Word in the Woods

Saturday in Manhattan

2012-02-19T12:12:00.003-05:00

We did a little shopping, including a stop at a thrift shop where I'd seen a a chair that might be worth buying. When the guy took it out of the window, I saw the fabric was torn on the seat and fraying badly, so we nixed that idea. We walked up to 86th Street and indulged in consumerism, which included a coat and belt for Marty, an indoor/outdoor thermometer for me, some envelopes, and an antenna for our tuner. We dropped everything off at the apartment and set off for AAA to buy movie-ticket discount coupons.

We took the 79th Street bus to Broadway and walked down to 62nd Street. Then we walked back uptown to the theater at 83rd Street, arriving just in time for Extremely Loud, Incredibly Close. I'd read the book years ago and knew this was going to be a gusher flick (not blood), but wanted to see how it stood up to the book. I'm a real snob when it comes to book-to-film conversion but I have to say, this was a good one. The book is so visual anyway that what's left out of the film hardly matters. Although the film is disturbing, it's also funny, has an element of suspense, and some great acting performances. Fort Greene is a setting briefly, and I always like to see the Old Hood to try to guess the street they're filming. The exterior of our house was once on The Cosby Show, but alas, Mariel and me walking back and forth in front of it fell on the cutting room floor.

After the movie, we met our brother-in-law, nephew and great nephews for dinner. They'd been at the Planetarium most of the day, and we had a chance to see them before they headed back to Newtown, PA. I had researched kid-friendly restaurants in the area and we ended up at Popovers Cafe, where they feature popovers. The boys, 8 and 6 were unimpressed by them and only wanted to play with the Lego pens we'd given them. It was decided that there were too many pieces to lose, so they'd have to wait until they got home to open them. This worked out as well as showing your dog a huge meaty bone and telling him he had to wait until later to get it.

No one was thrilled by the food, but Marty and I had gorged on popcorn at the theater, and the boys were exhausted. I had a Waldorf Salad which didn't have avocado, bacon or hard-boiled egg. It was still good, but I only managed to eat half. I'll eat it later.

We bused back to our apartment, got organized and watched The Tree of Life. I've been wanting to see this film for some time but didn't want to subject anyone to it. Marty was willing to give it a shot, and only napped 5 minutes. Brad Pitt and Sean Penn starred in it, and it was visually luxurious. It was also highly symbolic, which eventually got tiresome, but that was mainly because the film was long. It has an Academy Award nomination, which I find hard to believe, and hasn't made viewers rush out to see it.

Today we're going for brunch to a Cuban restaurant downtown on the Bowery. I'll let you know if it's any good. Then I'm making Bipimbap for dinner. It's a Korean recipe I got out of the West Warwick Public Library Cookbook. Thanks, Sue!

Elegance on the East Side

2012-02-15T08:02:00.002-05:00

Yesterday was Valentine's Day. You couldn't see the sidewalks because the rose bouquets were flowing out to the curb. I buy my own flowers, and I already had an eclectic mix of roses, tulips and daffodils. We don't exchange cards, nor go out to dinner. Here's what we did last night.

I decided to make my husband's favorite dish in the world, osso buco. He orders it in restaurants when it's on the menu. I've never cooked it before.

This veal shank with marrow bone in the middle varies widely in price in my neighborhood, from $7.99 to $15,99 per lb. Since the meat is stewed, why pay more? I was a little more than proud of myself when except for the meat and fresh parsley, I had the rest of the gazillion ingredients.

Since I didn't get home from the supermarket (Fairway, if you want to know) until after 3:30, I was a little stressed about time management. Like a madwoman, I quickly gathered all the ingredients and set to work, chopping, sauteing, deglazing, et cetera. You have to cook this baby for a long time, so I was free to do other things, like make side dishes. I prepped the garlic mashed potatoes and the zucchini with carrots, and then passed out until my husband came home around 7:30.

I actually lit candles, which threatened to topple each time we both cut into our succulent veal.
We opened a bottle of Barolo (Villadoria Serralunga d'Alba 2007). Chez Patricia was a great success. The best part was that my husband did the dishes at some point, after snoozing in his chair.

In case you want to try this at home (it's time-consuming, not difficult), you can find it in The Gourmet Cookbook. You'll find simpler versions on-line. Bon appetit!

Flying the Flag

2012-02-08T16:27:00.002-05:00

Our friends Karen & Jim gave us a Bouvier de Flandres flag almost 23 years ago on Marty's birthday. For most of that time, the flag was hung inside. When we moved to Rhode Island, we hung it on a tree lining our driveway. Did I ever tell you we had about 30 oak trees on our property? That meant squirrels, lots of hungry hungry squirrels.

We began noticing that the flag looked a little funny. Marty went up on a ladder and discovered the flag was slowly being eaten alive by Rocky J. Squirrel and his voracious family. We took it down and tried to order a new one, but the company had gone out of business. We folded it up and put it away. When I was packing up to move, I found the shredded flag in a box and packed it to go.

My friend Doug has a friend in the flag business. I sent her the flag bits and a scan of the artwork. I decided I wanted to update the flag with new colors, red and yellow, to match those of the Belgian flag.

It's beautiful, and turned our attention away from the pile of environmental disaster wrapped to go to a special dump for very bad things.

Seeming non-sequitor but not: I had a coffee disaster this morning. My very expensive Saeco machine brewed me a cup of water. I did some trouble shooting but could not fix it. Then I realized I had some ice coffee in the fridge and drank that. I wasn't as soothing as a hot cup o' Joe but it sufficed. You may be wondering why I didn't want to step out of my apartment where there are 4 or 5 coffee shops serving what I need. That would mean getting dressed. To make sure this never happens again, I went out and bought a Melitta holder and filters. I made myself a strong cup of coffee a little while ago,

You see, the flag makes me very happy, and so does coffee.

Boom in the Woods

2012-02-02T14:39:00.002-05:00

My phone rings. It's my next-door neighbor calling to tell me there are 2 oil delivery trucks and an excavator in my yard in the country. I'm in my apartment in New York. I call the oil company to find that they're desperately trying to reach me. No, they haven't struck oil. My oil tank exploded as they were adding fuel.

Ironically, I had been thinking about what it would be like to lose your home to fire. I think I saw a news item earlier in the day about people who've lost everything to a fire.

No, my house wasn't on fire. I can't even imagine the pain of that. The tank, old and rusty, had broken apart and filled my yard with oil. They were already applying absorbent pink material on the affected area. Then they would dig up a layer of soil with the backhoe and contain the waste in a safe manner. All I could think of was my poor little brook would be renamed Love Canal.

I spoke with my insurance agent, and instructed the oil man to install a temporary tank until we could get a new one. We're meeting with the adjuster Saturday afternoon to see where we stand and how much it's going to cost. In the meantime, because the Department of Environmental Concern had to informed, the waste has to removed immediately, which should have happened today.

It should be an interesting weekend.

The Marriage Plot

2012-01-26T10:27:00.002-05:00

Here's a book with enjoyable flow, info you might be able to use and perfect insight into post-grad life in the 1980's.

Jeffrey Eugenides, author of Middlesex has written a book that's a pleasure to read, even though it's filled with brainy Brown graduates. Madeleine, the main character, meets her future husband in a semiotics class her senior year. She takes the class because as an English major who's never really felt mentally stretched, she feels she needs to read things others think of as deep. An old flame, Mitchell, is also in the class.

It turns out her new boyfriend, Leonard, is manic-depressive. She skips graduation to see him at the hospital where he's been admitted after stopping his medicine and sinking into himself. Eugenides paints a fascinating portrait of this chronic disease, which is treatable but not curable. He also shows how mental illness is still a stigma whereas other diseases, such as diabetes, are not.

You'll read everything you always wanted to know about yeast, traveling around India with little money, gambling in Monaco, and New Jersey's upper-middle class. Umberto Eco, Mother Teresa, and Quakerism are explored. Madeleine marries the mentally ill man whom she's been supporting emotionally and financially for over a year. The marriage lasts two months before it unravels like an old sweater.

The Marriage Plot is perfect if like me you love Victorian Literature (go Daniel Deronda!), are intrigued by mental illness (psych major!) and get a kick out of social satire. The fault, dear Brutus, is in ourselves.

Keep 'em Coming

2012-01-22T08:18:00.004-05:00

In spite of ice pellets pitting our faces, we had a really enjoyable New York day. We met Sandy and Dianne at the Museum of the American Indian in lower Manhattan, around the corner from our old apartment. The building was originally built for Alexander Hamilton. Even if you have no interest in Native Americans (of course, you can't admit to that), you can enjoy the architecture and lush materials. Entrance is free.

The exhibit was extensive and covered all Indians from Canada to Argentina. It even included the natives of the Caribbean, which I didn't know existed. There were lots of photos, and many objects from different regions. It doesn't dwell on what the white man did to them but rather their rich and varied lives. I recommend it highly.

We walked to Chinatown where we ate lunch at a reincarnation of an old favorite Say Eng Look. The food was delicious, hot soup on a frigid afternoon.

We did a little shopping on the way home and then began dinner prep. Sandy and Dianne were coming for round two of our New York day. We started with Pisco Sours, which we became addicted to in Peru, and some cheeses Marty picked up in Amsterdam. The first course was cream of cauliflower soup, and then a vegetarian pasta dish made with brocolini and ricotta and parmesan cheese. Dessert was the carrot cake I'd made the other day to bring to Andria and Scott's and came back with leftovers. It's still available.

We listened to great jazz records and talked about just about everything. They brought Sadie, their Bouvier, who was the perfect doggie guest.

Nobody told me there'd be days like these.

Great New York Day

2012-01-17T06:45:00.003-05:00

Harry and I took the bus and train to see Mark for lunch. We ate at Tom's Restaurant, the diner made famous in Seinfeld. This is a typical New York diner: packed, huge staff and no room to display mile high lemon meringue pie. Although I'm sure they have it.

We went to Mark's room for a moment, and then Harry and I took public transportation to 86th Street, a shopper's paradise. The purpose was to buy a pair of everyday sneakers, since his were purchased when he was still in high school. I am a bad mother. Then he said he needed a hat and a warmer jacket. I sugested he look for a Holden Caulfield hat. Harry read that book last year at age 18 and loved it. Apparently, teenage angst is the same as it ever was.

We went to a store called H & M, because it was there. There were dozens of hats in the men's department, but only one Holden Caulfield cap, for $10. Harry tried on a dozen coats before he chose a modish dark gray herringbone pea coat. He also picked up a hoodie and a pair of warm gloves. He remarked at how cheap everything was. Cheap for him. My baby, until now indifferent to style, is suddenly a fashionista. It must be because he goes to Vassar.

Harry found replacement shoes he liked and also a pair of winter running tights, this at Modell's. Then we stopped at Fairway to buy steak for dinner. Harry ate chicken for 2 weeks in Peru, and he doesn't eat much meat at school. In honor of his last meal, I made Pisco Sours. Good thing dinner was easy to make because those drinks go down easy and make you want to take a siesta.

Today we're driving upstate to retrieve the minivan so Harry can drive all his stuff (including skis) back to school. I'll spend a couple of days at the house and return to NYC Thursday.

Simply put, children are expensive.

How Did I Miss This?

2012-01-15T16:38:00.002-05:00

Last night I watched a movie called The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, directed by Julian Schnabel. It was in French with English sub-titles so I had to pay attention. I think only the French can do such meaningful extended metaphors, ones that don't go all soggy and make you cringe.

I'm not going to tell you what the film is about because you should really just watch it. I will say that the cinematography is gorgeous and the acting superb. I must have tucked this film into my unconscious when it first came out. Seeing it at the Jeffersonville Library made it rise to the surface. Libraries always seem to have what I need.

Country Comforts

2012-01-14T13:36:00.003-05:00

It's flurrying, the sun is shining and Joni Mitchell is showing her deeper side on the radio, this according to the announcer who wishes she were Joni, quoting Joni and then reluctantly playing her. I wasn't aware there was a shallow side of J.M.

Marty's in Italy, Mariel in Peru, Harry is on a jet plane (I think) and Mark is back in NYC. I came to my country sanctuary Thursday to try to get the minivan to pass inspection. I really came for the solitude. I love being with people, but I love being alone. I read, I write, I cook, I bag old clothes, I watch movies. I'm proud to announce that I figured out how to play a DVD! I'm sad to say, I watched The Lonely Bones. I never read the book, because Mariel was 14 at the time and that's how old the murdered girl is. I thought that since Mariel is now almost 24, it would be safe to watch it. It was safe, but mainly a lot of drivel. The music was good, but my overwhelming feeling was for the girl to go to heaven already.

I finished The Book of Ruth by Jane Hamilton. If I were asked to write a book blurb, I would say "Emotionally redemptive!" It's actually pretty bleak, Dickensian. Dickens is her favorite writer. If you like novels that explore psychological motivation, how a person's upbringing explains how they turn out, Hamilton delivers it in spades. It doesn't use the Twinkie Defense by name, but it gives an amazing portrait of a resilient young woman, and that of her demented and violent husband.

Afraid I'll run out of things to read, I picked up 4 other novels. But I don't read and watch movies all day. I've started working on curtains for the upstairs bedrooms, taken clothes to the consignment shop, bought a frame for a painting I picked up in Peru, cooked Moussaka (delicious) and done a little shopping. I saw a vase in the window of the antique shop in town that cried out to me to buy it. It's very colorful, pinks and greens, done with pastel paints then fired in a kiln. I went to the grocery store and bought a dozen roses for $6. It looks great on my dining room table.

