the reasons we bought a house was to have a place to put our furniture. Of course, we mainly bought it as an antidote to Manhattan life, fresh air versus Times Square.

In the meantime, I go to yoga class, shop at Dave's and get ice cream at Hilltop. It's an easy life with no traffic and little stress. Tomorrow I'm driving to the apartment, Turbo in tow. He will have his debutante as a city dog this weekend. Saturday is our 27th anniversary, and we plan to have dinner at a restaurant we dined at on our second anniversary. We will do some New Yorky things like shop for petite furniture and perhaps go to a museum. Outdoor cafes will play a big role.

While I'm gone, there's an open house. Hopefully it will generate some interest. Owning two houses for any length of time is not something I had in mind when I set this plan in motion.

I'll take Manhattan.

24 Hours in the Big Apple

I had a follow-up job interview yesterday in NYC so I drove back with Marty on Sunday. Harry came with us since he's not seen the new apartment and doesn't have much going on at the moment save for sleeping and hanging out with friends.

Eating was the main focus of our stay. We went out to an Italian restaurant near where we live and managed to have a relatively light meal. We went back to the apartment and watched the basketball playoffs. The next morning, after Marty left for work, we went to a nearby diner for breakfast. It's not likely I'll go back there because the coffee was sub-par, although the bacon was superb. After watching World Cup soccer, napping, shopping and my interview, we went for gyros at George's. Heavy and delicious is the best way to describe these gyro's. We'd planned to go to Gyro II across from Madison Square Garden for gyros but wanted to get out of Dodge before rush hour. One of these days, we'll have to have a taste-off. Oh, and Mark joined us for ice coffee and stayed at the apartment to have dinner with Marty.

Have I ever told you how much I hate the Connecticut Turnpike? I hate the Jersey Turnpike, too, but I'm trapped in Connecticut more often. Once we move out of Rhode Island, we'll be able to avoid this clogged roadway, unless we go to Block Island. We can always sail there from Long Island, so we may be able to avoid Connecticut forever.

Lack of traffic will be the thing I miss most about Rhode Island beside the handful of friends I've made here. I went out with Harry this morning to do errands and we breezed around like we were the last people on earth. The natives grouse about the traffic here but since they rarely leave the state, they have no idea what traffic is. I think Jeffersonville will be like Rhode Island, slow and sleepy.

Sour Dreams

I've never been a heavy sleeper but lately I've been waking up remembering bizarre dreams which I often return to upon going back to sleep. The overwhelming sensation I have in these dreams is frustration. I will analyze this later.

The Travel Dream is the number one vehicle for my mental meanderings. Last week I found myself in Israel visiting Marty's family where I was inexplicably in charge of their donkey. This was a very bad donkey who kept escaping, much to my relief and chagrin. For some reason, I was also in charge of all the children who also challenged my patience with their constant demands for food and entertainment. Wasn't a donkey enough? The relatives, whom I've never met, were equally annoying. The old uncle, who's been dead for years, sat propped up in an armchair, stuffed and wearing his best suit. The aunt kept wishing me Merry Christmas. In the adventure part of the dream, I got locked out of the building only to find myself in a very rough part of the city where I was assaulted by thieves. I had this dream several times in two weeks. The only pleasant aspect was my ability to speak Spanish with the cook who made me platters of huevos revueltos for the young hungry hordes.

Last night, I piled into an old car with my parents and siblings (one of whom was my daughter Mariel) and took off on a trip to Canada. The first night we stayed in a crappy motel. My parents were replaced by friends whom I won't mention because they were so annoying. Again, I was charged with caring for children while I tried to cook a gourmet dinner using skillets made of pastry. No one was happy in this dream. We would never get to Canada where we were renting a cottage for a week. I woke up after losing all my charges on the NYC subway and realizing I'd forgotten half my possessions, including my eyeglasses, in the motel. It was after 6 so I decided to get up. There was no way I wanted to return to that dream.

Why all the frustration? My life is smooth as silk at the moment. I have few responsibilities gnawing at my days. Is Turbo the donkey? Are my friends, family and children really that annoying?

I suppose it's better to have sour dreams than sour days. My days aren't all sweet but there are no donkeys, no hungry people with picky appetites and few travel nightmares. May it stay that way.

