the day after

We had another Thanksgiving that couldn't be beat. Many of the same people came back for seconds. And we had some new folks too. Hannah's brother, Simon, and his mom. Gil and the gf. About four more pies were consumed, and we're half a pot of gravy down. Though the fridge is still full. Hint hint.
   Isaac and Camilla brightened everyone's day with their costumes, or lack thereof, and variety shows that involved a lot of singing and jumping around.
  And Hannah bought yet another new stroller. 

Isaac Sings "Frozen"below
       
       

        Check this out on Chirbit

it was a very GREAT american eating ceremony

I dunno. They will keep on getting married and having kids and the thing has just gotten wholly out of hand! Even the leftovers were out of hand.
The turkey soup (that's bone broth to you modern youngsters) is on the stove.
Going back to bed.
But listening to Alice's Restaurant first.

check

Well, the green beans won't be a casserole, and there are turnips instead of squash, but we got the rest covered. And how!

guess who's coming to dinner?

Hints: A pair of sisters. A pair of twins. A pair of newlyweds. A pair of two-year-olds. Seven people from Massachusetts. Seven people who used to live in the building. Three people associated with Hunter High. One shrink. Five photographers. One actor. One Shakespeare scholar. One Syrian.  Three people who worked in the Time-Life building.
Total: 31
Age range: -1 to 75+.
Turkeys: 2
Appetites: Hopefully hearty.

the amazing purple sky

The buildings in the background lit up as if by stage direction. Then the color spread out until the sky was purple. It was the only time I have seen this color bloom of an evening, and I finally understood the song lyric "When the deep purple falls over sleepy garden walls. . .. " And it was so evident that a city is as subject to natural forces as any rural retreat.

one room at a time

Not exactly Tnxgvng-ready

Getting there.

Yes, The Great American Eating Ceremony (according to Mr. Li) is coming up. Oh shit.

the end of time

End of an era

The following came in from Otra Rubia (that's her, with glass, above):
"They rolled around a drinks cart an hour ago. Yep, an old fashioned drinks cart pushed by a handsome, meticulously attired bartender (bow tie, starched white shirt, starched white apron).  It's Time magazine's last close in the Time-Life building before we move downtown. I'm sipping my martini as I fact-check how many terrorist attacks France has suffered this year alone. (Seven—I think. I have to call the embassy to be sure since we don't have a Paris bureau anymore.) Oh well…  Here's mud in your eye."
   Explanation: The times they are a changing in the magazine world, but this is a trip into the wayback machine. In the bad old days when editors were emperors and price was no object, there was always a drinks cart and sometimes even someone playing piano. By the time I arrived in the Time-Life Building for the first issue of People magazine in 1974 (cover: Mia Farrow) there was no drinks cart, but there was a refrigerator full of Heineken and wine. Later on at People, there were lines of cocaine on desks, catered gourmet meals and free massages on closing nights. And you wonder that some of us (not Otra Rubia, however) wound up with drinking problems!
   And a Vanity Fair article.

as the days grow shorter

Getting chilly

The bears need warmer fur these days. How recently have you dressed a toddler for winter? It is SO FUN! By the time you get out of the house you will be totally frazzed. And holidays are the time for Calm-a-Mama, which just got a great writeup (as well as interview with the company's princpal) on Hippie in Disguise.

guess who came to dinner

aka "the beady-eyed cruet set"

Is is doubtful that any of you remember Mr. Li, who courted me relentlessly with repugnant gifts and threats to his rival Ed (who he called, as I recollect, "Dangerfleece"). Should you wish to see the course of this courtship, I recommend that you go to the search bar on this site (top left), search Mr. Li and read all comments.
   Here, however is the link that shows the above couple in their original form when I received them, entitled "What is this, Mr. Li?" He called it a beady-eyed cruet set, but in actuality it was a shit-brown set of salt-and-pepper shakers with a mustard pot. Hideous.
   For ten years, I moved the thing to increasingly hidden locales where my eye wouldn't fall on them unwarned. Somehow the mustard pot got broken—I swear not on purpose. This spring I took the big step: I gave them away.
   Judy has a kitchy shop on Block Island, and she took the ugly things off my hands. "I hope CBA doesn't see these," I said. "She'll kill me. But she hasn't been on the island in a couple years, so I doubt she will."
   Naturally the things didn't sell over the summer, and of course CBA showed up in the fall and became best buds with Judy, stopping in at the shop so often that she came to know the goods as well as the shopowner herself. She found the beady-eyed cruet set. (Sans beady eyes, as Judy had hoped they would sell better as the blind originals.) Irate, CBA decided that rather than hoping a serial killer would punish me for my ingratitude, she and Judy would face me with the truth. And when we gathered at Claudia's Surf City for dinner, they produced this loathsome couple. Ack!