Thinking about Joni, I pulled out her records. We have more in NYC. Miles of Isles, Mingus, Blue (2 more copies in NYC!) and Ladies of the Canyon. We also own more Elton John records than it seems possible, including 2 Tumbleweed Connections. I know there's more in New York. There was a time our records were organized by genre and artist. We had a smaller collection then.

Tonight I'll watch another movie, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. Look for my review soon.

Peru

2012-01-09T18:16:00.027-05:00

The beach at Miraflores, Lima

The Catacombs, Lima

Mariel at San Cristobal, Lima

Machu Picchu, Peru

Misty and cool. Way cool.

Inka King and Consort

Step a little further back...

Chechuan mother and child

Our tour bus crashes into a train

Huaycan kids: Mariel, Mariel ...

Mariel's Huaycan classroom

Huaycan cemetery on the hillside

Marty took hundreds of photos on our trip to Peru, but I've culled them down to the ones most representative of our stay there. Aren't you lucky?

Lima is the capital and has about 9 million residents. One of the districts is Miraflores which is right on the beach and you've probably guessed has a lot of beautiful flowers which they must water every day because it never rains in Lima. We also visited a Franciscan monastery famous for its catacombs. The strangest thing about it was that the thousands of bones were arranged by bone type, femurs, tibias, et cetera. There was one pile of skulls and an intact skeleton of recent vintage. We then took a tour on a bus that climbed to the top of San Cristobal which overlooks the entire city. The ride was as amazing as the view in that we had to back up on hairpin turns to let other vehicles pass. One man had a panic attack and demanded to be let out, which he was, followed by his concerned family. The rest of the passengers were crying and praying and imploring the driver to stop. We were the only gringos on the bus. Maybe they've never driven in Costa Rica.

The trip to Cuzco was an adventure. We flew there from Lima and spent the day trying to adjust to over 17,000 feet altitude. Marty and I were both briefly ill, even though we drank coca tea. The next day we took a bus to a train that would take us down to Machu Picchu at about 5,000 feet. The ride took 3.5 hours but passed through lush scenery. We met our guide and took another bus ride to the site.

Machu Picchu is so iconic, it's hard to be objective once you're actually there. Shrouded in clouds and mist, it doesn't seem real. I quickly realized how real it was when I started climbing up the stairway to heaven. The siting and the engineering of the Inka civilization used terracing to make the settlement, moving large boulders from above to below. They took advantage of their altitude for security, and to move water through an ingenious drainage system. Machu Picchu was a sacred site, inhabited by priests and Inkas high on the religious, social and artistic scale. They worshiped the sun and built their settlement to reflect this. The solstices were the most important days of the year for them, December 21 and June 21. Our guide said that since Marty's birthday is June 21st, he's a reincarnated Inkan priest.

We had lunch, got back on the bus and then back on the train to go up to Cuzco. It's worth noting that the entertainment for the trip was a tiger-faced jester dancing up and down the aisle, grabbing women to be his partner. Mariel refused, and he didn't ask me. Then the train crew did a fashion show of vičuna wool that's very soft and expensive, all to the beat of a techno-classic rock mash-up. What a day!

The next day we visited the Sacred Valley, seat of Chechuan culture. Women wear traditional bright woven garb and carry their babies wrapped around their backs. We climbed 500 steps to reach the top of the Chechuan settlement overlooking the valley. The Chechuans, a later civilization than the Inkas, looked to the moon and stars to guide their religious and cultural life. It was on this trip that our bus crashed into a train (see photo). Fortunately, only 2 passengers and the driver were on the bus, and just one of the passengers was hurt, thankfully, a minor cut that would require stitches. They provided us with another bus for the rest of the trip and the trip back to Cuzco.

Here are 2 complaints I have about our Sacred Valley trip. We only toured the site for 2 hours. The rest of the time was spent on shopping stops, which became tedious. The other, more disturbing occurrence was that every time we left our hotel, vendors jumped out at us. All around the city, people shoved their goods in our faces or begged for money. I felt we had a big sign on us that said: Rich Gringos! I've never been to India or other truly poor parts of the world. I visited Guatemala in 2000 and was never accosted like this. The bargaining, however, is the same.

The last part of our trip was the least glamorous and certainly not touristy, but quite amazing. We took a taxi to Huaycan, a part of Lima, but extremely poor and dusty. This is where Mariel is working with the Light and Leadership organization (www.lightandleadership.org). Her house is modern with all the conveniences. She's the house manager, and also teaches some classes. We took a bus up the mountain to tell her students classes would begin again in a week. When they saw her, they came running, calling her name and giving her a big hug. We saw the classroom the organization uses, which overlooks a huge cemetery carved into the hill. Sitting on a dirt background, the mausoleums were the size of small houses and just as colorful. It was a sobering site, but somehow cheerful.

Thanks for reading one of the longest posts I've ever written.

The Irony of It

2011-12-24T16:39:00.003-05:00

Who doesn't appreciate dramatic irony? It makes you feel smart, smarter than the person who experiences it. But you're probably not.

One of my favorite activities is dramatic ironing. This is a joke my friend created years ago. Now I actually do dramatic ironing because I live on the 31st floor with a fantastic view to the east. It makes ironing tolerable.

On the subject of irons, my son Mark shocked us last night when he said: I have to stop at Columbia to get my iron. Marty and I went slack-jawed. What had happened to our son? He didn't pick up on our shock and just said: yeah, I need my iron pills or I risk becoming anemic again.

This isn't an example of irony. It's an example of the English language not having enough words to express numerous meanings. While it's true that irons used to be made out of iron and that iron is Latin for "ferrum" (hence the element FE), we briefly had serious doubts about our number one son who has never touched an iron in his life.

Soap Opera

2011-12-22T09:30:00.002-05:00

One of my embarrassing little secrets is that I watch a soap opera every day, The Young and the Restless. I've been watching it since 1989, a year after my daughter was born. I'd watch the news at noon, and then what-ho! I unintentionally caught a bit of the show. I became addicted. I've watched it on and off ever since.

The reason I always give to people I reveal this to, is that I'm fascinated by the story and plot lines, how they are woven together in Dickensian fashion and how the situations although they might seem unbelievable, are extremely close to what happens in life. In my life anyway.

Here's a little story.

Her parents divorce when she's 6 and she never sees her father again. He is presumed dead, having fought his demons in a Veterans hospital, but not before remarrying and having more children. Her mother dies young, reiterating the story of her first husband and his untimely death, shortly before expiring. The young woman is now an orphan. Her brother, who has been searching death records all over the country, finally discovers the Internet is a much better place to find people, dead or alive.

It turns out that their father is alive and well and living in New York City. Her brother contacts and sees their father. She, now middle-aged, does not. She decides she has no relationship with him other than biological, and she isn't in the market for a dad. She does have an idea for a novel, and he's in it, so puts meeting him some day (to pick his brain) in the "possible" file.

The other day, the woman calls her brother, mainly to catch up on what's happened since they last saw each other. The she mentions their father. "You know he works as a concierge in a building near you," her brother said. "And he lives even closer."

The fickle finger of fate is pointing to a denouement that involves sheer luck--he opens a door for her at the building where he works, or she sees him in a neighborhood store--or a conscious effort to contact him.

She walks by the building where he works but if he's on duty, he remains inside unseen. She passes by where he lives but keeps walking.

The next day, she writes him a brief note suggesting they get together for coffee in the New Year. She includes her cell phone number.

How will this all end? In a soap opera, the writers like to keep their options open. I admit that some of their machinations are ludicrous. The writer of this story will keep her options open, for now.

3 Book Reviews

2011-12-19T10:44:00.005-05:00

1Q84

Haruki Murakami’s latest book has an alluring cover. On one side, the closely-cropped face of Aomame stares at you; on the other is the similarly cropped face of Tengo.

The clever title plays with the year 1984, the “Q” in Japanese meaning the number “9.” Silly me, I first thought the book was about a person with a low I.Q. 1984 and 1Q84 represent two different worlds, the “actual” world and the world that has two moons. In 1Q84, Big Brother is watching you in ways you could never imagine.

Aomame is a killer hired by a shadowy dowager, at first to give her stretching lessons and then to kill men known to be wife-beaters. Aomame’s not a beautiful woman and she’s extremely shy, but she’s sexy and knows how to use her body to attract men. The love of her life is Tengo, a boy she briefly knew in elementary school. Tengo is brilliant, but is working at a low-level job at a “cram” school, a place students study to be able to get into better colleges. His real passion, however, is writing novels. An editor he knows gets him to agree to re-write a bizarre novel titled Air Chrysalis, written by a 17-year old girl. The novel wins a newcomer’s prize, and things go downhill from there.

Leader, Little People, dead goats, child rape and two moons are all part of 1Q84. Truthfully, I found this part of the novel dull. The love story of Aomame and Tengo is nicely done, if you can wrap your mind around pregnancy without sex.

What I Talk About When I Talk About Running

Interestingly, I read Murakami’s book What I Talk About When I Talk About Running in the middle of reading 1Q84. Murakami wrote this book prior to 1Q84 and there are hints of the novel in his memoir about running. In the memoir, Murakami writes about how running informs his fiction. Personally, as a writer who runs (although not at his level), this short book was a revelation to me, about one of my favorite writers and also about myself. In the book, he writes about his love for Raymond Chandler, who Murakami translated into Japanese. I went to the library and checked out a four-book series by Chandler. I read three-quarters of The Big Sleep but was bored by Philip Marlowe and his detective work. Maybe I’m just not a mystery reader. Mysteries, even when well written tend to give me a headache.

A Judgement in Stone

I picked up this little gem at the Crothers’ house in New Hampshire. Ruth Rendell, whom I’d confused with Ruth Reichel, the food writer, is a baroness who’s written literary mysteries for 45 years.

Didn’t I just say mysteries gave me a headache? Judgement (English book, English spelling) isn’t really a mystery, more a psychological thriller in which the reader knows more about what’s happened than the police. A monstrous woman, Eunice, who can’t bear the idea that anyone would know she was illiterate, will do anything to guard her secret. She murders her father, blackmails “friends,” and murders her employers and their children, the latter with no affect. Eunice is unloved and unloving—as cold as they come. The upper middle class family she murders, with the aid and encouragement of her lunatic, religious fanatic acquaintance, are pillars of the community. Ms. Rendell is wise to paint them in broad strokes that discourage the reader from becoming attached to them, but her intermittent reminders about the Valentine’s Day Massacre keeps one on edge from beginning to end.

I look forward to reading more Ruth Rendell when I finish yet another mystery plucked from the Crothers archive.

2011-12-12T09:18:00.005-05:00

Turbo May 27, 1996 - December 1, 2011

Turbo, who was still turning heads until earlier this week, has died. He was our longest-lived Bouvier at 14 and a half. A master of many lifestyles, he was bi-lingual and engaging in the extreme.

Born in Costa Rica to Manolo and Lara, Turbo had a sister, Tica, and four brothers. They all pre-deceased him. His half sister Asta (by Manolo), was Turbo’s constant companion for 12 years. Turbo was very depressed when she died 2 years ago.

Turbo was a light gray brindle color with cropped ears and tail. He loved to smile, and had all his teeth until he died, even though we never had them cleaned. Except for other Bouviers of his acquaintance, he didn’t care for other dogs. When it came to interacting with people, however, he was a charmer. There was only one person he had contact with who so misread the dog that it was a wonder he trained animals for a living. This was back in the Costa Rica days when Turbo was one or so and already neutered.

Mr. Dog Trainer came to our house and asked to spend a few minutes alone with Turbo. His assessment: on a scale of one to ten, ten being the most aggressive, Turbo was a 12. He would need a lot of training. When I expressed my doubts about Turbo’s aggressiveness (he was always friendly to people, even strangers), the trainer turned to me and said, “Cupcake, I know what I’m talking about.” We told him we wouldn’t need his services.

At one point in Costa Rica, we had four Bouviers. Turbo was the only male, and not quite as bright as two of three of his sisters. He was a little goofy, and he loved to play. One day, Turbo showed how smart he really was. I had been given macadamia nut shells to use as mulch in my gardens. My gardener spread them around in the front of the house. The next morning, our three female dogs couldn’t lift their butts off the ground after gorging themselves on the empty shells. Turbo was the only dog who enthusiastically ate breakfast, having for whatever reason rejected the shells to which tasty tiny nut bits still adhered. I called the vet in a panic. He laughed and said to come to the office to pick up some castor oil. That quickly unplugged the blockages and the dogs were fine.

When we shipped Turbo and his sister Asta to the United States (they were 3 and 4 years old), we had to pay by the kilo. Both dogs were obese, having lived their days munching fallen mangoes (and retching up the pit at 5 o’clock each morning), and other tropical fruits. The gardener gave them scraps of food, too. When we brought them to the vet in the States, he told us that they seriously needed a diet. We put them on diet dog food, didn’t feed them from the table (much), and within a year they lost 20 pounds apiece. The vet came out to the waiting room and told the other pet owners, “you see, you can put your pets on a diet that works. These dogs just added several years to their lives.”

