And then there are the condoms from the sex club (doing group marriage video with Donna Ferrato). The handy dandy mirror from the sports magazine editorship in the late '70s that I used to snort coke. The remains of the coconut oil I used to wear as perfume while living on the beach in Hawaii wearing little else.
The toiletry kits from business class (including razors and black socks) and the one Coca-Cola handed out when my husband and his sister and brother-in-law and I raced the length of Mexico in a '55 Porsche and '54 Jaguar (I think).
Why was I saving them? I can barely remember the stories or the hotel rooms. All those toiletries down the toilet now—or rather in the trash.
|Island denizens will note that in this pic the boat is leaving Block Island, not the mainland.|
And I stopped by to say goodbye for the nonce to Frank and Dianne, and to watch them watch their cow, hoping she would go into labor. She did, finally. Why do brths seem to happenb in the middle of the night? And at 4:28 am, Dianne sent the following: "Twins---one dead, one alive & one very PO'd cow that wanted to kill me! Left everything in the field & finally to bed!!!" And now, I'm off.
In less savory household news, I have shocked the well and sent in a new water test. However, the man in charge of the lab at the health department informs me that the coliform count will vary with every rainfall and rise or fall of the river, so I should keep my mouth shut while showering and continue to carry in my drinking water. Country life.
|Frank (center) packs bags at his new job, between giving hugs.|
I cadged an invite to a rare seafood extravaganza yesterday. The draw was percebes, also known as goose barnacles or gooseneck barnacles, for obvious reasons. Their culinary use derives, geographically from Spain, where barnacle fishing is a dangerous practice, and the price of the delicacy is concomitantly high. Apparently percebes have also become a trend on the West Coast of the U.S., where indiginous peoples have long consumed them as a delicacy. Those sampled yesterday were flown into landlocked Missouri from British Columbia. David, the judge/chef, put them in boiling water for a flash, until pink, and then chilled them in ice water. The judge/sommalier then selected Gallician wines to pair with the Gallician treat: Nanclares Albariño Soverribas 2012, Daulny Sancerre "Clos de Chaudenay" 2012; Lubentiushof Alte Reben Gans 2011. (Like I had the faintest clue.)
Now all we had to do was figure out how to eat them. It might have helped to watch this how-to-eat demo, but none of us had. Winging it, we discovered how to pull off an outer sleeve and eat the remaining, penile extrusion, dipped in aoli. Quite tasty in a lobstery, clammy sort of way. And that wasn't all, the judge/horticulturist also produced his homegrown tomato with scallops ceviche, and the hostess an avocado and mango salad and shrimp on the barbie, rounding off with strawberry shortcake.
The food was divine, but the highlight was the company and conversation.
|Steps to the former back door (and Frank's office) next to the loading dock.|
The new owner of the Quill owns several small papers and has bundled their printing into one plant in Arkansas. Readers receive the paper the next day, but since it is dated the day it is mailed rather than the day it's printed, they have the illusion of getting their news hot off the presses. I can't help but mourn the passing of the old ways.
|The snazzy new office, sans press, a block away from the old building.|
|Billy and Jamie admire sculptures of wood treated with creosote.|
|Saul Haymond with inside art in progress.|