Senor Citizen Hike

August 14, 2013

                        

My name, if I am not known to you other than by legend alone, is Juan Exagerito, el Lobo Solitario. I will tell you a tale that upon hearing, you will not believe for I will sound mucho the big fibber and the teller of tall tales. However, having seen the proof, of which I have a very large quantity, you will know me to be the teller of a tale very bizarre.

The story, for which I chose the first page to begin, starts with a strange tale that I myself heard of a wild child, raised by the wolves they say, in the desert region outside the small village near Oaxaca. A child they called Pe Pe Pantalonies. Since he had known only the way of the wolf, Pe Pe was made to live with the dogs inside a cage outside of the local cantina. I realized that only I, el Lobo Solitario, could save him an teach him to be a human being again. Five minutes later, I was on the way home and Pe Pe Pantalonies was with me.

I set out first to teach him to be a man, mucho un hombre. Like myself. I started by teaching him the meaning of the word "work" for I am not the alms box to stick his little hand in with the gimmes. He was taught to haul laundry to the washer to earn his keep. 

Do not forget that Pe Pe was raised, not by Juan, but by the wolves with no table manners. At first, he would eat no beans ... he would eat no tortillas ... not even the chile pepper would he taste. He would only eat the food of the wolf. With this, I was with much luck for the road ran very close to mi casa and food was plentiful.

You are thinking to yourself, this job - to make a being of the human kind from a dog child, it is easy! It is I that am here to tell you this it is not so. Many books they are written by the peoples who among them all have never done such a thing as to have a child, but say to Juan anyway, "Spare the cane". It is Juan, el Lobo Solitario, that says back to them, "This is not the way of the wolf child. The wolf child's hearing improves mucho with the switching with the briar bush". 

The wolf child has only to sit once for the time out on the top of the fire ant hill to understand what Juan means by "Juan said No".

In no time, Pe Pe, his table manners, they were the finest!

He love no longer to eat the wolf food and Juan teach him to eat the organic vegetables.

                        

In no time, the wolf child was the wolf no longer. He was Pe Pe Pantalonies. He was  a man ... molded in the image of his benefactor ... his knight of the shiny armor and the white burro ... his idol ... el Lobo Solitario.

Being a parent is not the normal thing for Juan, but having owned many pets, it was not difficult for Juan to get the hang of. The most good life of the dog that Juan has heard about must not be so much the truth cause Juan's dog it did not hang around so long. Pe Pe Pantalones did, however, and it was a good thing. Pe Pe learned the Fetch word very quick like.

Juan he love the honey, but no love has Juan for the sting of the bee. Pe Pe, being the wolf child before he come to look like little Juan, did not know the piñata from the beehive. Juan need only say, "Pe Pe knock down the piñata and get the candy" and Juan, he gets the honey and Pe Pe he learns the lesson.

Take it from Juan, raising the child, it is not always the easy thing. Juan, he is thinking this is because of the wolf things. Pe Pe, he does not like the inside bathroom, but seems to like the hole with the big steel  top that Juan has seen near the pasture with many houses. 

When Pe Pe, he acts like he is the wolf child and not the son of Juan, then he will be in the time-out ... not tomorrow ... not when Juan gets home ... he will be in the timeout in the instance and Juan he will not feel sad for Pe Pe until he learns to stand on two feet like the man with no fur and not on four feet like the wolf with fur and a long tail.

My name, if I am not known to you other than by legend alone, is Juan Exagerito, el Lobo Solitario. If you know me tomorrow, I will still be Juan Exagerito, but not el Lobo Solitario. Tomorrow, you will know me as Juan and Pe Pe. Juan and Pe Pe, we look out for each the other. 

Sometimes we, Juan and Pe Pe, hike in the woods and hear the growls of the ferocious animal ... we  find ourselves in the tight squeeze. I say to Pe Pe, "We are in the tight squeeze, let us hide behind the pimple tree for the growls they may be the chupacabra. Pe Pe you stand in front and I will protect you."

Sometimes we hike in the woods and see the fence stepped on by the Sasquatch, and I say to Pe Pe, "Stay right in front of me and when the Sasquatch comes for you, it is me he will find with the stick upon his head from behind."

Sometimes we hike in the woods, and Pe Pe he keeps the eyes open with the Senor Citizen Bifocal Binoculars for the Sasquatch and the chupacabra so safe Juan and Pe Pe will be. 

