Throughout August I would stand in the alcove of the front doorstep with my friend Gregory, watching the warm summer rain land on the giant red oak leaves of the tree that is situated at the left side of our circular driveway. Smelling the heavy fresh air, and watching the trees’ branches swaying in the light breeze, I was glad for the reprieve from the hot sun. Summer came late this year, which made me hope that it would stay longer.
Gregory, by the way, is the little fluorescent green gecko lizard that inhabits our front portico. He too was watching warily, sometimes me, sometimes the outdoors, but generally keeping an eye all round his ‘hood. He’s a nervous little thing, sometimes frightening himself to the point of losing his tail. He oftentimes held himself high on the back wall, clear of the rain. I wondered, did he not like to get wet? Would his colors change? I questioned him, but he had no answer. An errant fly had caught his interest instead; another reason I considered him a good friend. He regularly rid the entry way of bugs.
The moment took me back to my childhood summers, with grandparents at their country homes. There is something magical about a country summer for a city child. Standing there watching the rain, I remembered the long ago summer days, miles of forests to explore, blueberries to pick, fat white clouds to watch, pink flowers and black ants, bugs and frogs, rivers and dales, all waiting for our exploration and inspection. Inevitably, rain kept us indoors on occasion. We would watch at the window as the sky transformed its blue to silver grey to wild. Flashes of blinding lightening followed by violent thunder would hold us rapt, unmoving, unblinking, while a nearby grandparent chided us for standing at the window. “It’s dangerous”, “you could be hit by lightening”. That wasn’t true; at ages seven and eight, we knew that we were invincible. Death only happened to very small animals. Our interest level in the dead things rose or fell on the uniqueness of the sighting and the length of the stick that we were carrying at the time of discovery. Right now I was happy to share the portico with Gregory and kept the memory of small dead animals to myself.
I turned around and August had melded into October. While most months appear to seamlessly flow from one into another, October arrives and stands noticeably between the tail end of summer and the beginning of winter; between just cool and cold! During October I watch the red oak’s leaves curl, turn brown and fall. It’s time to welcome winter, or at least prepare for it. The pool has been closed. The summer furniture has been brought into the garage or covered with heavy casings. In the coming weeks, the gardeners will clip back the roses and sedums, take the sea grass that circles the pool down to ground level. The same will be true of the St. Johns Wort, and the day lilies. The rabbits and squirrels watch warily from a safe height and distance. They too have been busy foraging for winter supplies. So they watch, concerned that we do not imperil their winter habitats. Indoors we have had the chimneys swept and the heavier blankets brought down from storage. Like our outdoor four legged friends, including Gregoy, we too are hunkering down for the winter.
Saturday, October 21, 2017
Monday, October 16, 2017
Let 'Em Eat Cake - questionnaire
“When you rise in the morning, give thanks for the light, for your life, for your strength. Give thanks for your food and for the joy of living. If you see no reason to give thanks, the fault lies in yourself. “ —Tecumseh
[1] Julia Child said “everything is better with butter”. How much butter did the average American eat last year?
(1) 5.6 lbs (2) 10.5 lbs (3) 7.2 lbs
[2] “He looked about as inconspicuous as a tarantula on a slice of angel food cake.” —Raymond Chandler A “clutch” of eggs is used in each angel food cake. How many eggs constitute a “clutch”.
(1) six (2) twelve (3) four
[3] How many flowers are in the design stamped on each side of the oreo cookie:
(1) four (2) eight (3) twelve
[4] Which nation produces two thirds of the world’s vanilla:
(1) Madagascar (2) Mozambique (3) Macau
[5] What flavor of ice cream did Baskin-Robbins introduce to commemorate the lunar landing on July 20, 1969:
Lunar Cheesecake (2) Strawberry Moon Pie (3) Berry Blue Moon
[6] Grape growing is the largest food industry in the world; there are more than 60 species and 8000 varieties of grapes. How many pounds of grapes does the average person eat per year (NOT including the grapes in wine):
(1) five (2) eight (3) ten
[7] “Everything you see I owe to spaghetti” - Sophia Loren. Mama mia! The average person in Italy eats 51 pounds of pasta each year. How much pasta does the average American eat each year:
(1) 15.5 lbs (2) 30.6 lbs (3) 20.2 lbs
[8] What did our own Mary Jane Fairbanks spill down the back of President Truman’s neck:
(1) peas (2) beans (3) broccoli
[9] What was the first of H.J.Heinz’ ’57 varieties:
(1) ketchup (2) mustard (3) horseradish
[10] What is the only essential vitamin not found in the white potato?