Our daughter Mariel spent endless hours training Turbo and Asta to jump over obstacles. Mariel had competed in equine jumping competitions in Costa Rica, and went on to be a hurdler in high school and college. For large dogs, they were incredibly graceful. The only problem was, they discovered they could jump over the backyard fence, which they did on a regular basis. Eventually, we had to put up an invisible fence. I doubt they’d ever wander away, but they could easily be mistaken for bears or other shootable animals.

Turbo’s biggest adventure again involved Mariel. She had taken Turbo and Asta to the park near our house and let them off their leashes. Asta remained nearby at all times, but Turbo drifted off somewhere. In a panic, Mariel called us to say Turbo was missing. My husband and friends (who were visiting us) went off to search for him, taking our neighbors, who often cared for the dogs, with them. I stayed home to field phone calls. Our biggest worry was that Turbo would leave the park and get hit by a car. Finally, I couldn’t sit around anymore. I put on my sneakers and went to the garage door. There was Turbo, panting but sitting there and smiling, happy to be home. I called off the search party. There were several routes he could’ve taken, but we’ll never know whether he walked on the road, our usual route, or if he’d gone though the woods. I always said I wished my dogs could speak, which they did in a fashion. I’d love to hear how Turbo found his way home.

While Asta was “human-smart,” Turbo was dog smart. He instinctively knew what was harmful to eat, and he could use his nose-memory when he needed it. He was warm, loving and fun. Turbo, as his name implies, was full of energy and loved to run around out back. Whereas Asta was stand-offish, Turbo was ever-friendly. He barked at strangers when they came in the house, but this was more a reaction to Asta defending us and Turbo following her lead.

When we moved to Manhattan, Turbo became a city dog. Did he like it? I don’t think so, but he loved to soak up the attention of passers-by. “What kind of dog is that?” people would ask in shock. They’d never heard of a Bouvier de Flandres, so we explained that he was a Belgian cow-herding dog. European tourists were more familiar with the breed, but Turbo still had a magnetic effect. Kids and adults alike would ask to pet him. People took photos. It was a lot of fun to live in the reflected glory of such a head-turner. We used to joke with our sons Mark and Harry that Turbo was a chick magnet.

In his final year of life, Turbo experienced a number of old-age problems. He developed Bell’s palsy and had to be hospitalized for three weeks. He was already eating dog food for joint problems, and took Rimidyl and Tramadol on a daily basis. He especially hated the Tramadol so we had to wrap the pills in chunks of cheese or slather it with hummus or some other tasty sauce.

My husband Marty, who was Turbo’s primary caretaker, walked with Turbo to Central Park one day last summer. Turbo was 14 by then but could still walk pretty far if you took it slowly. They went to the dog area, where Marty took pictures and Turbo sat by his side. He loved to just sit in the grass and take in the sights ands smells. We have a small house in the Catskill Mountains that has a large lawn. Turbo loved to sit out there with us beside the brook.

Like many dogs, Turbo had many nick names. Named Turbo Dodger by Mariel, he was also known as Turbie, Tubsy Ubsy, Turbster The Turbonator, The Big Turbowski, and Baby. I called him Baby a lot in his final year. He was, after all, our youngest child.

After a wonderful Thanksgiving with the boys (I cooked all the turkey innards for him and doled them out a little at a time), we went back to Manhattan. By Tuesday I had to rely on Jimmy, one of our concierges who occasionally walked Turbo for us, to help me get him from the elevator to the door. He was okay on the street, but once we got into the building, Jimmy had to help me get him to our front door. Marty clearly saw the decline that occurred in a matter of two days. Early Wednesday morning, I woke up to find Turbo and Marty on the floor. Turbo had had some kind of stroke or seizure and couldn’t get up. We called a 24-hour veterinary hospital and they said to come right in. We spent Turbo’s final 15 minutes or so talking to him, kissing and petting him. The doctor came in and asked if we were ready. We were not ready but Turbo was.

Turbo has been cremated and his ashes will be interred on our property in the mountains. There will never be a dog like Turbo.

I Love a Parade and Other Holiday Stuff

2011-11-29T14:52:00.008-05:00

Thanksgiving in Jville was great. We certainly missed Mariel, but we'll be seeing her in a month. In all modesty, it was the best Thanksgiving meal I've ever cooked. Mark's view of the centerpiece is worth a thousand words.

Turkey's End

Happy Family

Friday night was the big Christmas parade downtown. Downtown is 2 blocks away. We stood at the end of our block with other townies and visitors. The parade snakes through town and passes our street just before ending. We saw fire truck after police car after emergency vehicle after floats after Santas and other holiday symbols. The parade began with 3 musketeers firing into the sky, followed by the mayor's car. I've met the mayor--he's one of our mechanics. Much candy was thrown into the crowd.

Many of the vehicles are from other nearby towns, so they exit the parade a block past Maple. The other half mile's worth of diesel-spewing trucks line up along that road, turn left and then another left. We saw the part of the parade all over again.

Turbo loves Jville and Thanksgiving. It's easier for him to walk there, and he appreciates the turkey gizzards I cook up for him.

Turbo and Me on Our Block

Holiday Shoes

What to Do in Sleepyville

2011-11-20T14:21:00.003-05:00

Yesterday, after a major supermarket sweep, we headed off to a music sale at a local fire department. WJFF, our town's music station, was raising money, selling CD's, records of many different rpms, sheet music, instruments, and anything music-related. They had thousands of old records. I didn't dare let Marty go by himself.

We hauled off 30 albums, including one by Paul Simon that was minus the vinyl. Didn't check for scratches? I asked incredulously. Marty said that for 17 cents, he didn't care. I selected a few, including a Stevie Wonder album with Braille markings on the cover. Marty stocked up on musicals, James Taylor and the Sullivan County Music Festival 1968 featuring Jeffersonville's Elementary chorus and Livingston Manor High School Band. We'll play it for you next time you come over. You don't want to miss March Mellow or Concertina for Shofar.

Today we went to the a local poultry farm to pick up our turkey. It wasn't ready yet so we enjoyed the beauty of the area on a mild November day. When the young man brought out the bird, it was still warm.

I plan to prepare for Thanksgiving a little at a time. Maybe I'll make cranberry relish tomorrow. We'll see.

A Break from a Break

2011-11-13T07:30:00.003-05:00

I'm taking a break from life, snuggled into my little house in the country. I'm here totally alone, no humans or animals to intrude into the tranquility. I had enough of New York City last weekend, running the marathon, eating out, going to the Javits Center to collect my race bib. I do not like Convention Centers.

What do I do all day? Not much and a lot. I cook delicious meals, go to the Post Office, have a massage, go to yoga, the supermarket, and the library. I think I've mentioned that I was taking a break from Infinite Jest, substituting another but more readable tome 1Q84. When I went to the library Friday, I decided I needed a rest from that book, too, and scanned the new fiction section, looking for lighter fare.

I grabbed Chris Bojalian's latest silliness, The Night Strangers. I suppose it's meant to be a scary book, with ghosts, auras, murders, tinctures and potions. Turns out that these aging folks in a remote New Hampshire town have discovered how to tap into the fountain of youth. Mainly, it takes young blood and a lot of herbs.

The book's not badly written, and you learn more than you want to know about airplanes crashing, but it ends with the parent accepting the murder of one of their twins and buy into the fountain of youth crap. Who wants to live to be 100 or more when they know they were responsible for the death of their child?

At least it was a quick read. Break's over. Back to the bizarre world of 1Q84.

Winter Wonderland

2011-11-01T08:13:00.007-04:00

Our little brook flows through the snow

Swinging in the snow

Sun-lit snow-glazed Catskills

We were lucky to spend the weekend in the country. Marty took these photos during and after the storm. It really was this beautiful.

Local TV said to expect power outages due to snow weighing down the still-leafy trees. The only precaution I took with trees was to shake my little red maple off. Most of the other trees were already leafless, although several branches did fall overnight.

We were prepared for power failure, but it wouldn't be fun like Costa Rica. There, temperature wasn't an issue. In the Catskills, it would be very cold but we have a lot of blankets. We also have candles, flashlights (batteries included!), and a propane stove. If you have matches to light the pilot you can cook and eat the cold away. We only had about 6 inches of snow, and we never lost power. Still, that Italian Wedding Soup was delicious, and easy to make.

I read all weekend, went to Yoga and tried to watch a Coen brothers movie with Marty (Burn After Reading) but ended up falling asleep somewhere in the middle of the craziness. We drove home in record time because so many people were dealing with power failure caused by downed trees. We were lucky. Our street in Manhattan looked the same as always.
Two or three cars had some snow on them, but that was it.

Don't Read This Book

2011-10-28T14:26:00.002-04:00

One of the other books I checked out of the library was so bad I didn't want to finish it. I kept with it, regrettably.

Zone One by Colson Whitehead wasn't the worst book I've ever read but it's on my top-10 list. Many of the loser books I didn't even finish, unless they were short. Whitehead's book is nasty, brutish and short, mercifully short.

If you enjoy humorless repetitious drivel about the end of the world, this book's for you. I thought the plot was going somewhere, or that some explanation for the plague that kills most of the Earth's population would be revealed. I just read last week that humans are mainly immune to the plague or black death. This must be a different plague.

To be fair, I chose the book because I've read other books by the author. John Henry Days is a keeper, as is The Intuitionist. Last year's beach book, Sag Harbor, wasn't great, but it wasn't duller than dish water.

Before I go back to Infinite Jest, I'm reading a book I had to buy today, 1Q84 by Haruki Murakami. He wrote Kafka on the Shore, which I loved. It's another 900+ page tome, but seems more readable than Jest. We'll see.

A Reading Break

2011-10-27T08:38:00.003-04:00

I decided to give Infinite Jest a rest. I went to the library to look for something lighter. I'd heard an interview with Walter Mosley on NPR and although I new the writer and his basic genre, I'd never read one of his books. The Jeffersonville Public Library is a marvel, at least to me. Their new books are ones I actually want to read. But I was looking for a classic Mosley book and found several in the stacks. I checked out A Fortunate Son, a tale about two brothers who are separated at age 6 and reunited in their early 20's.

Eric is the blessed athletic blond boy whom Thomas comes to live with as a sickly infant. His mother brings him to the posh house, having attracted the attention of Eric's father, a doctor at the hospital where Thomas spends his first six months in a bubble. Love and good doctoring save Thomas's life. He becomes friends with Eric, his polar opposite, and they live together until Thomas's mother dies and his biological father shows up to claim his son.

Thomas goes from wanting for nothing to nothing to want. His home life is a diasaster. Yet his spirit allows him to cope with anything thrown his way. And it's all thrown at him: dropping out of school, abandonment by his dad and other relatives, living wherever he can, and eventually becoming a runner for a drug dealer. He gets arrested, thrown in jail and wanders the streets of L.A., walking away from a youth facility he is transferred to. Along the way he is raped, beaten, starved. Whatever bad, ugly thing you can think of happens to Thomas. But Thomas keeps on keeping on.

Mosley writes about poverty and racial injustice so matter-of-factly that it seems like a normal condition. The difference here is that the character who endures the nightmare is such a gentle soul who holds no grudges and never becomes like his tormentors.

Eric's life is perfect except that Eric is void of feeling. He goes through the motions of the lush life but doesn't participate. It's as though when Thomas walked out the door, he took Eric with him, leaving only his perfect body behind.

Through numerous twists of fate, which keep the reader slack-jawed, the boys reunite. Clearly, Thomas is the fortunate son, a true survivor. He took all the good things the world had to offer him and was able to endure misery after misery. He gets his brother back, and presumably a life devoid of horror. Eric on the other hand, who was handed life on a platter, is unchanged. He's happy to be reunited with Thomas, but will never have his lust for life.

Sports Bra Gone Bad

2011-10-19T07:32:00.003-04:00

Even the jaws of life couldn't extract me from this bra. After running a few miles, I returned to my apartment to shower and change for an appointment with my doctor. Removing sweaty, tight clothing is a challenge for me--it just won't budge. If Marty's around, I have him extract me from the sticking item, usually a bra. But this was mid-day, I was running late and so did the only thing I could think of to save the day.

I got the kitchen scissors and cut my way out.

If you look closely, I cut along a seam, thinking I might sew it one day. That'll be the day. I threw the damn thing in the trash, but it kept taunting me with its vivid color and mutilated strap. I decided to immortalize the offending bra here, reminding me that I am impatient, a slave to schedules, and quick to judge.

Bad girl. Bad bra. Bad to the bone.

Ah, Jeffersonville

2011-10-17T14:50:00.003-04:00

Harry and I were talking about how to write a literature paper. He's always gone with the reliable five-paragraph format: thesis, three supporting points, summation. He's taking his first college literature course, The Harlem Renaissance. His professor told him he needs to ditch the his usual format and be more free-flow. This makes for more interesting writing, but will it make sense?

If you're a writer, you know how to craft a story or essay. It's like building a house, which flows naturally from a blueprint that's embedded in your head. This is the Jack Kerouac approach. Had he had a word processor, he might have built different houses.

I always like fictional writing that has a few warts and blemishes. The structure isn't perfect; some words might be made up (but always understood); there's a seamlessness to the narrative that allows the reader to relax among the words. Creative non-fiction, a favorite genre of mine, just needs to make sense. You don't need a five-paragraph structure to do that. Just make sure that the house you're intending to build isn't a pot of soup.

