Green With Envy - Saint Patrick's Day

March 17, 2013

Here I sit on this luvely Saint Patrick's Day having me own breakfast and made by me own hand or bought with me own luvely green money.

I'll be having the green egg, Irish soda brad, sum luvely corned beef on a bed of spinach, and washing e down with a wee bit o' green tea. All this awhile me luv herself is dancing the jig in in the very pubs of Ireland. It'll be the cane for her for sartain when her feet are back upon the soil o' Williamsville.

What with me eating like no tomarra, I took it upon meself to do a bit of a walk. It being a fine day with sunshine and the like, I tought it only fitting to attach a picnic to that fine walk ... it being nigh on springtime. I was choosing Kilburn Pond on which to set me feet wit it having a fine boulder by the pond most appealing for laying about in the sun and reading and such.

I got meself prepared most handsomely. A green tablecloth was soon in me hands and green candles for  the candelabra what with it being a special day. Boiled egg and fruit alongside a corn beef sandwich would be more than filling on this day. Although I'll not be tasting a pint, I decided I would be having an O'Doul' what with the spirit of the day and all.

Being alone what with me luv herself galavanting, I fell to worrying on what I would do sitting upon the  boulder with meself and none other. A sight it would be what with me conversing and only me to do the listening. Reading I thought to be the better, especially should strangers be happening upon me. Nuthing less than Irish poetry would be doing for this occasion. In a moment, I had a book of verse loaded onto my Kindle by nunother than Oscar Wilde hisself. Ready I was. Placing my green shirt, green pants, green coat and green scarf upon me body, I headed to Kilburn Pond.

I look back now ... what with the future behind me and the past in easy sight. Thar were mistakes made. The green shirt was short sleeve and not wishing to overheat what with all the walking and such, I did not add the extra long-sleeve green shirt over it. The green coat was thin, but the other coat being blue, it would not do. Me hands always get hot when I hike and at the last moment I put away me mittens and wore the fingerless gloves instead. I walked to the opposite side of the pond for that indeed was where the boulder lay. The past being what it was I know now the driving wind to be blowing across the icy pond only to arrive at the bolder full of vigor and well-chilled.

When I strode out upon the pond trail, I was a sight for Irish eyes. A vartual portrait in green topped with a bonny hat, backpack and poles peacocking me way down upon the snowy trail. That snowy trail quickly revealed itself to be well-trod and soundedly packed so to make a luge run proud. I soon revised my peacock strut to a more cautious gate better suited to my general health.













I had not walked far before I happened upon other travelers, or they upon me. I took little notice of them for blocking me path was an untethered hound of great dimension, white as the snow itself and eyes as green as Boston Harbor. I knew the breed to be a pit bull and true to its reputation it did take it upon itself to advance upon me in stop and start bursts while filling the air with growls and barking. All the while, I prepared meself to make him welcome.

Over the years, I have met many a fierce dog upon the trails and have make a study of this in me mind. Discovered I have that owners of large fierce dogs never have them on a leash on a pubic trail. These same owners, have no control over their dogs for I have yet to see one of them return to its master when called. This incident was no exception. The lady finally caught up to the dog and held it. I overheard her husband whispering to her excitedly "not to let it go" while he was trying to get the leash attached. Another sure thing is what the owners say. Be sartain I was not in a talking mood. But, they always say, "Don't worry, it won't bite" while they strain to hold the beast and the slobber drips from its snarling yap.

I am telling ya that a man don't have to have the P or the H or the D afollowing his name to get the picture. That feller knows that dog will bite. That is why he got it. I'll be thinking that feller feels a bit more powerful ever time that dog growls at me. Yep. Nobody loves your pet like you do and your pet don't love other people like he does you. All the midgets with big cigars and tattooed parolees rescuing them on TV don't change a thing. And sure enough, one o these days, one o them four-legged sarpents will be putting the fang to my leg and I'll be Moby Dicking him with my hiking stick and dusting my boots on him. I'll be saving that other pole for his irate owner. I'll be in jail and that sarpent will be feeding daisies and the jury will be saying "poor puppy".

I stood real still while they dragged the beast by me. I said, "Have a nice day" but I didn't put any effort in it so they'd realize that I was really saying I thought they was shat. It was five minutes later that I was walking along and sneezed and me nose let go with a torrent of red. I attribute it to me flairing me nostrils vigorously awhile facing that four-legged devil and me caps being exposed to the bitter cold.

I soon reached the pond and worked me way to the far side. The boulder I sought was about half way down and I soon found meself standing on that same boulder. It were the perfect spot for a picnic and you could sit down for the meal and lean back on the boulder just like sitting in a big old comfy chair. I unpacked the tablecloth and got me started.  Remember that mistake I mentioned earlier bout the wind?