(1) vitamin A (2) vitamin B (3) vitamin C
[11] What was the first commercially manufactured breakfast cereal:
(1) Cheerios (2) Shredded Wheat (3) Grape Nuts
[12] Choline is an essential nutrient that helps fetal brain development. Pregnant women can find this essential nutrient in which food:
(1) broccoli (2) bacon (3) banana
________________________________________________
Answers:
[1] 5.6 [2] 12 [3]12 [4] Madagascar [5] Lunar Cheesecake [6] 8 [7] 15.5 [8] peas [9] horseradish [10] vitamin A [11] shredded wheat [12] bacon
[1] Julia Child said “everything is better with butter”. How much butter did the average American eat last year?
(1) 5.6 lbs (2) 10.5 lbs (3) 7.2 lbs
[2] “He looked about as inconspicuous as a tarantula on a slice of angel food cake.” —Raymond Chandler A “clutch” of eggs is used in each angel food cake. How many eggs constitute a “clutch”.
(1) six (2) twelve (3) four
Q. What do Indians call a vegetarian. A. A bad hunter.
[3] How many flowers are in the design stamped on each side of the oreo cookie:
(1) four (2) eight (3) twelve
[4] Which nation produces two thirds of the world’s vanilla:
(1) Madagascar (2) Mozambique (3) Macau
[5] What flavor of ice cream did Baskin-Robbins introduce to commemorate the lunar landing on July 20, 1969:
Lunar Cheesecake (2) Strawberry Moon Pie (3) Berry Blue Moon
[6] Grape growing is the largest food industry in the world; there are more than 60 species and 8000 varieties of grapes. How many pounds of grapes does the average person eat per year (NOT including the grapes in wine):
(1) five (2) eight (3) ten
[7] “Everything you see I owe to spaghetti” - Sophia Loren. Mama mia! The average person in Italy eats 51 pounds of pasta each year. How much pasta does the average American eat each year:
(1) 15.5 lbs (2) 30.6 lbs (3) 20.2 lbs
Fettucini Alfredo is macaroni and cheese for adults” - Mitch Hedberg
[8] What did our own Mary Jane Fairbanks spill down the back of President Truman’s neck:
(1) peas (2) beans (3) broccoli
[9] What was the first of H.J.Heinz’ ’57 varieties:
(1) ketchup (2) mustard (3) horseradish
[10] What is the only essential vitamin not found in the white potato?
(1) vitamin A (2) vitamin B (3) vitamin C
[11] What was the first commercially manufactured breakfast cereal:
(1) Cheerios (2) Shredded Wheat (3) Grape Nuts
[12] Choline is an essential nutrient that helps fetal brain development. Pregnant women can find this essential nutrient in which food:
(1) broccoli (2) bacon (3) banana
________________________________________________
Answers:
[1] 5.6 [2] 12 [3]12 [4] Madagascar [5] Lunar Cheesecake [6] 8 [7] 15.5 [8] peas [9] horseradish [10] vitamin A [11] shredded wheat [12] bacon
Sunday, October 1, 2017
New York, New York
You have to love a city whose denizens consider traffic lights suggestions.
Immediately upon arrival our redcap, even though he saw my friend and I walking and talking together, decided that we had arrived separately. As I watched her being encased in a separate cab and about to drive away, I informed the redcap that we were traveling together. A Laurel and Hardy moment ensued as we jumped out of one cab, collected luggage from another cab and then fled together through the rush hour traffic to our cozy boutique hotel.