In Jeffersonville, you can have conversations like this. Harry wrote his essay the way the professor suggested, even though it made him feel uncomfortable. We enjoyed the Fall weather, the house, the food, the company. We stayed for dinner Sunday, which we almost never do. I had a little time to read Infinite Jest (past page 300!), which is most-assuredly a house I enjoy visiting but wouldn't want to live in.

A Tree Grew on 80th Street

2011-10-11T16:41:00.003-04:00

Two months ago, this was a tree. A dead tree, but growing out of the cement, arching over the sidewalk, and causing much neck strain. The most astonishing thing about this tree was the pipe growing from its side. That's it on the right. I don't know if the tree grew into the pipe, or the tree was dead and the pipe was installed later on. Either way, it looks like it caused the tree's demise. At least now it's not in danger of falling down and doing damage. It's still a curiosity though.

A Time to Kvell

2011-09-22T15:45:00.004-04:00

Dune buggying in Peru

Mean streets on the Upper East Side

These are recent photos of my kids. Mariel is working in a slumburg of Lima, Peru for a year. Here you see her (always in control) driving the volunteers around a "desert oasis" some four hours from Lima. So far, she seems to be loving her experience there, noting that where she lives there's constant dirt everywhere. Like Pigpen, a cloud of it follows you around, and as soon as you step out of the shower, you're a dirt bag. She's learned how to play chess and to "fix" a broken refrigerator. She's perfecting her put-downs of creepy men on the street who try to engage her in conversation. She failed to learn this at Swarthmore.

That's Harry and Mark outside my apartment building, wearing Columbia blue. Harry spent the summer living with us, unable to find a job that didn't involve biking around the treacherous streets of Manhattan, delivering food. I nixed that idea and lived with the consequences. He's a lovely young man, but our apartment isn't that large, and he's used to his privacy and sloppy sprawl. Mark, who's in disguise, spent the summer road-tripping, doing odd jobs here and there (mostly in Maine) and training endlessly for the cross-country season. He dyed his hair black, because as a blond, his facial hair seemed non-existent. It's all shaved off now, but I do wonder what his next makeover will entail.

I didn't brag nearly enough. Next time.

Barcelona

2011-09-09T15:39:00.011-04:00

La Familia Sagrada cathedral, Gaudi re-design

Man and creatures by Gaudi on Las Ramblas

Gaudi building on Las Ramblas

This was my second visit to Barcelona, and again, I didn't wake up early enough to go inside the Gaudi Cathedral. The outside frippery is one thing (an magical); the inside is supposed to be spectacular. The architect took a Gothic cathedral, removed the light-blocking arches and filled the building with light. You must arrive by 7 am or stand on a line that's in the sweltering sun, patiently waiting behind 200 people. The trouble is, who can wake up so early in a city where you don't eat dinner until 10 pm? Mea culpa. La proxima vez.

The old city in Barcelona is not to be missed. Sure, it's touristy, but it's amazing to walk around the snaking streets that are either blocked to traffic, or not. There are several stores where you can find good prices and Made in Spain goods if you have time to look. Just a few of the specialties include leather, ceramics, and espadrilles. If you want another thrill, I recommend going to the beach and having lunch as you body-watch. You will see every body-type imaginable, mostly Europeans with a penchant for small swimsuits regardless of age. You can also tattoo-watch as it seems everyone in Barcelona is inked. After you've had your fill, you can walk to the sea and get your toes wet, go in up to your knees or totally immerse yourself in the warm green water.

Old City or Ciutat Vela in "Catalan"

I'm saving the best photo for last. As Mariel and I were walking back from a day spent beaching, shopping and endlessly walking, we stumbled upon this specialty store as we were waiting to cross the street. NB: Crossing the street in Barcelona is risky business. When the light turns red for pedestrians, you MUST stop unless you're already in the crosswalk. I could not get the hang of it after navigating New York City streets. Back to cocktails. Unfortunately, we only saw the stock in the window because the store was already closed. I wanted to buy my husband, who thinks he's William Powell to my Myrna Loy, a shaker or two. My husband prefers stirred to shaken by the way. I agree.

And yes, that's Ms. Fatso in front of the window, heavily inflated with tapas, red wine, and other things that are a lot less fun.

Shaken, not stirred

PJ's Books of Note

2011-09-07T11:09:00.002-04:00

Summer is over, astronomically speaking. I've already seen color in the Catskills, and I've worn pants and socks for 3 days.

I think I did a lot of reading this summer, but since I only record my thoughts here, I forget most of the titles. Here's a list that's most likely missing something.

Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel, a very good historic novel about not-so-merry Olde England circa 1500-1536.

State of Wonder by Ann Patchett, in which American drug researchers get tangled in the Brazilian jungle and are faced with interesting moral quandaries.

Zeitoun by Dave Eggers tracing one New Orleans family's nightmarish journey through the post Katrina landscape. If you believe half of what Eggers writes, you will be outraged, embarrassed, sickened and have less fear about "Terror" than about ourselves.

And yes, I'm beginning my third attempt to read Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace. The first time I tried, it was a library book that I could no longer renew. For some reason, I only got to page 80 or so. I bought a paperback copy so I could spend years reading it if necessary. The second attempt was last winter when I had big plans to read it while snow fell on maples. Twenty-five pages was all I could do. Last week, I picked up the 900+ page tome once again and considered sawing it into 3 or 4 sections that were more portable. Marty discouraged this idea because I'd lose pages, and I don't even want to miss a word.

I'm pleased to tell you I'm on page 91. The book is dense but not difficult, and it's hilariously funny. Review to come soon, whatever that means.

Country French

2011-09-06T08:27:00.004-04:00

Fleurs

Mariel and I flew through the night from NYC to Paris. I watched, jealously, as Mariel sat down and immediately went to sleep whereas I needed a little medical help to take a longish nap. Bleary-eyed, we arrived in Paris and took a bus to Gare du Nord where we meandered through the streets looking for a cafe where we could have lunch. We didn't have much time before we had to head back to the airport, but we wandered into a beautiful park outside a municipal building. On our way back to the bus, we did the obligatory stop at a cafe and for a much-needed libation. NB: a glass of red wine in Paris costs a lot less than a soft drink.

We arrived in Toulouse at 10:30 pm. Peter and Mecca picked us up at the airport and drove us to their house in the countryside. At this point, we were beyond exhaustion and happily fell into bed.

Over the next few days, we walked, talked, ate, drank, and tooled around the area. We went to a fair one evening where a traditionally-dressed dancing troupe from Gervais whirled around to the accompaniment of accordions, saxophone and guitar. We lunched one day in a quaint little village pictured in the collage below. You just don't get more French than this.

Photos by Mariel Feigen and Patricia Jempty

The photo of the swimming pool and long-distance view of the Pyrenees was taken at Chez Culbert-Ross. Mecca, who is an excellent cook, kept us well-fed with chicken and lamb during our relaxing stay. Peter, the host with the most, kept our glasses full and our minds humming with his encyclopedic knowledge.

Coming soon: Barcelona.

Vacation Reading

2011-07-11T13:49:00.003-04:00

I'm sitting next to the brook outside our house in Jeffersonville reading "Unbroken" by Laura Hillebrand. We spent 10 relaxing days there, with visits by Jim and Karen who flew in from Orlando, and Dianne and Sandy who drove in from their house in the Poconos with Sadie, a two-year old bouvier in tow. The weather was wonderful, and even the two rainy days were nice. On one of the rainy days, we had tropical downpours that transformed the brook into a roaring river of mud. It was amazing to watch. We'd seen something like this before, but this time, the water level went beyond anything we'd experienced. There was flooding all over the region, but we were high and dry.

All week, we ate, drank, and were very merry. Turbo enjoyed reclining in the grass and going for long walks. One night, Marty and I ate at the Welsh Cabin, four miles up the road. We had really good food, and the atmosphere was rustic, complete with antlers, animal rug hangings and three flat-screen TV's. Mostly, though, I cooked and we did a lot of grilling. We spent as much time as possible outside reading, talking, hammocking. We did some very minor home and garden projects. We knew vacation was over when we packed up all the trash and recycling and hauled it off to the transfer station.

Marty read a Tom Clancy novel and I finally finished "Unbroken," a non-fiction book about an Olympic-quality runner (4:14 mile in 1942) whose career is halted by World War II. He enlists in the Air Force and ships out to Hawaii. On one mission, his plane is shot down and crashes into the Pacific. Only three men survive and he is one of them. They spend 47 days on rafts with little water or food. Sharks and Japanese planes threaten to kill them but two survive long enough to find land, which turns out to be a Japanese-held island. The POW's are treated horrifically. It makes Abu-Graib seem like being sent to the corner for several minutes. The runner is liberated by US troops some two and a half years later. I don't want to give away what happens in the rest of his life (he's still alive). Much of it is disappointing, but he does manage to overcome his demons. Read it and weep.

Breaking News ...

2011-06-26T19:41:00.004-04:00

We no longer have 12 chairs! (See yesterday's post.) We pawned off 6 of them (the ones to the matching defunct table) at a consignment shop. We also ran a few other errands, buying a couple of ceiling fans and a shoe rack so we don't have trip over Marty's massive shoe collection.

After the work, we went for felafel and to see Midnight in Paris. If you are an English or an art lover or degree-holder, you will love this film. It's old-style Woody Allen, but he uses so many references to writers and artists, I don't know if the film would appeal to non-readers. Sorry to be snooty--I'm sure I didn't get every reference--but I want to save you money. Kathy Bates is perfect as Gertrude Stein. I wish T.S. Eliot didn't have such a cameo role. Woody's message: don't be a Miniver Cheevy.

The 12 Chairs

2011-06-23T15:45:00.008-04:00

The 4 new chairs.

3 old chairs.

Adopted chair with junk.

We have a lot of chairs. The photo on top shows our new dining room set which isn't a set at all, but an old pine trestle table with four new folding chairs. It's quite petite and really opens up our living area.

The second photo shows just a few of the chairs we have in the second bedroom/office. We could really get a good game of musical chairs going.

The third is the modernistic chair I found abandoned near the service area. I felt so bad for it, I brought it up to my apartment, scrubbed it all up and buried it under Mark's stuff from college.

There are a lot of chairs in Jeffersonville, too, about 18. The 6 from my old dinette set (shown in second photo, and matched to the ill-fated table)) are going to join those 18 and we will open a small theater.

Popcorn, anyone?

Spending Time with My Sons

2011-06-19T07:10:00.002-04:00

Mark spent three days alone in our country house. He wanted to see how it feels to be without human companionship, someone to make him food and shaping a day how he wanted it. This wasn't the wilderness of course. He had Internet, an X-box and his phone, which had no reception at the house but could get a few bars if you went up the hill. He survived on cereal, Harry Potter and taking walks. He even cooked himself some pasta and made omelets. He does a good job cleaning up, too.

Harry and I arrived Wednesday afternoon. I went into Mom mode, cooking dinner and washing dishes. The boys happily played on the X-box, just like in the old days. I was industrious; they were slugs. Big, hungry slugs. If I asked them to help me do something, they gladly obliged, but that was the extent of their activity. They did go on a run together, more to check their messages than anything else.

While they read and snoozed, I weeded an area of the garden and planted perennials. I re-did the mulch pile which keep getting attacked by animals. Now it's an open pile and seems to be mostly untouched. I guess the critters like their challenges, too. I ran, I went to yoga and I did a fair amount of shopping. I bought a summer outfit for $25 and shoes to match for $45. Embarrassing. I saw a sign for a huge garage sale to benefit the rebuilding of the Briscoe Dam. This place is amazing. I bought a Hudson Bay blanket for $10, a picture frame for $2, a white deck chair for $5, and odds an ends for 25-50 cents. It's going on all summer and gets its donations from estate sales, and folks just wanted to get rid of stuff. I'm going back to look for furniture. I thought about buying a Captain's Table but I thought too long. Someone else bought it while I was looking at a cheese slicer.

We had dinner at a great Thai restaurant, an oddity in a small town like Jeffersonville. A Thai woman does all the cooking and as I've said before, makes the best pad thai I've ever had. Even Mark liked the food, and he was hesitant about going there. As it was Friday night, I had a martini, which I've trained the bartender how to make. This time, it was perfect except warm. She came to the table and asked if it was as I liked it, and I said it was great except it wasn't cold enough could she bring me some ice? Mark and Harry were deeply embarrassed by this, thinking I should've had a warm martini. They will learn that when you get to be my age, anything less than perfect is unacceptable.

We drove back to NYC to celebrate Fathers Day. Mariel is coming and taking Marty to see Wicked. Then we'll all have dinner together. Mark started talking about marriage, how it's really dumb to get divorced because you spend so much money on the wedding and then you spend more on the divorce. Harry suggested it might be better not to marry, especially since it would be impossible to spend all your waking hours with one person. This is where I chimed in and said that couples spend lots of time apart, and can choose to have different friends and pursue different interests, and that this was healthy for most marriages. Then I thanked them for spending time with me because I mainly interact with people my own age, not college students.

We listened to Mark's ipod all the way home.

Table in the Woods

2011-06-15T06:55:00.003-04:00

We really and truly wanted to legally dispose of our dining room table. A few bites on craigslist, lukewarm interest from a consignment shop, but still the table sat in our apartment, filling most of the living area with its hugeness and making it impossible to complete our move because we don't know how we'll lay out the room.