Pe Pe and Juan, we take the picnic in the woods and we feel safe with each ... our backs we watch for the other. 

If you find the wolf child, we, Juan and Pe Pe, say here's to you if you take him home. Even wolf childs need a home.

If you ask Pe Pe, he will say "Si, it is hard work to be the wolf child and now little Juan". If you ask Juan, he will say "Si, it is hard to be the two Juan's for everyone knows two is alway more than Juan."

For Pe Pe, it is hard

For Juan, it is tiring

For Juan and Pe Pe, it is hot

Maybe after a little siesta

It will all make sense.

Buenas Noches

Steepletop - Home of Edna St. Vincent Millay

August 10, 2013

When we head South, we sometimes try to build in stopovers along the way to break the monotony of the drive. This trip included a stop in Austerlitz, NY at the home of former Pulitzer winner, poet Edna St Vincent Millay. I downloaded about four collections of her poetry to read before our visit to get a better sense of who Millay was ... at least in a literary sense.



Austerlitz is definitely a small town and represented Millay's need escape the hustle and bustle of New York. The large property that she purchased there served her needs for privacy and the increasing need for reclusive and eccentric behavior.

As we approached, the home we noticed several doors standing around the garden area. After moving to "Steepletop", Vincent (as she liked to be called) worked on developing about ten garden areas.  The doors served as the entryways to each of these garden areas. They say that there was never  a problem getting locals to work on the farm or gardens due to Vincent's propensity to weed in the nude.









                         

Vincent never wrote in the house we were told. Her writing was done in a small cabin near the house. Her husband definitely served as her muse in addition to being her husband. He commented once that there was nothing he would not do in order to provide what she required in order to produce a significant work of literature. It seems that Vincent, a confirmed bi-sexual, returned to Steepletop from a workshop to and informed her husband that she wanted him to move our of their bedroom to an adjacent bedroom so her new lover cold move in with her. Her husband agreed and maintained a separate bedroom from then on. Later, when she had developed an addiction to morphine following serious injuries from a wreck, her husband recognized that she would not be able to beat the addiction on her own. He intentionally addicted himself to match her level of daily usage and then gradually reduced his own and her usage gradually until both were clean of the addiction. Now that is what I call a muse.



Vincent may have overcome the addition to morphine, but not so for the partying and drinking lifestyle she had developed. We wondered what the locals of a small town must of thought of her. It is said that the rule for parties at the home was " If you went swimming in the pool, you had to be nude ... but you had to be clothed to have a drink. "



We finished our visit strolling the garden areas and checking out the cabin. As the Millay Society grows more will be done to restore the gardens to the splendor they had when Vincent was there.  Our guide, on entering the house said, "Vincent, it's just us visiting the the house" and went on to tell us that were some definite indicators of a presence that had been observed in the house on occasion. Clearly, he believed what he said.

I haven't made up my mind about the spirit of Edna St. Vincent Millay residing on the property, or not.

                      

Mayyyyybe!

Life in the Abstract

August 10, 2013

In June, we went to the Berkshires for an anniversary celebration, seeing mostly gilded age mansions and the the homes of authors and artists. In contrast, I had scheduled some time to visit the home and studio of a couple of abstract artists in Lenox. Unfortunately, I had chosen a day that the studio was closed.  When I started planning our recent trip South to visit relatives and friends, I decided to route our trip through Lenox and try a second time to see the studio.

The home and studio belonged to George Morris and Suzy Frelinghuysen. George Morris was both an abstract artist and a sculpture. Suzy toured Europe as an opera singer and later developed and interest in abstract art as well. The studio/home was built on the Frelinghuysen estate in Austerlitz, NY.

We took the home and studio tour which focused on the architectural aspects of the house and the marriage of the house's modern style with George and Suzy's the abstract art and George's sculpture.



I particularly enjoyed visiting the studio. It 's rooftop was designed to reflect the working factory styles  or Paris and of course the massive windows provided the light artists' crave for their working spaces. Definitely, to die for!

I must admit that often I don't understand abstract art, no matter how hard I try. Abstract art sometimes feels hard and harsh and unwelcoming to me. I was taken by the way that the art was hung throughout the house to complement modern feel of the Bauhaus style house in such a way as to create a warmth and welcoming feel throughout the house that I had never experienced with abstract art before.