"Ingrate," CBA (left) accused me as Judy looked on. "You thought I would never know! But your karma is to never be rid of the beady-eyed cruets!"

  

wear your musician

Hannah and Ani DiFranco

Although she deals with famous musicians (well, their people, mostly) all the time, Hannah has always passed up the backstage passes, the free concerts—hell, when Jason Mraz wanted to stop by her house to give her some guitar strings, she said she was too busy! However, she said she was returned to her 16-year-old self when she met Ani DiFranco after a concert last night.  Thrilled! Even though it's busy Christmas shopping season at Wear Your Music (see the back story from her partner in Hong Kong and their new website), she got a babysitter to put the kids to bed (for the first time!) and headed off to see a real live guitar hero.

without whom it would not be possible

As a last hurrah before leaving Block Island, Ana (at left, with her eyes shut in maroon) and her beautiful family came to dinner. It was her son Waldyn's birthday, and her daughter Abra (above) is looking at a forthcoming birth day number three. Ana's husband Jose started cleaning Claudia's Surf City 15 years ago, and when Ana decided that at $35 an hour they could make more money with a cleaning company than she could make working at the Pharmacy, she made it a family biz.
   Ana and Jose winter over in the Dominican Republic, but Abra's kids go to the Block Island school and most of the rest of the kids live in the U.S. Thank goodness, as it makes Ana keep coming back.

going, going gone

I am on this boat, as photographed from shore by CBA.

I think the tiny white dot near the antenna is CBA.

Last view of the island as we sail away on a beautiful day.

past lives

Ruth

She was a sculptor, a sophisticate, a world traveler. Married to a prominent anthropologist, Ruth could also rough it in digs on barren arctic isles. Those women are still inside of her, but she is old now, in her nineties. A few months ago she moved into assisted living, leaving her sculptures and artifacts, files and photographs behind. I have seen many similar apartments, filled with the things that you can't take with you. This one is more exotic than most, and is also that of my son-in-law's grandmother.
    So for the past couple of days we spent some quality time going through her treasures, from Limoge china to walrus tusks. It was sad to do so Ruthless but also an exhilarating record of a life well lived. Her great grandchildren will see her next week after swimming lessons in the assisted living facility's pool.

The heirs

Last rose of summer

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

daylight waning time

Well, I thought another ferry pic was better than another pic of the last three windows, which I finished today. Interesting to see the 4 o'clock boat coming in in darkness. . .
(FYI the boat time refers to the departure time, so it was actually five o'clock in this pic.)

note window trim

After

Before

With just  days to go before closing up (and plenty to keep busy with), Erin and I decided to crash another project. The day was fine, the windows were sill-less and the lumberyard was open. Tough measurements and all cuts by Erin. Eh voila!

end o' summer

The beaches are empty

but the dump is full

samhain

Ready for Halloween? When all the girls are superheroes and reality is twisted just enough. When the veils are thin between the worlds and the witches are no threat.
I remember hangin' with the coven in Salem one year. I remember the Halloween my parents told me they were getting divorced. But my favorite was on Block Island, visiting the graveyard in the fog and chasing a ghostly white horse through the silent night. That was epic.

the rowdy sea

The rowdy sea has subsided to a degree. The rowdy friends, not so much.
I feel a roundup coming on. . .
And, yes, home improvements are underway.

breaking

This is right out front. The moon is full, and the tide is very high, splashing up above the"dune." The ferry hasn't been running, but apparently will resume by midday.

what happened back then

This has nothing to do with this picture, which I took on the way to school yesterday. Not my school, thank heavens. I don't have to go any more. (Dear Hannah, I am sorry to tell you this, but your little Virgo daughter is exactly the type to love school and reward-system structure. Sorry. Sincerely, Your Mom)

Any way, about ze French connection.
In 1997 Ed and I were having lunch, as was so often the case, and he brought along an "exchange journalist" from Le Monde, who was working at Time for three months. She had left her kids and husband in Paris and was missing them. Plus she had sublet an apartment in a bad part of New York (back when there was such a thing and everything wasn't yet gentrified). She was joking about it.
  "I order sushi, but when someone comes to the door they are delivering crack!"
   But every time she got into the elevator with a man she felt threatened.
   "You better move in with me," I said. "I have a spare bedroom." (Hannah was living in the living room at the time.)
   "Okay," she said. "When?"
   "Tonight."
   So she did. And we became friends. Slowly. Because the French are not as quickly intimate as the Americans.

the french connection

They blew into town on the midnight bus from Montreal and stayed for a day before heading back. We had time for a lot of fun and two wonderful meals by our personal chef. If I have time later, I will tell the story of how we all met. But for now, I'm heading north to Block Island for the last hurrah.

elaine

In memorium

Some words from Elaine posted up on this site on Valentine's Day 2005 that I send back to her today, the second anniversary of her death. It feels like she's about to walk in or else she left us a thousand years ago.