Marty always liked this table. Even after a toilet overflowed above it and covered the top with water for hours, Marty nursed it back to health with a rag and lemon oil. I never liked the table and it hated me. When we moved to Rhode Island, we had to get a table because our shipment of household goods wouldn't arrive for a month. We went to a nearby furniture store, looked around for an hour and settled for the dining set that has been giving me so much agita. Several weeks after we purchased it, I went to sit on one of the commodious and sturdy-looking chairs only to have it collapse. I fell to the floor, unharmed and thankful it hadn't been a guest who'd taken the tumble.

We moved the set to our first New York City apartment where it took up space but seemed to work with the room's layout. When we moved to our current apartment, we realized it didn't fit very well. We saw a perfect drop-leaf table with four chairs one night at a thrift shop but when I returned the next day it was marked sold. I spent a lot of time in thrift stores the next few weeks looking for the perfect answer to the dining table blues. Antique stores would set me back $4000. Thrift stores carried furniture from the 60's paid for with S&H green stamps--remember those?

There is a store in Jeffersonville that has odd orange chairs around a table in the entryway. They are quite ugly but good conversation starters. They look like Gumby. They look like something on a Star Trek set. They will never sell but they'll sell everything else in the store because these bizarre chairs draw people in and start conversations. It was in this shop that I found my table. It was small, narrow and dark, a "harvest" table which would be more apropos in our farmhouse than our apartment. I put a deposit on it and brought Marty back the next day to see it. He was underwhelmed. We couldn't take this table until we removed the other one, so I spent the next week scouring shops in New York for similar ones, perhaps with "matching" chairs.

Last week, Marty took the legs off the table, and on Friday loaded it on the roof of our car. Two blankets and a tangle of bungee cords seemed to secure the table top. We discovered that driving faster than 50 miles per hour was a no-no. The trip took a little longer than usual due to the slow speed and stopping a few times to check on slippage. We were about 20 minutes from our house when it happened.

Words can’t do this justice. A car came to an abrupt stop in front of ours. Marty hit the brakes and the sound of moving furniture and then the sight of it flying off the roof and crashing on the road was jaw-dropping. The car in front escaped damage. I wonder if the driver even saw it. Marty and Mark jumped out to check the mangled table. The aprons were cracked, although the top looked okay. Our car had a few scratches and a windshield wiper looked funny, much like a broken arm. The table was now worthless unless you’re a fabulous carpenter. Marty, looking helpless, asked what he should do. I told him to chuck it into the woods along with the legs. We can’t do that. Oh yes we can.

The deed done, Marty and Mark climbed back into the car and we drove away. I burst out laughing. This was one of the funniest things I’d ever seen. Marty was less sanguine. We’d forgotten to toss the nuts and bolts to attach the legs, but it seemed like a moot point.

We’re still going to try to sell the chairs, which are huge. We’re going to have a yard sale in Jeffersonville this summer. We’ll sell them for a song, but first we have to safely transport them to the country. In the meantime, we went to the shop where our new table awaited. It is small, kind of chunky and 150 years old. A maximum of four people can sit at this table, uncomfortably. Marty and I, however, will be comfy and cozy. Last night, we had dinner with Harry and there was plenty of room.

Beware of flying tables and other hazardous objects, especially if you're headed to the Catskills and driving anywhere near our Subaru.

Odd Sightings in Jville

2011-06-06T15:16:00.002-04:00

You think that the little town of Jeffersonville would be all about Mom and apple pie. Marty and I have been observing some strange, quaint and ingenious happenings.

I have to mention the Poker Run, which we still don't understand. Motorcyclists from near and far wearing all their regalia come to eat donuts and coffee, play poker and then have a big BBQ. There were bikes and trikes and a sea of tattoos. Do-rags ruled the day. Marty observed there were no young bikers. Obviously it's an old man's sport. You need bucks to buy one of those machines.

Throughout the weekend we repeatedly saw a very large black man (not too many in this town) strolling around talking to himself and wearing a purple wide-brimmed hat. Harry had a a hat just like it when he decided to be a pimp for Halloween. This dude must have said hi to us a dozen times.

Marty saw a couple of teenage girls driving around on a golf cart watering the plants on Main Street. Next weekend is the Chalk Art Event in which anyone who wants to can draw on the sidewalks with chalk. Actual artists are involved and they sell their works on the street. This should be a fun event.

Just like NYC, only much much smaller.

Please Give

2011-05-31T22:01:00.003-04:00

I'm running the NYC Marathon in November in honor of Dori Brown. Please consider contributing to My effort through my TNT website. Thanks a million!

http://pages.teamintraining.org/nyc/nyc11/pjempty

Memorial Day

2011-05-30T07:06:00.003-04:00

Today's the day for remembering those who lost their lives defending this country. For the most part, it's a 3-day weekend that kicks off the summer season that includes BBQs washed down with beer, family gatherings, a cheerful goodbye to winter. I had a boyfriend in college and I went to spend Memorial Day weekend at his house in East Rochester. His mother had lost her husband and oldest son in WWII. Memorial Day was a big deal in this family. We did the BBQ thing, too, but it was a little more somber than most.

We arrived in Jeffersonville at 9 pm on Friday, a bit later than planned. We decided to eat out because it was so late. At the first restaurant, the kitchen was closed. At the second, they were just about to close but did our order. The Chinese restaurant stays open until 11pm but I had a bad experience there with shrimp toast.

I actually slept until 6:40, the equivalent of my son's noon. After some light work and a few errands, I went off to yoga. Then I had a massage. Limp as a dishrag , I hopped into our car and we drove to PA for a BBQ. We arrived to find 10 people who had started their warm-up drinking at 10 am. We had a lot of catching up to do. The food and company were great, and we left around 9:30.

Sunday was another hot and steamy day. I started with a 4-mile jog along the river, and collapsed in the hammock when I got back. Marty made me breakfast, and then we went to a garden center to pick up a few plants. After planting most of them, I took a long-awaited shower and we had lunch. The rest of the afternoon, I took it easy, reading the newspaper and my book.

Our neighbor Lorraine came for dinner and we had a nice time. She's an Israeli woman of Belgian background who was orphaned in WWII and eventually emigrated to Israel where she served as a combat soldier in the army. She spends half the year in Israel where she has a family, and half in Jeffersonville, from which she commutes to NYC and works as a lawyer in the Israeli government. Somehow, the topic turned to politics where she expressed her belief that Obama is a very bad president and terrible for Israel. She likes Mitt Romney. I explained that the American people would never elect him president because he's a Mormon. Mormons are too exotic for American tastes, even weirder than Catholics and Jews. Forget Muslims.

We drove Lorraine up the hill and made plans to see her in 2 weeks. I came home and had some chocolate. I was in bed by 10, awakened only by a thunderstorm that raged sometime in the night.

Sweating in the City

2011-05-25T07:16:00.004-04:00

Seattlle weather finally dissipated yesterday and we were treated to our first taste of summer in all its humid glory. I didn't hear too many complaints. Off came the fleece and rain shoes; on came the tank top and sandles.

Harry and I did a little retailing before heading to Gyro II, my favorite place for gyros since 1978. Then we steeled ourselves and went to the DMV. Harry's license expired when he turned 18 and he got a temporary one in December. The new one never made it to New York, and when I tried to call the RI-DMV, I got busy signals and hang-ups. So, armed with every document Harry possesses, we anxiously entered the land of barking DMV workers who have as much sympathy for their fellow humans as a tiger eviscerating its helpless prey.

We waited on line for an hour. Harry gave in his form, his temporary license (now also expired), his social security card and birth certificate. The clerk asked for Harry's RI driving record (whoops). We didn't have that doc. I suggested we use the orignal expired license and he agreed. Then he asked for a student ID and grades (!), a credit card (which he doesn't have) and something else. I suggested that perhaps his medical insurance card would do. Bingo! Another hour of waiting and we were finally called to a window to finish up the transaction.

The woman left for a minute--that made me nervous. When she returned, she asked Harry if he was 18. Duh, it only says it on the skatey eight pieces of ID he turned in. It was then we realized she was hearing impaired. She couldn't tell if a number was a 1 or a 7, and in addition to her speech being incomprehensible, she had a difficult time hearing what we said. To ask for payment, she presented us with a card that had the amount on it. I charged it, Harry got his temporary license and we were on our way, 2 hours later.

Two hours isn't such a bad wait. The DMV has streamlined its process over the years. The workers are the same, probably due to genetics.

We arrived home to find the water was still off (the tank was being replaced). I'd filled pots with water, so we were okay. I've certainly survived days without water before. I thought I'd have time to relax before my first workout with Team In Training, but I had to get to 72nd and Cenral Park so I had no choice but to grab a bottle of water, change and go. I decided to jog there. In a few blocks, I had a wardrobe malfunction--my bra unzipped. I dashed into a store and asked to use a dressing room. The clerk was amused. I arrived at the meeting spot 10 minutes late and they had already left for their warm-up run. I was all warmed up and ready to go.

We did some cross-training exercises, some stretching and some yoga poses, which I was pretty good at. I never did meet my team (there were hundreds of people there training for various events all over the country) but I did receive my TNT jersey which says New York City Chapter on front. That was a proud moment for me. I thought, I'm home.

Euphoria Begins With a Good Night’s Sleep

2011-05-21T13:55:00.002-04:00

After eight hours of shut-eye (one on the couch), I got up and followed my usual morning rituals of meds, coffee, checking my email and seeing if the world was going to end today. For the latter I turned to the Times. Stay tuned …

I wrote a dull post on my other blog, read more of the Henrietta Lacks book and then had reconstituted homemade banana bread and a cranberry muffin, finishing the coffee. Then I walked into town and got the mail, and went to Peck’s for a few things I needed for dinner tonight. Doug is joining me.

Yoga was next. I admit that I’m not a very good yogaist. I can’t disconnect my mind no matter how I breathe or which twisted agonizing position I force my body into. Today was different. Today I didn’t think about what I’d be eating for lunch and dinner, what I’d be doing next week or how I was going dig myself out from under a pile of debt. I was floating in the moment, my mind a blank. This lasted for one and a half hours. Nirvana was mine.

What a breakthrough. I wish I could repeat this at home when I’m trying to sleep and my mind is flitting about like a butterfly on steroids. I’m going to try for a little more euphoria when I have my hour massage later.

After that, I plan to sit back and enjoy the ideal weather and calming brook sipping an ice-cold martini and wondering if Doug will serve the dinner.

Jville Wears Green

2011-05-16T07:15:00.003-04:00

We drove up to the country Friday and only had a little traffic on the FDR to the GWB. This was our first trip in our new car, a graphite gray Subaru outback with black leather interior and every bell and whistle you can imagine. It was getting dark as we arrived, so we couldn't see the yard. We unloaded and started on dinner, spaghetti and white clam sauce. I fell asleep at the table, while Marty went into the living room and crashed on the couch. I put the perishables away and went to bed.

What a surprise in the morning to look outside and see how lush and beautiful everything was, just spring in neon green with touches of color from the blooming trees and small flowers carpeting the edges. It was raining, but that only made the brook more vociferous.

I went to yoga and picked up a book at the library, the Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks. Marty installed pantry shelves, and we geared up for guests. Doug came with his crew and plenty of ice, limes and tonic. We had ensalada caprese and spanikopita to start. Well, there wasn't any spinach in the spanikopita because they were really knishes. It became the running joke of the evening, harking back to an earlier mix-up where Doug was going to make ice cream in his ice cream maker and there was a bug zapper in the box instead. Dinner was great, grilled veal chops with spice rub, shrimp on the barbie and asparagus risotto. We took a walk to town after dinner and had ice cream, then returned to the house for coffee and German butter cake. A new German bakery opened in town and they bake whole grain rye bread and yummy pastries.

I called Mark to see how he did at his track meet. He'd run a PB, 3:43 in the 1500. He's ranked 9th in the Eastern region and 30th in the country. He also proudly reported his grades: 2 B's, 2 B+'s and an A in Spanish. He's one happy boy and I'm a very proud mom.

Sunday was more of the same weatherwise. I painted a curio cabinet we'd found on the street near our old apartment, we put a deposit on a "harvest table" for the apartment and picked up some things for lunch.

We went to the gym when we got back to NYC. Marty did a spinning class and I biked for an hour. We ordered in pizza and watched part of the Yankee game. I went to bed when they were losing 5-4

The Best Laid Plans

2011-05-08T06:50:00.003-04:00

We made it to the train just in time. We were going to New Haven, CT to watch Mark run in the Ivy League Championships. Our luck was running, as the highway we would've driven on was closed. Oscar the taxi driver took us to the Stadium after getting lost (we even tried Spanish--he's Cuban), but even then we couldn't make him understand us. He gave us his card and told us to call for the return trip, he was desperate for business.

A sunny day soon turned threatening. We'd already seen and chatted with Mark and his teammates, when lightning struck. The track and stands had to be cleared and everyone was told to go into the baseball stadium which they'd deemed more secure. There we sat for hours, waiting for the third and final cell to pass by. This three hour delay wasn't good for the runners and made us nervous about our evening plans, which included a 7 pm pick-up to go to a Russian nightclub in Brooklyn where we were meeting a group of friends.

Heat 1 of the 1500 meter race went off, and lightning struck again. Mark was in heat 2. Argh! We trudged to the baseball stadium. Suddenly someone said: the race started! We' already missed lap one. We ran to the finish line area and cheered Mark on through the last 3 laps. He lead the whole way, but eased up at the end and took 2nd, qualifying for today's final.