The emphasis of the constructional lines of Bauhaus style seemed to be the perfect fit for the utilization of line and form in the abstract style of painting.


















It certainly doesn't hurt to be incredibly rich in addition to being a great artist.  The result being that throughout  house and studio were hung works of art purchased by the couple for their personal collection. Perusing the originals by Picasso, Klee, Chagall, and others scattered about the house was like dessert after a fine meal.

After the tour, we roamed about the gardens and grounds and enjoyed the numerous sculptures scattered  throughout. We especially enjoyed the pond area.



                    

                                     







We were fortunate that the Director, Kenny Frelinghuysen ( an artist himself ) was working that day.  He sought us out while we browed the grounds to welcome us and chat with us about what had brought us to the home. Our docent had let him know that I did some art myself and Kenny invited us to stop by his personal studio on the grounds to continue our conversation before we left.



We knew we were in the right place when we walked past the car with the trunk full of plein air paintings parked next to a small brick building. This turned out to be his studio and it was  treat to visit in an of itself.

This adventure was a great find! and what a great contrast to the gilded age sites we had also visited in the Berkshires.  Frankly, the more we visit this area, the more new things we find to see.

Day at Ogunquit

July 31, 2013

Old habits die hard. For all of the years that we worked in education, summer seemed to be over as soon as August hit. It didn't matter whether we were working or not, it just felt like summer was done. It was all about the anticipation of the arrival of the new crop of kids and the beginning of another teaching year. How many months of summer relaxation and fun were wasted in angst over what was to be, rather than what was. The children don't return for us anymore, but we still anticipate the slipping away of our summers. At our age, I suspect that we are really anticipating the slipping away of something else. Nevertheless, the feeling revives in us the need to see the ocean and we head there like lemmings to the cliffs. We set out for Ogunquit Beach, as predictably as the swallows to Capistrano. Generally, Anne and I prefer to go somewhere new rather than return to a spot we have visited before. Ogunquet is the exception. We have been here a zillion times and never seem to tire of its familiarity.

Along the way, we stopped for breakfast at a small diner near the turnoff to Harrisville, NH. The place is called, "Audrey's" and the meals are good, but not stellar. Did I say stellar? I meant to say it is not "Stella's". A recent visit to Newburyport, MA to breakfast at a favorite joint ... only to dine on disappointment when we found it to no longer exist still meanders about the recesses of my brain and sashays its way to my consciousness unannounced.

It is all about Brando ...Stanley Kowalski ... in his tattered T-shirt struggling to contain his bulging chest as he calls out to Stella. At "Stella's", my imagination ran amuk as I helped myself to a Walter Mitty moment. But 'Stella's" is no more.  I can't really see myself standing outside the door of this diner , my tattered T-shirt struggling to contain my massive stomach, and yelling, "Audrey ... Audrey"!



In due time, we arrived at Ogunquet Beach. I looked around and to my surprise everything was calm ... business as usual. I fully expected to see hoards of senior citizens with protest signs reading "unfair to the near dead". Instead, the sheep were lining up and complacently handing over the $20 parking fee. Had the parking lot next to the beach not been full, I am sure the $25 fee would have driven me over the edge. I waited my turn ... handed over my $20 ... and parked. The wool about my neck itched considerably, but I ignored it and began to unload the car. Unloading the car at the beach was the second reminder that I am a senior citizen. In case you don't know, that means "On a fixed income and not ashamed to say it."




Marketing majors are exceptional people ... except for me ... I am the exception to the exceptional.  Marketing majors know how to suck the marrow from a bone. Like the parking fees ... what the traffic will allow ... they know most people will pay any outrageous price to park close to the beach. So they charge whatever they chose and we pay. Baaa baaaa baaaaa!  Marketers are also students of history. No sooner had man tamed the donkey and figured out it could carry a lot more stuff than a man, than the cave marketing majors designed the first packs to put on donkeys backs in order to increase the load until the donkey's knees buckle. For today's donkey, the design comes in the form of the beach cart.  Like the one in the picture above. It enables the man donkey to carry ten times more stuff to the beach in order to turn the  beach into the living room back home. Add a cup holder to the design and you can charge a premium for it. I forgot to take a picture of Anne or me , oops, I mean me, dragging the cart the quarter mile to the beach. The couple in the picture, however, look very similar to us.