Well, about now I started to figure it out. Not a loose rock in sight, but I did find a few logs to hold it down. Soon enough it were a regular table with a view like in one of them fancy cafes right here on the boulder.

The menu for the day were  a corned beef sandwich, a boiled egg and some fruit. Even though the spirits and meself have parted ways years past now, I meself got an O'Doul's for the occasion.











I stretched meself out to enjoy lunch, but got no further than me sandwich and half a banana afore the cold wind offen the pond commensed to cutting through me coat like a knife. I tried to read. I were reading an Oscar Wilde poem about a criminal going to the gallows and thought to meself, "at least hisself is not freezing to death in winter hurricane". Me hat blew off and rolled into the wood and that itself were too much for me to be taking.  I'd all the fun I could stand and a bit more.







One last look at the pond and  I headed back to the car and home. A hot shower did wonders to restore me and human again I was. I joined nearby friends for dinner  ... more soda brad and an excellent beef stew. It were  a fitting end to an excellent  Saint Patrick's Day. It couldn't have been better ...

unless of course 

you, 

like me luv herself 

happened to be  celebrating Saint Patrick's

 in nunother but 

Ireland itself. 

HAPPY SAINT PATRICK'S DAY!

Spring Bulb Show - Smith College

Not every retirement adventure works out. In my defense, conceptually, the Spring Bulb Show was a great idea, In fact, we had missed it last year and had been looking forward to it this spring. The weather was perfect ... perfect to launch a full-blown case of spring fever. We easily found the greenhouses on campus and as we stepped into the first exhibit, the fragrance of rich earth and tulips filled us. It was a glorious and delicious aroma.


A single glance revealed to us the reality. Under any other circumstance, the show would have been a joy ... the blooms were beautiful. Unfortunately, insufficient time had elapsed since our trip to the Netherlands and the Keukenhoff Gardens during tulip season to prevent us from making comparisons. And there is no comparison.














The local show withers in comparison. Our stay was brief.


















On a positive note, we did go to Amanouz for lunch while we were in the area. It is funky and informal and the Mediterranean food is always great.

I tried a fish stew over rice. The fish was minced and formed into balls and served with a heavy, brown sauce. When I first tried it, I swore that it cold not be my meal. It was certainly like no fish stew that I had ever had. Expectations and familiarity aside ... it was delicious!

Great adventure? Not really. Great day? Most definitely!

Best Breakfast Sandwich in NH - Harrisville General Store

March 9, 2013

I'd like to say I was talking to a vagina and the topic came up. But, that is not exactly true. I could say I heard about it when we went to see The Vagina Monologues at Marlboro College. More like it, but not quite it either. We met a couple while at dinner with friends and they told us about the Harrisville General Store. Then, we all went to see The Vagina Monologues. Talking with a vagina sounds so much more exciting!

We were told that the Harrisville General Store was no less than a great general store. Even more importantly, we were told that the breakfast sandwich there was unbeatable. 

Our new acquaintance, Les, should know. He is a volunteer short order cook on Saturdays there. We decided to check out both the town and the sandwich. 

The general store certainly did not disappoint. It was small, quaint and welcoming. I spent the first few minutes just exploring the merchandise and the goodies displayed on the counters. The walls were a blend of artifacts, antiques, local art and informational fliers. Several tables were scattered around the room and at about half, locals were seated, having breakfast and reading the papers. Several urns of coffee sat on a small table at the ready and I noticed the coffee being served was none other than Mocha Joe's from Brattleboro. 

Further exploration revealed a special treat. Along with breakfast, comes pure, delicious Harrisville spring water. 

We gave the chalkboard a cursory look ... but let's face it, we came for the breakfast sandwich. It was all that we had been promised. 

Harrisville is quite a lovely little village. After breakfast, we decided to just ramble about the town for a bit. 

Harrisville is an old mill town and several of the old mills have been refurbished and now house new businesses. One building housed Harrisville Designers and was filled with looms manufactured locally  and tons of yarns and weaving supplies. Another housed antiques and yet another an art gallery. 

The original buildings were constructed directly over the river to take advantage of the water power to run the mills. 

By the time we finished in Harrisville, it was sunny and bright and nearly 50 degrees. What an incredible day. We set our new course for Peterborough. I had visited there once before, but without Anne.

We started out in Peterboroughwith Trumpet, a local gallery.


