Catskill Cottage

Home Sweet Home

Laundry Brook

Mud Room

Sleep

We went to Jeffersonville Saturday for the home inspection which took hours but turned up little in the way of surprises. There's a carpenter ant problem which we'll ask the owner to fix. Otherwise, the house is very solid considering its age.

The first photo shows the front of the farm house, built in the 1880's. The second floor is for Randy Newman types, ie. short people. Sorry, Mark. Behind the original box are two sections added on which include the kitchen, dining room, laundry and mud room.

Out back is a small rock-dotted stream called Laundry Brook. I kid you not. The houses built along this babbler used the brook for, you guessed it, washing their clothes. Fortunately, we have a back-up system should we need it.

The mud room is a feature every house in the country should have. Our mud room is quite nice and also serves as a screened-in porch. No more piles of shoes and boots to trip on as you enter the side door.

The house has four bedrooms. Pictured above is the master on the second floor. There's another bedroom downstairs for the tall or handicapped.

We hope you'll come stay with us, no matter your height or physical challenges. The house is walking distance to the town, and we've already checked out the Turkish-American restaurant. I'm excited about the soft-serve ice cream stand around the corner, next to the defunct bowling alley. Look for the girl with the sun in her eyes madly licking a cone, sprinkles flying everywhere.

Lax Landscaping No More

A Rolling Stone Gathers Some Moss

Out Back

Serenity

Soft Focus

Our neck of the woods is so private we barely spend time landscaping it. I hate an overly manicured look, and it shows. I'm more of a naturalist, which is why we have lots of moss and areas that we've allowed the flora take over.

Not everyone buys into this semi-anarchistic philosophy. But when your house is on the market, you play by the rules and mow the foot-high grass now and then. Yesterday we added our share of gasoline-driven noise and poison to the neighborhood. Today we'll do a little weed-whacking, although I prefer scissors.

Snow

I'm not a big azalea fan, but when this old-growth specimen blooms, I forget about the old knobby bones beneath the pure white canopy. When I catch this from the corner of my eye, especially from inside my house, I'm jolted by its resemblance to snow.

There's a fuchsia azalea out back, but it's not nearly as beautiful. It's a newer bush, and the flowers are smaller. When the azaleas start to fade, the astilbe will be shooting their pink flames into the air. I will subject you to this loveliness next week.

Turbo is oblivious to nature, but it makes a gorgeous back-drop for his highness.

New Yawk

Marty relaxes in front of the TV. He's pretending to be comfortable.

PJ doing what she does best.

Saint George's Chapel

PJ naps after taking too big a bite out of the Big Apple.

These pics give you an idea of what we've been up to lately. Yes, we now have a 212 area code, not much furniture, and Saint George's Chapel across the street, now the site of Moran's Pub. The apartment's small but nice, and we have lots of amenities: gym; concierge, roof deck with Statue of Liberty views. The apartment is very quiet because we are in an interior court yard on the 8th floor. The floors are wood/tile and the kitchen is nicer than the one I have in Rhode Island. We also have central air and two walk-in closets, plus a coat closet.

In the five days I was there, I had two interviews, saw a Broadway musical, went shopping with my son Mark, drove to Sullivan County to look at country properties, ventured into Brooklyn to find Fairway, the newest market in town. We natually got lost and had to make a phone shout-out to Jeffrey who patiently guided us to our destination. Then we drove to Sandy and Dianne's to pick up the Saab and park it in a garage in Manhattan. I never want to drive in Manhattan again.

Speaking of parking, we spent $145 to park the van near our building. Ka-ching. $200 monthly parking fee to house the Saab, a bargain. Ka-ching. $115 ticket for parking my van in an unauthorized zone. Double ka-ching.

I'm back in the land of free parking.

A Few of My Favorite Things

It will be hard to leave that exploding pink tree behind. The blooms last about two weeks and are painfully beautiful. It's a good prom tree if the flowers last. We think it's a crabapple because it blooms after the cherry trees do. Another beauty, and one of Marty's favorites, is the Japanese maple the boys planted in my honor several years ago. The variety is "blood good" and it looks like this ornamental comes from a venerable line. I like the shape of it. Most Japanese maples look a little lopsided and grow straight up. I like how ours spreads wide and is more or less symmetrical. Planting it was a challenge because the spot we chose had a boulder in it that needed to be crow-barred out. Such is gardening in Rhode Island.


