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.