Since the UN assembly was gathering this week and our hotel was down the road from Trump Tower, police were everywhere. They stood, in groups of three and four, on each street corner, having been pulled into the city from all the boroughs: Staten Island, Bronx, Brooklyn; we could tell from whence they came by their accents. To add to their NYPD Blue glamor, they were all wearing kevlar jackets. We felt very safe, chatting with them while waiting to cross a road. For all the bad mouthing that police receive, we found them to be patient and gracious, probably because we were little old ladies who reminded them of their grandmothers and they were collecting time and a half.
We spent our first evening listening to the haunting strings of Yo Yo Ma playing Mahler and Bach at Carnegie Hall. Shakespeare was right: music does soothe the savage breast.
The next day was spent in retail therapy, walking past luxe shops, polished buildings and worming our way into venues in which we had no business breathing the same air. When we passed a lustrous black building with the written word Baccarat over the shiny brass trimmed doors I had to ask what it was all about. Yes, Baccarat crystal had taken on an entirely new identity. No longer merely a crystal hollowware company, this was an entire building. Fifteen foot long crystal fingers lined the windows. The security guard must have been bored, or amused by the rubes who had the temerity to walk into his building, because he invited us to view the private restaurant and bar on the second floor. The chandeliers in the main lobby were exquisite. I expected the elevator to have a chandelier and was vaguely disappointed that it did not. The bar likewise was festooned with chandeliers; the entire wall was covered with Baccarat crystal bar glasses. Sardonically, I wondered if there was enough heat generated by the sun’s prisms through the crystal to start a fire on an errant napkin.
We headed to Little Italy and the Feast of San Gennaro. Mulberry Street was lined with vendors hawking every food from pizza to cannoli. We sampled the authentic NY pizza, and finished with too many glorious pastries at Ferraro Bakery. Later, while dining at Carmine’s restaurant, I needed to find the ladies room, which was upstairs. On the stairs in front of me a guy was holding a colorful drink, and being photographed by his buddy so I snuck up behind him and planted a kiss on his cheek. I photobombed the guy. Both men laughed and the photographer said he was sending the pic to the guy’s wife.
The next day, before a visit to the theater to see Anastasia, we had lunch at the Algonquin Hotel where the famous “round table” of writers (Robert Benchley, Dorothy Parker, Dash Hammett, Alexander Woollcott, etc) sat each day. Would that their ghosts would infuse me with their talents; alas, we were only infused with pretty good wine and food. Anastasia was a delight; the sets and costumes were simply beautiful, evoking Tsarist Russia’s most glamorous era (okay, Russia wasn’t perfect, but it certainly was glamorous). Emboldened by liquor from Sardis (at which we skipped out on the tab, but that’s another story; I sent a check later), we moseyed over to the box office to see if we could get seats to Hello Dolly, which we did do. Sometimes the anticipation is greater than the participation, as it was in this case. The show was a disappointment. Nonetheless, we compared and contrasted the two shows as we walked back to our hotel, saying hello to all the police along the way.
The Morgan Library was just a couple of blocks away, so one morning we stopped in to visit the old books and the rooms. This guy had serious bucks, and spent them well, as represented by the decor and craftsmanship on the floors, walls and ceilings. We contrasted the Library with the natural beauty of sunny Central Park, through which we walked, sometimes leisurely around the pond, listening to a saxophonist play As Time Goes By, other times hurriedly to get past the selfie sticks and gawkers at strawberry fields.
And then it was time to go home. We hurried to Penn Station and, with the help of a redcap, found our train. We took the train home, a most elegant and peaceful way to travel. I love train travel today as much as I did when I was a young child. It still fills me with joy and happy memories, as did this last trip to the Big Apple.