Japanese andromeda is one of my favorite plants. It stays green all year and has a cascade of white flowers that last from spring through fall. They are very hardy and can take all kinds of abuse, such as cat urine.

I hope the new residents will enjoy these ornamentals as much as we have.

Many Words in the Woods

The house sale is boring me. I can only imagine what it's doing to you. I've been waiting for the crab apple tree to burst into bloom so I can post a photo. In the meantime ...

I feel like a writer these days. I try and usually succeed in putting in several hours a day. Some of this time I use for sending query letters to agents. This has been a frustrating task, not so much because of the kind rejections but because it takes me away from real writing.

My book is getting fatter as I add an essay each week. If I don't find an agent, I will self-publish and go from there. I'm trying one more ploy to find an agent by submitting a story I wrote about our dogs. The title is P.E.I. (Prince Edward Island) but as I was writing it, it became clear that it was a story about our five bouviers and life in general.

Now, where do I send it? Naturally I want to be published in something highbrow like The Paris Review but Yankee Magazine might be more suitable. I will do my research and see where I might be able to sell it. I've never received a penny for my published work. It's time I do.

My goal for the morning is to send out the story. Then I will have a massage to knead out the kinks and restore some balance to my crooked body. After that, who knows. Maybe I'll go through some of the boxes in the basement or return the shirt I bought for Mariel to go on her interview. She wore my dress instead and I gave it to her.

Carpe diem.

Turbo Sells the House

Today we had a showing, but I went to yoga. Rich said it was okay to leave Turbo home alone. Turbo served everyone coffee and was a perfect host. The clients showed interest in the house as well.

Even though Turbo is nearly 13, he remains spry and alert, especially at night when I'm trying to sleep. If he sells the house, I'll forgive him.

If you want to see a great house and an even better dog, leave a comment.

Woof.

Bid

Rich left a message on my answering machine. Don't tell me there's another showing. Nope. It was an offer on the house, a low one but from a serious and well-qualified buyer. We're countering, and also calling the other interested clients and informing them that now's their chance to act.

I'm Manhattan bound this weekend to look for an apartment so it's nice to see movement on the house. Harry and my neighbor will be holding down the fort so call for a showing.

The Great Flood of 2010

I lived through the Blizzard of '77 in Buffalo, NY. I survived a 6.8 earthquake in Costa Rica. Now I can add the Rhode Island Flood to my disaster portfolio. Lady Luck saw me through these natural nuisances. Once again we are unscathed.

It turns more of my immediate neighbors had water woes than I realized. Moosehorn was abuzz this morning, not with the sound of lawn and garden equipment but heavy-duty water-removing and foundation-shoring machinery. Shadenfreude is not a word that I use much in my writing (ever??) but I've been checking my pleasuremeter and although I don't think I'm deriving any pain from the misfortunes of my neighbors, I'm sure as heck joyful that my house is dry.

Do you hear that home buyers? My house is dry, has no damage and if it survived the Great Flood, is sure to do better than most homes around here. What with global warming, this should be number one on your priority list, right up there with price. Forget location. The new mantra is Dry Dry Dry.

Maybe we should raise the price.

Record Rainfall and Historic Flood Levels

School was canceled today due to flooding. It's been raining non-stop since Sunday, and streams and rivers are spilling their banks. It was with great trepidation that I went down to the basement, hoping everything was high and dry. We've never had leakage in the beautifully refinished basement, and it remains that way. Maybe we should raise our asking price.

I had to run a few errands, so I eased my intrepid van down the driveway and into the water zone. What I saw was amazing: a pond just about to overflow and block the road; road closures due to streams sending jets of water across the intersection; neighbors pumping out basements. I was crazy to be out. I navigated my trusty vehicle to the post office and to Dave's to pick up chicken breast. To fortify myself for the drive home, I stopped at Panera's to buy a mocha chino. I took a different route home to check out Moosehorn Road from the other end. There's plenty of flooding, but not as bad as I'd seen in other parts of town.

