woodstock, again

I'm not sure I can improve on the stuff I've already written about Woodstock. In fact, seeing as 50  years have gone by, my earlier reminiscences are probably better. I'm still the same old hippie.
So here you go again, with this link.



In what world does it make sense to put up curtains and hold weddings right by a highway? I know how dusty it gets inside my house. How much more en plein air? But logging trucks and all, the folks across the street are proceeding with their dream. Bill said it looked like the Klan was hanging up  laundry. I prefer to think of it as bridal veils.



 This little design playhouse of mine, all 350 square feet of it per floor, has kept me amused now for ten years. It would be better if the AC wasn't leaking all over the floor, but whatever, compared to the flood this is nothing.
  It is easier to be amused  by waving a wand, however, I find. With cheap but good labor I was able to say, "Powerwash. Paint." And it was done.  And I am finally getting the bathroom painted blindingly white, the remaining portion of the downstairs.


entertainments with fish

The new deck through David's eyes.

The new deck. Trim too virulent for me. Will add more blue.

The oyster and Champagne course done, now with the Otoriko tomatoes.
It always strikes me as amusing that David buys fish, at great expense, from Citarella's, a store just blocks from me in New York, and has it flown out. But I can't deny that eating something other than catfish and trout out here is a treat. And boy did David treat me this weekend!
   It began at the Goose. He arrived with wines, oyster plates, oysters he had opened at home, lemon, pompano, chopped garlic, etc—everything, in short, to provide a sit-down multicourse fish feast.
  And then he did it again the next day at his house, with oysters two ways, gazpacho, halibut cheeks with some kind of heavenly sauce, etc. So you are welcome to fly me in an ocean any time, David! Compliments to the chef!

Not only does he have the oyster plates, he has an oyster-roasting pan. I never met a cooked oyster I liked. Until now. Prepared with butter, garlic, parsley, and a bit of parmesan. Compliments to the chef!
Not the yellow table. A rather better presentation. First, the raw oysters.


hummingbird tv

I'm not sure why they call it a "charm" of hummingbirds. "Harm" would be more accurate. They are like little harrier jets, attacking each other (and you, if you don't feed them properly!) and driving one another away from the feeders. I put out new food, and the whole harm went nutz. You can only see one feeder in this video, but they were doing figure eights and attacks between them as well. If I had a cat, the thing would be crazed.
Lynn investigates the neighborhood after a rain.
My sister in law Lynn left yesterday after a bit of excitement. She left to drive to Santa Fe at about 7:30. At about 7:40 I found her phone. Oh shit. Driving alone for two days without communication. Not good. Couldn't call her to say she'd forgot phone! I scrambled into my clothes and drove at 80 mph to Lucky's, the gas station where I had told her to get ice. It's about a half hour away, and I didn't know if I would catch her, pass her coming back for her phone or get caught for speeding by the cops. But there really are no cops here, and I made it as she was arranging the ice in her cooler. Phew!


what we're dealing with

It's not all swimming holes and friendly people here. It's also bad food and bad politics. I have spoken about this before. However, I have not spoken about bad pie. Frank had two pieces at lunch. One was purportedly peach/pecan. but seemed to have been laced with vinegar.  The other one was some strawberry mush, which he said was slightly better: "It was honestly bad. The other was bad because the good was absent from it. It was possible to pick the good out of the strawberry pie. There was no good to pick from the other." However, he ate all of both. 

photo by Lynn Osborne


blue spring redux

 Another sterling afternoon at Blue Spring with belle seour Lynn Osborne—that's her in the tube on the far right. And then home for leftovers and more tomatoes and watermelon. Manana a real float on the Current River.


art imitates goose

 I thought this was pretty funny. The cover of the fairly snooty Architectural Digest looking an awful lot like the Goose, right down to the alternating aqua and yellow chairs.


fragile infras

So Block Island was in a mess. Verizon DSL internet wasn't working nor were cell phones. Service is always marginal, but this was just plain not happening. Credit cards couldn't be processed, people couldn't work, tenants were calling me wondering if I'd changed my password. A mess. You can hear about that here.
  It was a desert island. No communication except by boat. We were reminded of the island's dependence on a very few monopolies.
  Douglas went on a riff. I believed him at first.
 If Interstate wasn't running the ferry service, we would be, um, dead in the water. There would be no mail and nothing in the grocery store. And speaking of the only grocery store on the island, run by Mary Jane, we are dependent on that too.


proof positive

 This goes to prove that everything looks beautiful in certain light. Even a mess.
       The reason everything on that side of the room is a mess is because I painted the floor on the other side of the room.  So, yeah.


wait, wait!

Why is it that no one says, "But you couldn't possibly be a grandmother!" Oh well. Meanwhile doing a double take when I see the pic above. Yes, that is my granddaughter. There are few around who remember me when, but those who do are stomguzzled. (Gobsmacked) (Stunned) Glasses and all.