Next door, at Grove and Main Antiques, we found an antique, ribbed, lab funnel that we just had to have. We also found a whole boxful of Frozen Charlottes. We first ran into Frozen Charlottes in Quebec City several years ago. They are small, ceramic, nude dolls that were popular in the early 1900's (I think). The legend was that the young daughter of an aristocrat was in a hurry to get to the ball  and did not heed her mother's plea to get a shawl before she headed out to the party in the carriage. It was winter in Quebec City and very cold. The carriage overturned on the way to the ball and the young girl was pinned underneath and froze to death. This is what we were told. Sounds suspiciously like an urban legend before urban was even invented.








I had a hidden agenda in going to Peterborough. The Peterborough Diner. First, it is the first green one I have ever seen. Second. It is a diner. That should be enough. We dropped in for some hot chocolate.



While we were there, I felt compelled to eat a hot dog because that is what I do. It was merely average. However, I great mystery was revealeed. The town is Peterboorough. The t-shirts on the waitresses say Peterborough Diner on the back. In contrast, the menu says Peterboro Diner and I was later to discovery so did the lettering on the outside of the diner itself. I asked the waitress for an explanation, but a shrug was all I got for my efforts. I remain ignorant ... but inquisitive.

I finished my chocolate and dog and headed for home. A sign alongside the road advertised Piggy's Consignment Shop and demanded one last diversion. We found Piggy's ( I don't think the man working there was Piggy ... didn't look the part ) and I bought some glittery, junky things that I will regret having purchased tomorrow I am sure.














Next door, ( would you have your business next door to a Piggy's?) was the Lulu Fichter Gallery. Lulu next to Piggy's? Makes you wonder. The art there was interesting, but by then it really was time to call it a day.


Lulu's?

Piggy's?

The day was getting surreal. We went home.

Satisfied.

One More Car Before I Die

Retirement is about discovery. It is a slow-paced, shuffle-stepped, hunch-shouldered plod to the realization of what you are, in reality, too old to do … whether you believe it or not. Soon we will purchase the last vehicles that we will ever own. We am not counting power scooters for we will go through several of them and probably will wreck one or two on the highway where they should not be. Naturally, we will be indignant and say we pay taxes and that the roads are just as much ours as those little speed-freak shits. We will defy the world sitting on our butts with  little triangular flags waving over our heads.

We rented a car while we were visiting Charleston. I know now that I should have flown down a day earlier. We should have spent the first day of our trip figuring out how to drive a different car.

We are not “with it”.

We are not in “SYNC”.

I started by carefully examining the outside of the rental for scratches that the company would try to blame on me later. I finally found one and demanded they make a note of it on the rental agreement. When they looked away, I snapped a quick picture of it … just in case. They described the scratch as normal wear and tear. SURE THING!

I initialed the rental agreement in four places to verify that I had rejected the four levels of add-on insurance coverage being offered in print too small for old eyes to read … in a language that has no country … so voluminous that I did not have sufficient years to read it all. I had called my insurance company prior to the trip, but I think secretly they are in on it. I had called two credit card companies. Everyone says “Don’t buy it, we got you covered”.  I know this is not really true, but it is what I want to believe. Somewhere in the fine print, written in the secret language, it will say it. If we are lucky, we will be more damaged than the car and will never know about the damage charges.

I did not realize that we had rented a 747 … compact of course … until I sat down to drive away.  I looked around the cockpit and the hundreds of dial and buttons, none of which seemed to have anything to do with driving a car, stared back at me. My mouth dropped open. I recognized one familiar sight and slid the key in it.  Immediately, bells sounded and light flashed and blinked. Messages scrolled across a marque too rapid for me to catch. From deep within the cockpit dashboard, a voice thundered, “Voice activated. Speak command.” I never discovered the source of the voices (maybe they were in my head all along), but I did verify that “Shut up” was not the command they were seeking.  In desperation, I cranked and shifted into reverse to back out. Bells chimed and the marquee verified that the backup assistance was indeed activated.  With some effort, I found a dial that seemed to control the lights. There were five settings, none of which said “Off”, or “On”.  It was a crapshoot. Later that night, I would discover that my choice was one that did not allow me to turn on the high beams. We read an interesting story in the manual about how the car decides when high beams are needed and takes care of that for you. Obviously, whoever wrote the manual does not have old eyes and does not realize that the reason we eat dinner at 5:30PM is that we cannot see to drive home at 6:30PM.

We muddled through with some success by driving a la carte and ignoring the menus. That is, until we decided to listen to the radio. We pressed the radio button and all hell broke through on the dashboard. Lights were flashing, text was scrolling, our hidden passenger was mumbling … but the radio was not playing. We broke out the manual from the glove compartment and enrolled in a 3-credit college course on Computer Programming and Einstein’s Theory of Relativity. After an hour of intense study and no music, we agreed to converse instead, which means we fumed and fussed about the damn radio. We realized that only people with blue teeth could listen to music in this vehicle. We pressed the SYNC button anyway just in case it was disco the disco music station, but it didn’t seem to be.