When I got home, there was a message from Marty on the answering machine. The road to New York was also flooded in parts, and it took him a lot longer than usual to make the drive. New York City generally does not flood, so Marty should have no worries as he makes his way to work and dinner engagements. By the time he comes back to Rhode Island on Friday evening, the floods will have receded. The weekend is supposed to be sunny and 70 degrees. The latest weather alert forecasts a total of six to nine inches total rainfall today. The average for March is three inches.

Let's hope the waters recede rapidly and stay out of our basement.

House Video

Rich made a lovely video of my house, inside and out. 355 Moosehorn is a welcoming and easy to maintain house in a very private wooded setting. It's in a safe and friendly neighborhood close to shopping and schools. We've loved living here and will be sad to leave. I will especially miss my serenity garden, a work in progress. Watching snowflakes swirl in the back woods from my perch in front of the fire is another experience I'm sad to leave behind.

If I lived here another eight years I'd re-do the master bath and replace the counters in the kitchen. I would not use the ubiquitous granite you see everywhere because it's become a cliche, and it emits radiation. There are more beautiful and unique natural and synthetic materials available that avoid the the granite/stainless steel combo you see everywhere.

Feel free to ignore my biases and come see the house with an open mind. Here's a short video clip that tells a better story than I do.

355 Moosehorn Virtual Tour from Rich Epstein on Vimeo.

Open House

It was a lovely day for an open house, sunny and warm. The report from Rich was that nine people showed up, four of them serious buyers, the rest curiosity seekers. Two of the serious buyers were third timers. We should start charging them rent.

We bought this house sight unseen over the internet. Maybe that's the best way to buy. The emotion of spending a huge wad of cash on something you take very personally is daunting for some. But it's a great time to buy; it's a great house to buy; we want to get on with our next adventure.

So take a deep breathe, make an offer and we'll make a deal.

Bid Already

Another day, another showing. This one was easy because I had to take Mark to the train station at the same time. After dropping Mark off at the station, Turbo and I took a short walk on a nearby bike path. The weather was lovely, though Turbo didn't feel comfortable for some reason and kept pulling me back to the car. I wonder what he's going to do when he becomes a city dog.

Rich says that the clients like the house a lot (they'd already seen the house on the weekend and they already live in East Greenwich and are upsizing). They asked if there are any bids yet. He suggested to their broker that they make an offer. They want to wait to see what other offers come in before committing because they think that will tell them if the price is fair. Could this be the start of a bidding war? We hope so. That extra cash will go to a new car purchase.

No showings for the rest of the week. Where have I heard that before? We have an open house on Sunday which means we'll have to disappear for a few hours. Guess we'll have to go shopping or on an outing of some sort. Let's hope the weekend brings good weather and multiple bids.

This Is Work

I thought I'd have a few days off from showing the house, but Rich called me yesterday while I was having breakfast at Jiggers with my friend Sue to say that a couple who'd seen the house over the weekend wanted to come back to see it with their kids. Two hours later, Mark, Turbo and I drove off in the windswept rain.

Amazingly, this house has weathered the storminess of the past few days, staying high and dry when we most need it to. It is a sturdily built house, so I expect no less. Still, with rivers overflowing and boats floating in yards, we have nary a leak.

The feedback from Rich was positive. In fact, others who saw the house over the weekend want to come back and see it again. Thankfully my cleaning person is coming today. The white tile floor needs some help. Tentatively the showings are for today at 11:30 am and tomorrow at 5:30 pm but Rich is going to try to do them both tomorrow back-to-back. This would be much more convenient for all but the buyers, but hey, if you want a chance to bid on a beautiful home in a bucolic setting, you have to be flexible.

Feedback

After showing the house six times over the weekend our realtor gave us some feedback. Most clients stayed a while, a good sign. They all seemed to like the house. Interestingly, what they didn't like, never occured to us when we "looked at" the house, because we only saw it from a virtual perspective. Who knew the driveway was 200 feet long and lined with deadly rocks? Or that you could see the neighbor's house? The driveway threw one couple into a fight (seeya) and the relative lack of privacy made the Australian couple give pause. They will look in the next town over where they will get more land but less house.