We knew at that point we weren't going to be drinking vodka with our friends, so we called and canceled. We also called Oscar to pick us up, but he was off duty. Oscar's not going to make it in New Haven. We called Metro Cab at the advice of a police officer. They called back and said our car was waiting for us, but we didn't see one. Then this little girl and her Dad walked by. We'd spoken with this adorable child, whose name is Mary, so she smiled and said hello. Her dad then offered to take us to the station. Turns out that his nephew was in Mark's heat"Speedy Stevie" and had come in 1st.

We had almost an hour until our train so we went for a nosh at Sbarro's. We had chicken wings and some beer. We also realized the Kentucky Derby would be on TV so we asked they change the channel. We got to see the entire race. This was fun, although without the mint juleps we'd planned to have, it wasn't quite as atmospheric.

Home by 9, we picked up Chinese menus along the way. Marty walked Turbo, and came back to make the Juleps which we drank listening to jazz. We had delicious dumplings delivered and watched the news. I crashed at 11:30. Marty slept in his chair for a while. He still has dishes to do.

Back to New Haven in a couple of hours. We're meeting Harry and Mariel there and spending Mother's Day together. New Haven is reporting a 30% chance of showers ...

New Woods

2011-05-02T15:11:00.002-04:00

We moved Thursday to our new 31st floor apartment on the Upper East Side. Like David Byrnes, I wonder: How did I get here?

A few fun facts about my new neighborhood:

More restaurants than I ever thought possible.
Parking is not so bad.
Services are awesome. You can basically get anything you want at any time.
It's not ethnically diverse but it is age diverse, something many NYC neighborhoods are not.
It's cheaper than my old neighborhood.
The library is 2 blocks away, which is where I'm writing this.

A few not-so-fun facts:

Verizon doesn't serve my building so I have no phone, internet or cable. Worse, they canceled my email account.
You can easily get fat here and must join a gym. Yoga at my new gym is really hard, like you have to be a yogic master to not kill yourself.

Being out of the Ground Zero hub-bub is welcome. Last night, we never would have slept. All those hipsters with a good excuse to get bombed on Sunday night. I didn't get the news until early this morning when I was able to filch an internet connection from a neighbor.

I have to polish my pearls and get my face lifted, perhaps buy a lap dog. Really, dahling.

Rhode Island Roots

2011-04-26T07:29:00.004-04:00

We pulled up the long snaking driveway to our old house Saturday afternoon. The only thing in bloom was the forsythia hedge. Inside the house it was freezing. I left Marty to install smoke detectors while I went off to do some errands. I bought a huge bag of dog food, some cheese and a soft-serve ice cream. Of course you can get these things in NYC but they're way more expensive.

Next, it was off to Gold Farm where we were staying for the next two nights with David and Marcia Gold. I took a nap while Marty and David had a nice visit. We had dinner plans in Providence at Bacaro's, the Gold's favorite restaurant. Mariel joined us. Dinner was great. I even had a fried smelt. Just one because it wasn't so good.

On Sunday, we finished cleaning out the house. Marty drove back to NYC. Mariel picked me up and we went for coffee and then dinner at a vegetarian/vegan restaurant. The food was delicious. Mariel drove me back to the Gold's where I spent another deeply slumberous night.

Marcia took me to my friend Sue's house in East Greenwich because we had plans to go out for breakfast. She'd forgotten about out date so Marcia took me to my friend Patty's house. We had breakfast and did some shopping. My broker was supposed to pick me up for closing at 3 but never showed. When I called him, he told me the closing was tomorrow. What? I had dinner at Patty's and then we went to play mah jongg.

So today's the day. At least I think it is.

4:04 !

2011-04-23T07:20:00.003-04:00

Mark ran the mile at Princeton last night, a personal best of 4:04. He told us he was running the 1500 meter because he didn't want to get us too excited. In a rabbited race of 8 competitors, Mark placed 4th, coming from behind, his favorite tactic. I'm still shaking.

Today we head to Rhode Island to walk around 355 Moosehorn, say goodbye to neighbors and install a few smoke alarms. Closing is Monday. I can't wait,

It's 12:12 PM and I Need a Nap

2011-04-16T12:12:00.004-04:00

I've been up for 6 hours but it feels like 6 days. After coffee and computer-gazing, Marty and I went to the gym. We were both feeling fat from our Chinese feast with Mark and Harry, topped off by red velvet cake. We came back and had another round of delicious calories. I put Marty to work on packing up one of our gargantuan walk-in closets while I tried to do Harry's financial aid forms. There's always some glitch and today was no different. The pin wouldn't work. Well, it's done but for that. After showering, I decided I needed to get out for fresh air to clear my head.

I walked to Duane Reade to pick up a prescription and then stopped off to have my nails done. I almost tipped over in my chair. I returned home to Marty sweating after his shower. He got dressed and went off to Queens to pick up his turntable and have lunch with Andria and Scott.

When I couldn't do a banking transfer, log on to my health insurance or get my new pin to work I gave up and woke Harry who's recovering from mono. I made him strong coffee, asked which of 3 identical movies he wanted to see (Insidious, Limitless, Source Code) and sat down to write this. Maybe I'll nap at the movies, although there's likely to be too many explosions.

Al Fresco

2011-04-14T11:12:00.002-04:00

The trees aren't in bloom yet but it's 60 degrees and sunny, enough reason to be outside writing. After raking sticks, walking the dog and looking around for new growth, I dragged a chair outside and wrote some emails. I arrived Tuesday when it was cold and rainy. I thought I wouldn't have to turn up the heat but it was just too cold. I ran a few errands, had a massage and came home for a long hot bath. What a life.

Wednesday wasn't much better. I took my van in for an oil change, stocked up on groceries for the next week and did a lot of writing on my Costa Rica book. As of today, it's all done except for two essays I need to finish. With a few adjustments, it'll be agent-ready.

Today I head back to Manhattan early. Marty and I are being interviewed by a co-op board member to see if we are suitable residents for their hallowed building. Should I wear pearls? Then we're heading to the Irish pub across the street to celebrate. More at 11.

Pinafore and Pio Pio

2011-04-11T18:53:00.003-04:00

Yesterday, we joined two friends to see H.M.S. Pinafore at the Barrio Theater. We've seen Pinafore before, even have the record. It's one of the most tuneful and erudite dialogues of any play I've ever seen. It's hard not to sing along. Costumes were gorgeous; singing was fabulous; production was perfect.

After Pinafore we cabbed it to Pio Pio, a Peruvian restaurant on the West Side. We had Pisco sours and delicious food. I spoke Spanish with a Peruvian woman, who thought the weather was cold and that Machu Picchu was too touristy.

No guinea pig on the menu, but classic cerviche dishes, lots of fresh fish and chicken. It was a great day in New York.

The Elephant on the Roof

2011-04-08T08:05:00.002-04:00

We won't need Freud to analyze this dream.

I was looking up on the roof when something caught my eye. It was the slightest movement by the stone elephant perched where the chimney would normally be. I looked away, focusing on making sandwiches for the kids. Then I heard a loud noise resembling a rock slide. I looked up to see the elephant's trunk break free from the statue. Slowly, it came to life and started running all over the roof, trashing it.

Our house in Rhode Island needs a new roof. We're getting estimates as I write. It's being ruined by the elements and old age. My dream roof is being wrecked by an elephant stampede. It should be cheaper to replace the real roof.

Weekend Wonders

2011-04-04T14:18:00.002-04:00

Friday, we drove to Princeton, NJ to watch Mark run the 5000m. The traffic was mind-numbing, and we arrived with 15 minutes to spare. It was seriously cold on the track. We huddled in a blanket and cheered the Lions on. Mark came in 3rd at a PB of 14:25. After the race, we went over to congratulate him, only to meet an old running buddy of Mark's, now at Boston College. Running the second heat of the 5000m was Nick Ross, Mark's running partner and son of East Greenwich friends.

Saturday, we left the apartment early and drove to Douglaston, Queens. More traffic psychosis. We were bringing two turntables in for estimates. We only have five turntables at the moment, three of which actually work. Then we drove to Mahwah, NJ to see Harry run the 5000m. It was a little chilly, with a brisk wind. Lunch consisted of hot dogs. It was great to see Harry. We also saw two other Rhode Island runners. Harry didn't finish his race due to a pain in his hip. On the way home, we went to Stop & Shop where we went wild scooping up deals. We must be nuts to get so excited over buying paper towels, seltzer, tonic water and Bitter Lemon, a rare mixer Marty hasn't been able to find in 15 years. The drive home was sensible.

We were starving so we immediately had cheese and crackers and cocktails. Home-made meatball heroes were our dinner.

Sunday, we again got up early and after eating our Queens-bought bagels, hopped on the subway to look at apartments on the Upper East Side. We walked for hours, becoming demoralized at non-availability and high rent. Finally, a broker we'd contacted called us. We saw one apartment in our price range. I was the most impressed by the view from the 31st floor. Other amenities include a doorman, a rooftop garden, a new kitchen, 800 square feet of space, air conditioning and good closets. If approved by the owner (it's a condo), we'll move in May 1st.

Dinner was a success. Doug joined us. The menu? Tortilla pie appetizer, beef braised in beer, perogin, salad, baguette and lemon-lime custard. I crashed around 9:30, but a wild party on our floor woke me at 1 or so. Marty went out to walk Turbo and they began screaming about his cuteness. Turbo's.

Oysters, Scallops, Octopus, Lobster, Black Bass, Monkfish

2011-03-29T07:07:00.004-04:00

That's what we feasted on last night at Le Bernadin. Known for its inventive fish preparations, fine service, and exquisite prices, the restaurant holds a special significance for us. It was the site of our 3rd anniversary dinner many moons ago.

We had a reservation last summer on our anniversary but it was canceled due to a power outage at the restaurant. We went somewhere else instead. A recent confluence of celebratory events worth spending a little cash for encouraged me to make a reservation at Le Bernadin. If I wanted to dine there before my next anniversary, however, I'd have to wait months for a weekend spot. I took a Monday evening instead, only 3 weeks in advance.

When we arrived, the Maitre 'D welcomed us and referred to our canceled reservation. When we sat down, we were offered reparatory glasses of champagne. After taking a course on how to order from the prix fixe menus, we requested our signature cocktails, which were made perfectly according to our elaborate instructions. The waiter brought over the bread basket which offered a choice of 6 different items. I just wanted something to put the butter on. I just wanted to eat the butter, likely produced by the happiest cow in the French countryside. The first course was raw. Marty had oysters with 6 levels of spice and I had sea scallops in a tangy emulsion of I forget. The barely cooked second course was fried octopus for Marty in a sauce so complex you need several high degrees to understand it. I had plain old lobster medallions with hearts of palm and a citrus sauce. Marty chose the crispy black bass for his main course. I had the monkfish. At this point we were so blissful, we could have been served a can of Fancy Feast and been delighted. I almost forgot: Marty had a glass of red with his dinner and I had white, I believe a chardonnay.

Dessert was small and rich. Marty had the coffee construction carefully built from 4 or 5 coffee-flavored components. It was a work of art that tasted good, too. I had the chocolate peanut tart with a tiny scoop of lemony ice cream. The waiter brought us a lemon tart with "Happy Anniversary" written in chocolate, a nice touch.

We walked out into the chilly Manhattan night and took the subway home. Who could afford a taxi after that dinner? Plenty of people but not us.

Sold!

2011-03-23T16:38:00.003-04:00

The albatross is no more. We sold our house in East Greenwich to the lowest bidder, the only bidder. Unless you count the higher bid we spurned a year ago.

The house has been vacant since September. In addition to paying the mortgage, taxes, electric and oil bills, we have the anxiety of worrying about leaks, trees hitting the house, flooding--the usual suspects. Recently, my insurance agent informed me that a vacant house requires different and expensive insurance. Our total costs have been running about $3500 per month. Ouch.

We're due to close on or around April 26. I haven't been to the closings of my last two houses so this will be a treat. If I'm lucky, I'll get to see the crab apple tree in bloom one more time.

Snow Different

2011-03-21T14:05:00.003-04:00

For the first time since December, there's no snow in Jeffersonville. The brook is flowing freely and there is no mud. There would be mud, but it's still too cold for that. It was 20 degrees Saturday night.

We began the weekend on the Upper West Side where we met Mark for dinner. The food was excellent. I had pappardelle noodles with wild mushrooms and black truffles, washed down with a fruity Riesling. Mark had lamb chops from lamb raised on the owner's farm. Marty had a trendy and delicious thin-crust pizza. Then, it was off to the country.

As soon as the house warmed up, I went to bed. I slept until 7:30! I did the usual morning rituals and headed out to yoga at 10. It was a great class. I walked home and got Marty for a trip to the market. While inside Pecks', my cell phone rang. It was the masseuse someone had recommended. The call was dropped so I went outside and she called me back. We made an appointment for next weekend. Do you know where I'm located? Look past the fire department and look for a woman waving. I waved back. I love this town!