By the time, we pulled into the driveway that night, we had decided that automobiles had left us standing in the dust. We opened the doors to get out and just to assure us that we had made the right decision, none of the interior lights came on in the car. We soon gave up on finding them.

One more car should take us to the grave. 

And it will be a used one.

Clowning Around at Mass MOCA - North Adams MA

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Visions of a Baker's Dozen - King Arthur Flour Grand Opening

It was like setting out a basket of apples at the front desk just prior to the arrival of the senior citizen tour bus. The announcement came in the mail ... Grand Opening at the New Facilities of King Arthur Flour. The neon lights flickered red inside my head ...  FREE ... FREE ... FREE.  We don't bake ... not pies ... not cakes ... not cookies ... not bread. But, we ARE senior citizens. And, it IS a Grand Opening. And, there would be FREEBIES. It wasn't about choice.

King arthur Flour is located in the Norwich area and it took us about an hour to drive there. From the outside, the new facilities appeared spacious and impressive. We walked in and got started right away. Just inside the entry door was the raffle drawing area. We wasted no time in filling out two or three entry forms apiece and then started looking around for the free samples. Standing at the ready were perky, enthusiastic employees guarding the shopping carts full of gifts. We feined reluctance, but gave in oh so quickly and accepted the candied lemon and orange peel gift boxes (2 of each for each of us) and the handful of recipe cards for items we would never bake.

It is Vermont! 

Beware of Frost Heaves! 

We faced our first bump in the road ... our first major decision. Straight ahead was the cafeteria area with food and beverages galore. To the left, was the gift shop/product area where we knew free samples would be found. To right was the demonstration and educational area. The odor of fresh baked bread simultaneously taunted and beckoned us.  Like English setters winding a covey of quail, we raced, noses high and heads thrown back guided by the exquisite scent. We headed into the gift area and commenced to chow down on the four varieties of freshly baked breads. The specialty chocolates whispered in our ears and we listened. The scones demanded our full attention and perused them well. We were the perfect guests. We attended with equal zeal to each and every summons.

With reluctance, we abandoned the free samples headed to the demonstration area. On the menu, I mean agenda, for today were cookies, braided bread, and mini-pizzas. Surprisingly enough, Anne and I were the only adults in the area ... except for the parents of all of the kids there. At first, I was a little concerned that we would have to wait our turn, or let the kids go first, or stuff like that. I shouldn't have worried. The staff there were demonstrators, not teachers. It was not their job to be fair, or nice, or appropriate. They were there for the dog and pony show.  And we knew it.

I realized immediately that most of the children and their parents would be intimidated by my size. Those that weren't ... well, I was confident that I could easily shove them out of my way. That said, I was able to move to the front of the line and to decorate my cookie with a really great "B" resulting only one little teary-eyed kid and glaring parent.

That kid crying was such a downer ... so we stepped over to the next demo area and pushed our way into line to learn how to braid bread. We got to take our projects home with us to bake later. My loaf was unquestionably braided tighter ... more professionally than Anne's. Her inexperience prevented her from seeing the difference in quality of work.

The pizza area was another good example of the benefit of being an adult. The instructor talked a lot, but we really didn't have to listen to participate. We just stood there, and every time a new batch of pizzas came out of the oven, we started grabbing. The funny thing is  I didn't even have to push to the front. The kids were so short that I was able to reach right over their heads to get the first pieces of pizza from each new batch.






King Arthur Flour was a great start to our adventure. On the way out, I filled out one more raffle form. Several weeks later, I received the telephone call informing me that I was a winner and soon received a gift basket of about $100 worth of merchandise.

Just across the Connecticut River was Dartmouth University. Our plan was to visit the Hood Art Museum there and to check out the new facilities for the Dartmouth art programs. Overall, we were not that impressed with  the Hood. However, we loved the current exhibit of contemporary Australian aboriginal art. Symbolic representations of everyday activities of the aborigine culture were painted in recurring patterns by the artists to create their artwork. I loved how the boldness of color combined with the tiling effect of the symbols drew me to the pieces. 

While we were there, we decided to check out the renovations to the Black Family Visual Arts Center and our neighbor's new digs. (He teaches a sculpture class there).  The exterior was pretty blah, but we really liked the public areas inside. 

Our curiosity sated and the back seat full of freebies, it was time to head for home. The fragrance of bread dough rising in the warmth of the back seat reminded us that we had bread to bake ... and that is exactly what we did!

Even if I didn't get thirteen of anything.