As I wheeled our cargo onto the beach, I put aside my tirades for the moment and proceeded to find a reasonable spot to set up our traveling condo. In a matter of minutes, we had wedged our way in between the sea of umbrellas.  Time to have some fun.



Once you get on a beach, they are all pretty much the same ... they have more or less sand ... more or less rocks ... more or less razor sharp broken shells ... more or less stinging jellyfish and more or less shark sightings.  You, on the other and, are more or less just one more fried piece of fatback on an endless sand griddle. Or, you become ... not one more grain of sand in the Sahara Desert ... you become "the" grain of sand in the Sahara Desert. I chose to set myself apart with the Panama Jack, pink flamingo T-shirt, intellectual look. I have to be honest with you.I am just too dumb to read Dylan Thomas.  I have been trying to read this selection of his poems for 6 months and to be honest, I don't have a clue what in the hell he is talking about. Not talking about on the poem level. I don't get it one line at a time.  Virginia Teach did not prepare me for Dylan Thomas and the Baptist Church was more about Doubting Thomas and those P songs rather than poetry. But ... the people walking by on the beach don't know that!

Nothing like reading something in a foreign language to wear a guy out. That and taking a dip in sub-zero temperature ocean water. I never seem to remember just how cold the water at Ogunquet is. By the time the first wave washed over my waistline, my manhood was in full retreat and my teeth were clicking like a hyperactive kid with a ball point pen.








One of the drawbacks to being senior citizens is that one of you has to be on guard duty at all times. Since I was doing the driving, Anne had to be on guard duty. All in all, it is not that bad. They person on guard gets to partake of all the usual enjoyments of the beach except taking a little snooze in the warm sun on the blanket. Instead, they must constantly monitor their sleeping spouse. If need be, they must be at the ready to wipe away the spittle if the senior citizen drool appears, or to gently shut the mouth if the mouth drops open and the snoring commences. Of course, this would never happen to me.


About 3:30PM, we packed up and abandoned the beach. The alignment of the planets and stars was such that simultaneous events occurred to impact our lives. First, Anne began to spray on sun screen, 90% of which blew away in the wind. At the exact same instant, I began my tirade about how manufacturers planned for that exact waste in order to sell more product. Thirdly, and strangest of all, Anne realized it was time to go ... and we headed for the Marginal Way.

The Marginal Way is a walking path overlooking the ocean from Ogunquet Beach to Perkins' Cove. The view is fantastic and we never go to Ogunquet without taking the walk. I used to hang some of my hanging stone sculptures there along the trail for others to find. That was years ago ... before I got the letter signed by The People of Ogunquet telling me that I was killing the trees and for me to stop. It would have been better if they had just said they didn't like the pieces ... I would have understood. But, who can stand up to A People?

When I stopped hanging stones, I started making stone stackings along the rocky shoreline instead. The People don't speak for the coastline like they do for the Marginal Way.  Over the last few years, lots of people have been stacking rocks along that stretch.







I just had to do a stacking while I was there. Anne was gracious enough to hang out for about 45 minutes while I did my stacking. Either that or she was weak from lack of food since I forgot all about lunch and the lobster rolls she had mentioned that she wanted.

Doing a stacking is important to me. I usually am pretty satisfied with how the stacking turns out. I admit, I liked this one.












I also like to see how the piece looks framed against the sea.  Anne was able to catch one shot with a sailboat in the background that I liked a lot.

We finished our hike along the Marginal way and caught the trolley back to the town center. I had to stop at a favorite t-shirt shop to pick up a few of the $5 T's (agh unstained t-shirts). The growling in our stomachs reminded us how long it had been since we had had breakfast. We were starved.

We picked out a lobster pound near York Beach on the way home. Hunger was a factor, but the reality was that we just lost control for a moment while ordering. We ordered way way way to much. The bad thing was that the two of us ate it ALL.  It was good! We have no shame ... nor do we stand on scales. Our dinner ... three lobsters with drawn butter, steamers with drawn butter, fried clams with tartar sauce, corn with drawn butter, Caesar salad, fish chowder, slaw and iced tea.

And for an appetizer ... I had a Zun dog .... hot dog with a mayo, onion, pickle relish

What can I say" Another great day at the beach!