I took a nap while Marty read. Then it was time for tea and babka, followed by cocktails and hors d'doeuvres, followed by grilled rib steak, baked potatoes and asparagus with home made hollandaise sauce. I didn't have lemon so I used grapefruit juice. Here's the recipe:

3 egg yolks
1/4 cup butter
juice of one lemon or other citrus fruit

Melt butter
Put yolks in blender and mix for a minute
Add the butter in a steady stream
Add the lemon and mix well
Salt and pepper to taste

After dinner, we watched the Graduate, a cult film at Swarthmore, and as Harry says, dark. We went outside to see the full moon, which as the whole world knew was the closest to earth in 19 years.

Sunday was filled with reading, writing, eating and doing laundry, which we neatly folded and inexplicably left behind. Fortunately, we're going up again next weekend.

Tectonic Plates

2011-03-15T07:23:00.002-04:00

I've mentioned my interest in tectonic plates. You might think it's a dry subject but it's quite explosive. I'm not at all interested in the death and destruction aspect of moving and shifting plates; I'm interested in why it happens.

Every time there's a big one, the media, everyday people and the doomsayers get on the same page. The experts are asked: will this happen again soon? Answer: maybe. Average Joe says: Boy there have been a lot earthquakes around the world. Guess we'll have another one soon. The Apocalypse now fold assures that it's coming soon as punishment for our sins.

The earth is made up of plates that shift. They cover a ball of fire. When the plates move, they left off steam, usually with no damage. Every so often, a volcano erupts in a big way. I've seen a number of volcanoes erupting and shooting hot lava into the sky. When tectonic plates move in such a way that a large amount of energy escapes, you get an earthquake. The strongest one I've experienced was a 7.1 that lasted for 40 seconds, nothing compared to the Japanese quake of 8.9 that lasted 2.5 minutes.

One more piece of plate info: plates can shift side to side, as the do along the San Andreas fault in California, or they can move under and over each other as they did in Japan. Either way, they can be highly destructive.

That's your lesson for the day.

To the people of Japan, my thoughts are with you.

Five Alarm Buffalo Wings

2011-03-11T11:33:00.007-05:00

Marty tried to kill Harry and me last night. The chicken wings could be classified as "suicidal," the hottest there is in the Buffalo wing hierarchy. Why? Because he likes them that way, and the last few times he cooked wings he'd toned down the sauce for the wusses in the group. Thanks, pal.

Marty and I met at the State University of New York at Buffalo. Spicy chicken wings were invented at Frank and Theresa's Anchor Bar. They were served free at the bar to encourage steady drinking. No amount of drinking could quell the lip pain elicited from eating Marty's maniacal version of this bar food. Harry said milk is best with spicy food, but a glass of that didn't put out the fire. The classic side dish, celery and blue cheese dressing, didn't help much either. I was done after just 7 wings. Harry and Marty finished the rest because they're manly men. It's been said that Marty eats like a Mexican, meaning he likes his food fiery. He puts hot sauce on almost everything. Maybe his taste buds have been dampened.

If Marty offers to make you chicken wings, be sure and say you like them mild or medium. Some like it hot, but his idea of hot is torture.

The Boys at Becco

2011-03-10T07:05:00.004-05:00

Last night we went to Becco, an Italian restaurant in the theater district. Marty wanted to being Mark and Harry there because they have an all you can eat pasta special, and they can eat a lot of pasta.

For $22, you get a choice of Caesar salad or antipasto and pasta. Last night's three offerings included a spicy red sauce with chopped basil on a bed of taglietelle, gnocchi made with bel paese cheese in a rich cream sauce and shrimp sauteed with olive oil over linguine topped with bread crumbs. The guys all got seconds and liked the red sauce the best. I limited myself to one portion and preferred the shrimp dish.

After scarfing down fresh biscuits for breakfast (recipe from The Joy of Cooking which I just purchased a new copy of), Harry and I headed for The Museum of Natural History. Harry had just finished reading Catcher in the Rye and said that it was one of Holden Caufield's favorite places to go because there's a certain permanence to these exhibits. We also discussed our impressions of the book, which Harry noted was about teenage angst. He also said he identified with J.D. Salinger's most famous character.

We spent 2+ hours at the museum, making sure to see the enormous suspended whale and the dinosaur exhibit. Harry wanted to see the native American Indian exhibit because that was Holden's favorite. He also wanted to see the Asian Peoples exhibit since many of his friends are from that neck of the woods. We decided to get authentic New York pizza after that and found an Original Famous Ray's. There are 100 original Rays in NYC, but Harry claims his favorite is Not Rays in Fort Greene, Brooklyn. Harry had two slices: a plain (because you have to start with a plain) and an everything. I wanted the fresh mozzarella and tomato pizza even though it came on a whole wheat crust. Whole wheat may be healthier, but pizza should always be on a white crust. We also shared an order of garlic knots.

Now that I've talked about food ad nauseum, I'd like to end with coffee. A most disturbing article in today's New York Times says that coffee production in Colombia is down due to climate change. Colombia produces and exports arabica beans which are apparently more climate-sensitive than those produced in Africa and Indonesia. If you want to read more about this unsettling situation click here. All the coffee I buy is produced in Costa Rica by Cafe Britt. I buy in bulk so I save on price and get free shipping. I'm willing to pay more for Britt. I just enjoyed a rich cup of the the light roast.

Flood Watch

2011-03-07T08:12:00.002-05:00

Marty stood at the back door all day yesterday watching in amazement as the usually serene Laundry Brook, due to snow melt and persistant rain, morphed into a raging river of mud. A huge rock he kept his eye on completely disappeared within an hour or two.

He checked the basement, which only had a little moisture near one of the edges. It's a dirt and cement affair with nothing of value in it. It was once used as a root cellar. We joked all day about fleeing the scene, which isn't at all funny since people do lose their houses (and their lives) to flooding. According to our broker, Laundry Brook has never overflowed its banks. There's always a first time.

I checked the weather today in Jeffersonville and there was snow in the report, one to three inches. That would be a pretty sight to see, a raging river of muck with snow falling soundlessly into it.

Marty starts his new job today. He's a little nervous, but I know he's going to do just fine, especially if he can keep in mind our picturesque country house.

Chowing Down in the Catskills

2011-03-05T08:35:00.002-05:00

Our Jeffersonville house is near an all-inclusive resort called Villa Roma. They have a hotel, time shares, golf course (or "gulf" course as they call it), all kinds of sports, and different types of dining. It's in a lovely setting, and I've always wanted to go up there and explore it. I never expected much, but I figured the food was worth trying, once.

Harry, who's on Spring Break and whom we'd picked up at Vassar, was up for Italian food. We arrived around 6:30 and a valet jumped out and asked if we were registered. We told him we just wanted to have dinner. He'd apparently never heard of a non-guest dining there. Uh-oh. He double checked that it was alright and then led us to the dining room which was so bright I could've used my sunglasses. Harry said it reminded him of the banquet hall he worked in in Rhode Island.A large group from the Hauppaugue, Long Island Realtors Association came in and started giving toasts and speeches. Tomorrow night they were having a masked ball, costumes optional.

We were given menus which had no prices. The prix-fixe dinner included 5 courses. We tried to guess how much this was going to cost per person.

I started with antipasto, which wasn't bad. Then I had lobster bisque which was actually quite good. The salad was anemic but at least went beyond iceberg. My main course was an eggplant dish, a melanzane preparation. This was quite good if a little salty. For dessert, I had the lemon merengue tart. I washed it all down with a glass of nondescript pinot noir.

We got the bill and were happy with the charge which turned out to be wrong. They'd only charged us for 2 meals. Maybe kids ate free? No, we'd gotten someone else's check. Marty and Harry said we should tell our waiter because the mistake would come out of his pay. They're better than I. Total cost was $30 per person. I'd said it would be $19.95. It was worth it.

It's going to be a long time before I'm hungry again. I'm not sure I'll ever return to Villa Roma, but I have no complaints.

Just Kids

2011-03-02T07:25:00.004-05:00

I just finished the Patti Smith's National Book Award winning memoir based on her relationship with photographer Robert Mapplethorpe. Compared to Keith Richards, Smith is a saint. Not so much Mapplethorpe who died of AIDS in 1989. He used drugs freely and loved the seedy side of town. Reading this book right after the Richards autobiography made rethink my dream of becoming a rock star. It's amazing Richards is still alive. Smith offers a healthier model for stardom.

Smith writes beautifully if humorlessly about her life. She's so serious. Even the photos in the book show a glum woman. Maybe she has bad teeth. I've always identified with Smith because her name is Patti and she's a rock and roll icon in NYC. Once, we went to CBGB's on the Lower East Side. We were standing on line waiting to get in and the person behind me mentioned he'd seen Patti Smith there last week. I said she was named after me. He was so stoned he believed me. Smith is actually older than I am. CBGB's is closed now; it was quite the dive. The music was so loud on the night we went, Marty had to leave. I found him outside clutching his ears claiming he couldn't hear. Maybe that's why he can never hear what I'm saying.

In the late 80's, Patti Smith married a rock star and had two children. Mapplethorpe died in 1989. The book is an homage to him. It's also filled with Smith's poetry and lyrics, which make the book even richer. If she ever gives a concert in New York, I plan to go.

I Love Food

2011-02-28T08:04:00.004-05:00

You know I love coffee, but do you know how much I love food? I'm obssessive about it actually, often planning what I'll eat for the day or the week. I'm not a foodie. I will eat a street hot dog. Give me those preservatives anyday.

This was a stellar weekend for food. It started on Friday evening with leftover beef braised in beer served over noodles. This was a recipe I got from a cookbook by Lidia Bastianich who owns a number of restaurants here in New York. My friend Doug loves her and says anything braised in anything is always delicious.

Saturday morning it was the classic heart clogger, bacon, eggs and buttered toast. The toast was whole grain. For lunch, I met Marty near the Armory where Mark was running and we had gyros in a small diner. The best gyros are had at Gyro II on 7th Avenue near 34th Street. Their sauce is the yummiest. We have a good gyro place two blocks away from our apartment, and also one in Jeffersonville, which I think is my second favorite because the pita's so good. Burp.

We stopped in Chinatown on the way home to buy shrimp. We got off the subway on the west end of the district and wended our way to the food area. Did you know you can buy anything and everything in Chinatown, legal and otherwise? We bought a ppund of shrimp for $4.80 and I turned it into a lovely p0asta dish with a pink sauce over linguine. We should have bought the larger shrimp, though as these cooked too fast and weren't as tender as we like them.

H & H bagels served as our breakfast on Sunday morning. We headed back up to the Armory to watch more racing. This is where my food cart ran off the rails. I had a bag of Cheetos and then a strawberry smoothie to banish the the chemical taste. When I returned to my apartment, I ate a slice of chocolate cake (store bought but good) washed down with a glass of milk. Marty had already left for Florida to visit his mom so I ate alone, a crisp quesidilla filled with refried beans, corn, tomato and cheddar cheese. Plenty of hot sauce, too.

How do I eat like this and stay thin? Metabolism, exercise and an obsessive tendency to weigh myself every day. If I go up a pound or two, I simply eat a little less. Go ahead, hate me.

Tattoo

2011-02-23T07:39:00.005-05:00

No, I'm not thinking of getting a tattoo, but if I were to subject myself to that kind of torture, I'd go for a small coffee cup strategically placed so my mother-in-law can't see it.

I came to coffee rather late in life, at the ripe old age of 22. Until then, I drank only tea. When I started going to all-night diners and realized coffee refills were free, I tried my first cup. Until then, I associated the aroma of coffee with the stench of cigarettes. I drank my first cup black no sugar, which is how I drink it today.

The first thing I do every morning is brew a double shot of Costa Rican coffee in my Saefco machine. Mmmm. That first sip of black jolts me into awareness while relaxing me at the same time. I may have another cup or two during the day, but nothing tastes like that first cup.

I just finished a novel called The Coffee Diaries by Caroline Kellems. The story takes place in Guatemala and involves a woman trying to decide whether to sell the family coffee farms. Corruption, murder and drugs contrast with delicious food, the ties of family and friendship, and of course, cup after cup of Guatemalan coffee. I traveled to Guatemala in 1999 from my home in Costa Rica. Kellem's book mentions much of what I saw and experienced. Better, it confirmed what I remember about Central American climate, culture and ways of doing things that make sense but seem so foreign to someone from the US. To build a fence in poorer countries, they cut down trees to use as posts and then run barbed wire between them. My Nicaraguan gardener was good at this.

As I write my book about living in Costa Rica, it's good to have my memory jogged. I've forgotten so much.

Would you get a coffee cup tattoo? Where?

Heading Back to NYC

2011-02-17T11:31:00.002-05:00

My idyll is nearly over. I return to NYC this afternoon where I will try to find a parking spot. Yes, I worry about parking even when it's 100 miles and hours away.

I did a lot of proofreading this morning. I'll be sending five sample stories to the agent. Some I haven't read in many years. They're funny, and needed little correction, although I sent them to my husband whose cruel eye will uncover my mistakes.

Keith is almost finished. I'm reading about the tensions with Mick. It's starting to sound like a broken record.

There's not much to bring back. Turbo, my laptop and clean laundry. I bought veal cutlets to make for dinner. In NYC, I can't afford them.

I'm Melting

2011-02-16T16:05:00.003-05:00

Last night, it went down to 12 degrees. Today, it's 45. Even so, there's no way I can chip the ice away without the proper equipment. My other shovels are trapped in the garage, which can't be opened because it's blocked by snow. The plastic shovel just won't do.