The realtor, I will give him a name, Rich, found some mold growing in the basement and some black stuff there, too. Marty got right to work and washed it off. Most of it is leakage from the central vac canister. With this much house to clean, who thinks about dusting the unheated utility room? Not me.

We have an open house next weekend--no other showings until then. I can relax and not worry about "staging" and all the dog hair tumbling around the white tile floor that can't stay clean. This blog will stay quiet until then, unless we get an offer.

Selling the House Through Smell

We had to be out of the house today for two showings so we (Marty, Harry, Turbo and I) jumped in the van and started wasting time. First we went out for a pizza, then we did a little shopping (stores were crowded because the weather is terrible), then we dropped Harry at a friend's and then we just drove around waiting until we could pick Harry up again and go home. The second showing must have gone well because the people were still in the driveway when we pulled up. We sat in a neighbor's driveway until we saw them leave. This is tough work.

Tomorrow we have three showings spread throughout the day. It's going to be rainy and windy and we're going to be whirring around East Greenwich trying to pass the time when we have a number of other things we could be doing. Harry's lucky because he's working and won't be home. Mark's coming home tonight so he'll be with us. Poor Turbo will be steaming up the van's windows.

Do you think our realtor will mind putting the ribs in the oven? Marty has to head back to NYC tomorrow evening and doesn't want to leave too late.

Two Showings Today

When my broker called me with the news, I immediately thought of Harry's room. With the two of us working, it only took an hour to put away all the clothes, clean out the closet and take everything off the floor. We did not bother with surfaces because it is a very-much lived in room, a teen cave as you will. I now have 2 huge bags of clothes to donate.

After breakfast--blueberry pancakes to give the house a homey smell--I'll vacuum and straighten the rest of the house. With only two people living here and one dog, it doesn't get too nasty. Turbo does bring in a lot of the backyard, and then there are his tufts of hair everywhere. As long as he doesn't urinate just before a showing, I forgive him the rest.

We're meeting Jamie and Mowgli for a playdate at the park when my house is being shown and hopefully fought over. I hope we beat the rain.

I Have an MLS #

The house is officially for sale. Last night it was assigned an MLS # which will hopefully be retired toute suite. Here's some copy from the listing that my agent wrote:

A long driveway leads one to a country retreat in Western East Greenwich. Nearly 1.5 acres of picturesque serenity envelops this New England Colonial. 3300 total SF, 4 bedrooms, 3 1/2 baths.Open bright floor plan. Air, vac, etc.

Great adjectives, so much better than splendid or quiet. I imagine the sign goes up today and the buyers will start filtering through. I say this isn't going to stress me out, and I doubt it will, but when you display your home for the world to see you reveal private things about yourself and your family. Like what a messy teenager I've raised.

Going for an early morning jog this morning, down that long driveway into the beautiful Moosehorn hills.

House for Sale

I'm reinstating the Word in the Woods to tell the story of how I sold my house. Today my realtor came over to take photos and tomorrow he will plant the sign at the end of my driveway, we'll sign all the paperwork and I will have to be more of a neatnik than ever.

I've been purging and cleaning and decluttering for weeks now. Today I had to Architectural Digest a house that accentuates the personal and quirky, not an everyperson home sweet home. The first thing I did when we moved here was get rid of the beige. On the advice of my realtor I took away common items, such as the bread basket and refrigerator magnets and stuffed them into the oven, closets and places that now elude me. This could be dangerous. I am slowly restoring what I can find, since although these items can make a photo distracting, they make the house look homey to prospective buyers.

March 8th the house goes on the market. There will be an open house in a couple of weeks. Then the curious and the serious will traipse through and hopefully we'll have a sale in no time. I am totally spoiled when it comes to selling homes. The first we sold privately to the first person who came along. The second sale we weren't even in the country for. My tenants showed the house and our friend Scott served as our attorney. The third nearly put me in an insane asylum but that's because the sale was in a foreign country where real estate is a bureaucratic nightmare that tends to keep property in the family forever. Selling house #4 will be an average kind of deal. The market is creeping up; there's not a lot for sale at our price point; we are motivated but not desperate.

Come have a look.