Immediately upon arrival our redcap, even though he saw my friend and I walking and talking together, decided that we had arrived separately. As I watched her being encased in a separate cab and about to drive away, I informed the redcap that we were traveling together. A Laurel and Hardy moment ensued as we jumped out of one cab, collected luggage from another cab and then fled together through the rush hour traffic to our cozy boutique hotel.
Since the UN assembly was gathering this week and our hotel was down the road from Trump Tower, police were everywhere. They stood, in groups of three and four, on each street corner, having been pulled into the city from all the boroughs: Staten Island, Bronx, Brooklyn; we could tell from whence they came by their accents. To add to their NYPD Blue glamor, they were all wearing kevlar jackets. We felt very safe, chatting with them while waiting to cross a road. For all the bad mouthing that police receive, we found them to be patient and gracious, probably because we were little old ladies who reminded them of their grandmothers and they were collecting time and a half.
We spent our first evening listening to the haunting strings of Yo Yo Ma playing Mahler and Bach at Carnegie Hall. Shakespeare was right: music does soothe the savage breast.
The next day was spent in retail therapy, walking past luxe shops, polished buildings and worming our way into venues in which we had no business breathing the same air. When we passed a lustrous black building with the written word Baccarat over the shiny brass trimmed doors I had to ask what it was all about. Yes, Baccarat crystal had taken on an entirely new identity. No longer merely a crystal hollowware company, this was an entire building. Fifteen foot long crystal fingers lined the windows. The security guard must have been bored, or amused by the rubes who had the temerity to walk into his building, because he invited us to view the private restaurant and bar on the second floor. The chandeliers in the main lobby were exquisite. I expected the elevator to have a chandelier and was vaguely disappointed that it did not. The bar likewise was festooned with chandeliers; the entire wall was covered with Baccarat crystal bar glasses. Sardonically, I wondered if there was enough heat generated by the sun’s prisms through the crystal to start a fire on an errant napkin.
We headed to Little Italy and the Feast of San Gennaro. Mulberry Street was lined with vendors hawking every food from pizza to cannoli. We sampled the authentic NY pizza, and finished with too many glorious pastries at Ferraro Bakery. Later, while dining at Carmine’s restaurant, I needed to find the ladies room, which was upstairs. On the stairs in front of me a guy was holding a colorful drink, and being photographed by his buddy so I snuck up behind him and planted a kiss on his cheek. I photobombed the guy. Both men laughed and the photographer said he was sending the pic to the guy’s wife.
The next day, before a visit to the theater to see Anastasia, we had lunch at the Algonquin Hotel where the famous “round table” of writers (Robert Benchley, Dorothy Parker, Dash Hammett, Alexander Woollcott, etc) sat each day. Would that their ghosts would infuse me with their talents; alas, we were only infused with pretty good wine and food. Anastasia was a delight; the sets and costumes were simply beautiful, evoking Tsarist Russia’s most glamorous era (okay, Russia wasn’t perfect, but it certainly was glamorous). Emboldened by liquor from Sardis (at which we skipped out on the tab, but that’s another story; I sent a check later), we moseyed over to the box office to see if we could get seats to Hello Dolly, which we did do. Sometimes the anticipation is greater than the participation, as it was in this case. The show was a disappointment. Nonetheless, we compared and contrasted the two shows as we walked back to our hotel, saying hello to all the police along the way.
The Morgan Library was just a couple of blocks away, so one morning we stopped in to visit the old books and the rooms. This guy had serious bucks, and spent them well, as represented by the decor and craftsmanship on the floors, walls and ceilings. We contrasted the Library with the natural beauty of sunny Central Park, through which we walked, sometimes leisurely around the pond, listening to a saxophonist play As Time Goes By, other times hurriedly to get past the selfie sticks and gawkers at strawberry fields.
And then it was time to go home. We hurried to Penn Station and, with the help of a redcap, found our train. We took the train home, a most elegant and peaceful way to travel. I love train travel today as much as I did when I was a young child. It still fills me with joy and happy memories, as did this last trip to the Big Apple.
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