Instead of shoveling, I went jogging. It was beautiful. I also picked up Turbo's prescription dog food. I sure hope he likes the stuff because it costs an arm and a leg.

Time for confession. I went to the library to return a book and left with three more. One doesn't count because it's a cookbook. But I picked up two more novels, one by Chang-rae Lee (I just finished Aloft, and it's beautifully written) entitled The Surrendered, and one by Caroline Kellems called The Coffee Diaries. I've already started The Coffee Diaries, which is about an American woman and the coffee farms she inherits from her father. I have about 100 pages to go in the Keith Richards book, and I also started Just Kids by Patti Smith. Please shoot me now.

I've written another story today about my Costa Rica days. I just got an email from an agent who read my proposal and wants to see an outline and some samples. This is the first positive response I've received for a book proposal. I've had essays published, but writing a book would be wonderful to do in J-Ville.

J-Ville On My Own

2011-02-15T13:20:00.003-05:00

I'm in the woods for three days, just me and Turbo. The drive here was effortless. I stopped at the Post Office and the supermarket. It's snowed a lot more since we were here two weeks ago, and it's so cold, I had to trudge through crunch mounds to the side door, which had a pile of snow in front of it. I managed to wrench open the door and went inside to turn on the heat. After unloading the car, I went back in and turned on the water. The butler brought me lunch. I plan to take a nap in a little while.

Maybe I'll shovel snow later. I'm not going anywhere though. Tonight it's going down to 9 degrees. If it warms up tomorrow, I may go out and see what I can carve out. Or maybe not.

Men and Steak

2011-02-10T07:11:00.004-05:00

What did Jamie Lee Curtis say to the waiter at Delmonico's Steakhouse? I'll take the Activia on the side.

Last night, we took our son Mark to this venerable restaurant for his birthday. He had requested a steak dinner, so we thought why not go to a top-notch locale that specializes in serving up rare chunks of meat? It did not disappoint.

Conveniently located near our apartment in the Bull and Bear District, Delmonico's is a bastion of old-world men's clubbiness replete with dark woods, low lighting and murals depicting the restaurant's storied past. I wondered where the cigar room was. Could it be over there in the "Board Room?" Among other things, Delmonico's is famous for the Delmonico cut of steak, Baked Alaska and Eggs Benedict. Only the strong survive this kind of feeding frenzy.

We all chose the 20 oz. Delmonico steak. It appeared on a plate with three fingerling potato slices and a half dozen carrots and haricots vert. Charred on the outside, rubbed with salt and something or other, this aged dowager (food is female) was cooked as we had requested (and as you get it anyhow), medium rare. Tender does not begin to describe the texture of the juicy slab that sits on your plate, daring you to eat the whole thing. The men at my table did just that. I ate about half and brought the rest home from which I will enjoy two more meals.

The Baked Alaska wasn't what I was expecting. I'd had it once before on a cruise to Alaska where they served it flambé and didn't drizzle banana sauce around the concoction. The Delmonico's version was too sweet and topped with a frightening glob of meringue.

I would recommend this restaurant to anyone who wants a true New York experience, has money to flambé and a doctor's note. Due to my prudence, I suffered no postprandial indigestion. I took a double dose of cholesterol medication and fell asleep resolving to make Eggs Benedict in the morning.

Friends, Food, Football

2011-02-07T10:11:00.002-05:00

We're not big football fans but we always watch the Superbowl. We whip up some heart-attack food and chill some beers and try to act like the rest of America. Several years ago we watched the Giants tear the heart out of the Patriots. That was especially rewarding since we lived in Rhode Island and enjoyed seeing Boston teams (or in the case of the Pats, New England) lose. It made up for all the boorish behaviour we were subjected to regarding our love of the Yankees.

Mariel watched that game with us. It was the first time I'd imbibed beer with her, a rite of passage of sorts. We watched the game on the "big" TV downstairs on Mark's level. We ate junk. We commented on the commercials. Did the half-time show involve wardrobe misfunction that years? All I know is the Pats lost and we won, not that we really cared.

Last year, Marty watched the game in New York at a friend's house. He had just started working there. I must have watched it alone, or maybe with Harry. I honestly don't remember. This year, we decided to have a party and invited three friends to our apartment where we ate traditional food (wings, salsa and chips, hot dogs in pastry) and unexpected fare (steamed dumblings, salad and chicken shu mai, whatever that is. The best food of all was a key lime pie baked by our friend Roxi. Yum.

We all agreed the game was interesting, but the commercials were not unusually pithy. The half-time show was so-so. I think they shoud stick with acts that appeal to multiple generations like the Stones or Paul McCartney.

I was in bed by 10:30. Marty was washing dishes at 2 am, but I think he'd napped some before that.

City Snow Versus Country Snow

2011-01-31T11:02:00.002-05:00

It seems obvious that the country snow is going to win this one. City snow creates mayhem, toxic slush and few smiles excpet for the folks who've escaped the loony bin and think they're Admiral Perry. Tell a New Yorker there's more snow in the forecast and he'll kill you.

Country snow is more civilized. It's 95% virginal and when they plow the streets, there's room to put the stuff. We spent the weekend at our Jeffersonville hideaway, and it was beautiful and relaxing. We began with Irish coffee upon our arrival. I wasn't getting into bed until the house warmed up. Saturday morning, after an early and light breakfast, I went to yoga. I hadn't been in ages and it was good to see that I wasn't as stiff as I thought I'd be. After a grilled lunch, we took off for Callicoon to do a little shopping. Callicoon I'm told is home to Mark Rufalo and his family. I confess that I don't know who this is. I don't think we saw him in Peck's market.

I spent the afternoon napping and reading. At sunset, we watched the snow fall into our brook and sipped cocktails. Dinner consisted of flounder, scallopped potatoes and broccoli. The flounder may have been wild, but we weren't wild about the taste. That's what you get for buying country fish. We attempted to watch a movie, Invictus, but I missed most of it due to snoozing under a blanket. It wasn't until the end that I realized it was about rugby and not soccer.

Our neighbor came over for brunch and we had bagels, lox and cream cheese. What did you expect, biscuits, gravy and sausage? After he left, I took a nap. Napping is my new hobby. I get less done, but I'm growing younger by the minute. I read some more and then started to work on dinner: grilled chicken, rice and creamed spinach. Yum.

Who wanted to leave? We wished we could stay all week. But no, we had to return to our city life where the snow is black and the parking spaces few. Marty found one next to a drift that will be good for at least a week. In theory, we're going to New Jersey Wednesday for dinner but it's supposed to snow again. Keep this mum or someone will slit your throat.

Whose Woods Are These? Mine.

2011-01-19T10:22:00.003-05:00

We arrived in the Catskills Friday evening after a slow start on the West Side Drive. To make things even more exciting, a car slammed into us from behind and then fled the scene. No one was hurt, and the bumper did its job. Don't worry, I put a nasty curse on his family.

The house was of course freezing but we set that to rights with turning on the heat and cranking out some Stones tunes. I'm deep into the Keith Richards memoir. Bed well-toasted, I jumped in and slept like a baby. It was minus 4 degrees the next morning, but I wanted to get some fresh air and some bacon. We breakfasted on waffles and said bacon when Harry dragged himself out of bed.

The weekend was spent eating, drinking and partying. Mariel showed up mid-afternoon, an early birthday surprise. I drank too much, but didn't have a hangover the next day. Maybe it was the rich chocolate cake we had for dessert.

Sunday afternoon we drove Harry to Vassar, dropped Marty at the train and Mariel and I drove back to J-ville. After lunching in Callicoon the next day, Mariel took off for Providence and I settled in for a long winter's nap.

The snow and ice started late that evening and continued throughout the day. Everything was closed. Where do we think we are, in Virginia? I stayed in all day, going out only to walk wonder dog.

It's still snowing but sheer boredom opened up the schools, the library and most everything else around here. I'll be leaving after lunch. With luck it will be a quick and easy drive. My stay here has been most relaxing, and I'm ready to face my 57th birthday on Sunday.

Tea Biscuits

2011-01-14T11:03:00.003-05:00

Yesterday, I schlepped up to 26 Federal Plaza to the Social Security office. It was cold and windy, and the line of people waiting to get into the building was long and slow-moving. The man behind me kept getting closer and closer, practically breathing down my neck. He was speaking in what sounded like Polish to his companion. He was also coughing a lot.

Once inside, and after going through the equivalent of airport security, I found the appropriate office and waited to see an agent. I had already spent hours working on my application online, and gathering together the documentation I would need to prove my disability. I think I have a decent shot at it. Whatever I get will be better than what I presently earn, which is nothing.

I picked up groceries on the way home. I finally found the tea biscuits I like, and I was charged only 99 cents for them when they should have been $3.99. I had a few with tea later in the afternoon. So satisfying.

Harry arrived looking slugglish and worn from his two weeks in Rhode Island. He enjoyed seeing his friends, but came to realize that suburbia is not chicken soup for the teenage soul. Italian Wedding Soup, however, is, which is what I made for dinner.

We'll be driving up to our country house tonight. Harry goes back to college Sunday, so we'll drive him to Poughkeepsie, clean laundry in tow. Marty will take the bus back to the city Sunday night and I'll spend a few days staring out at the snow, reading, writing and otherwise amusing myself. If only we could sell that other house in the woods.

I finished Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger. It's not worth reading, although a friend tells me The Time Traveler's Wife is better. I'm starting to get into the Keith Richards book, now that he's finally writing about music and playing with Mick. Harry gave me a birthday present book, Neither Here Nor There by Bill Bryson. I like his world view and he always makes me laugh.

Manhattan Straight Up with a Cherry

2011-01-09T08:15:00.003-05:00

It's early Sunday morning, I've just finished my coffee and am trying to wake up. The quiet in my apartment is unnerving. Every so often, I hear drilling at Ground Zero. Even on Sundays, they tear down and build up. In Rhode Island, all I'd be hearing right now are gun blasts from Carr's Pond. Seeya, Bambi.

We had a typical Manhattan Saturday beginning with errands that included a visit to the vet and shopping at Trader Joe's. My brother and his wife are visiting, so we subwayed up to the Village and ate lunch at Olive Tree. Unfortunately the felafel stayed with me all day. We then went uptown to the Guggenheim Museum where we saw the Kandinsky exhibit. All those geometric shapes really appealed to me.

Back at the apartment, we grabbed some caffeine before heading to Bayridge, Brooklyn to visit our niece and her husband. We watched football, drank beer and ate pizza while discussing our family's disturbing dysfunction.

We reurned to Manhattan, where Marty found a parking spot good until 2012.

Bagels, Bialys, Bouviers

2011-01-04T15:26:00.004-05:00

Tucked into our little brookside hideaway, we watched the snow fall. Unlike the Big Apple, we only had 5-6 inches. Travel was not interrupted. As a matter of fact, we drove into Liberty that day. Having just seen the movie Fargo the night before, we thought we'd been teleported to the Coen brothers' next film in the quirky noir genre. All that was missing was blood.

Liberty is best described as an armpit. Gone are the glory days when New York City slickers traveled upstate to stay in luxury accomodations with good food, fresh air and entertainment galore. The fresh air remains; the rest stinks.

But, we made a remarkable discovery: real New York bagels and bialys. Not only are they delicious, they are cheap compared to the ones sold in NYC. I had a cinnamon raisin today, keeping the poppy/sesame/everythings hostage in my freezer. If you visit, I might release one into your custody.

On our way up to the woods, we picked up Turbo, the wonder dog. Marty took him out of the car in front of our house, and when he turned around to unpack all our stuff, Mr. T had walked away. A miracle! Ten days in the country did him a world of good. It wasn't too shabby for me and Marty either. Great friends, food, time spent relaxing, reading, walking, enjoying.

Manhattan, Extra Cold, Extra Dry

2010-12-17T11:19:00.002-05:00

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

2010-12-03T16:30:00.003-05:00

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

2010-11-10T11:21:00.004-05:00

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

2010-10-17T12:47:00.004-04:00

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

2010-10-14T06:35:00.003-04:00

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

2010-10-08T11:11:00.002-04:00

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

2010-10-05T10:23:00.003-04:00

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

2010-09-27T07:19:00.003-04:00

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

2010-09-24T12:54:00.003-04:00

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

2010-09-23T05:42:00.003-04:00

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

2010-09-22T06:26:00.002-04:00

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!

2010-09-21T16:10:00.002-04:00

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

2010-09-20T08:51:00.003-04:00

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

2010-09-16T18:10:00.002-04:00

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

2010-09-07T17:36:00.002-04:00

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

2010-08-30T12:20:00.004-04:00

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

2010-08-18T05:56:00.003-04:00

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

2010-08-12T13:19:00.011-04:00

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

2010-07-31T04:17:00.002-04:00

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

2010-07-26T07:30:00.005-04:00

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

2010-07-23T17:07:00.002-04:00

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

2010-07-20T16:04:00.002-04:00

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

2010-07-18T07:21:00.003-04:00

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

2010-07-12T08:55:00.004-04:00

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

2010-07-02T06:50:00.002-04:00

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

2010-06-29T16:41:00.002-04:00

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.

2010-06-24T16:25:00.002-04:00

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

2010-06-15T13:22:00.002-04:00

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

2010-06-08T06:54:00.002-04:00

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

2010-05-24T06:34:00.006-04:00

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

2010-05-16T07:44:00.011-04:00

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

2010-05-12T07:34:00.003-04:00

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.