  "Ay dios mio, how can you talk about having A Valentine's Day without love? What about zee chocolates, zee flowers, my leetle petunia, zee moments listening to Freddy Fender ("I will be there until the last teardrop falls") and zee magnificent Diana Ross and the "Stop in the Name of Love" Supremes? And you, my dahling, showing up with zee roses and zee wonnerful leetle Valentine's Day card that I will fohever treasure in my heart....Oh, Ms. Surf City, you have zee most love then you can ever eeemagine.....As Edith Piaf seengs in A Hymn to Love: "If the sky should fall into the sea and the stars played all around me, all the time that we have known thee, we will sing a hymn to love....We have lived and dreamed we could do it all ...in a world that seemed our very own ...with its memory forever grateful...just for you we will seeeng a hymn to love...." Ok, it goes something like that. Love you lots."
    Back to you, Elaine.

body work

Seventy-five years they've been in business. Have they had this Coke machine the whole time? This is a family auto repair shop. A dog wanders around. There is a picnic table outside (where you can drink those Cokes if the day is fine). There are many men working in the garages, and women at the desk. The men are fat, and the women are beautiful. They have Rhode Island accents. My bill for getting undented was $30.

the attic

It's that time of year, when things go up to the attic and come down, when things go to the dump and come home from the dump, when we all take a giant spoon and stir our things around until they come to rest in a new place.
Sort of like dreaming.
Sort of like life.

get your butt in the truck

Somehow I missed this one. There was a lot of illegal touring in the back of the pickup. And it was fun!

brrrr wah!

With temps in the 30s, we huddle together over chili and soup and warm ourselves at the fires of friendship—and the propane stove. And we admire the amazing and wonderful fall skies.

bracketed

 The compound known by some as Gasner City (and less kindly to some island residents as the Gaza Strip) is now bounded by million-dollar mansions. Tasteful, no doubt, but not in the old Block island style that has made our piece of heaven the much photographed beauty spot that it is. What it may do to our property taxes, I don't even want to contemplate. The amount of money spent building next to the rising sea does give some of our number comfort, however. Maybe the neighbors are Fox News watchers.

 

family affair

Ok, so there we were on the family compound: the ex-sister-and brother-in-law, the wife, the husband, the former girlfriend. If you can parse this you must know my family fairly well. And it was a beautiful evening of sunset and clams with the interactions flowing every which way, old times and new, art and greed, island gossip.
And here's a bit of a roundup.
Speaking of family, Hannah's Calm-A-Mama products are soon to be on the shelves at New ngland While Foods stores. Demand them in your local emporium. And she tried to calm a famous mama suffering postpartum depression here.
Speaking of Hannah, her friend Rachel Hulin continues to get great press for the First Instagram Novel, here in the Washington Post and Wired.
And speaking of ex brothers-in-law, John's friend Jeffrey Millstein has a big photo exhibition of aerials.
And speaking of photographer friends,  Chien-Chi Chang is giving a talk in Bangalore, if you happen to be there; David Burnett is interviewed about his astonishing career; Maggie Steber's pictures of New Orleans 10 years after Katrina are featured in a new book (Donnaa Ferrato is also featured, but more on that later).

desert island

Taking defunct porch furniture to the dump. Doing wash. Paying the lawn service. Putting away the chaise lounges. Turning off telephone service. You know, like that.
   And starting to book for next summer! It hasn't even gotten cold yet! The seasons are starting to bleed into one another like a sunset and the sea.
  

why i haven't posted

. . . and then some! Yes, it was a gala last-gasp weekend with Donna and family and Ali and family and me and family. Six kids under five. We had mostly gorgeous weather and great food. And today the island is dead silent. Empty. The stores are closing. This is the end of season.

happy birthday!

. . . to Ed. May tout va bien!

Seduced by Jamie (and her niece Maggie, aka Gallery Girl), I acquired some kultcha at the new Whitney. Beautiful day, beautiful building, beautiful people and a surprisingly beautiful collection of awt.
No regrets.

island bound

On an island the weather seems like a bigger deal than elsewhere. The days when the ferries don't run mean no mail and milk, no dentist visits or hospitalizations. You're very much on your own.
   The tides were high and the swells were swelling, but I made it across the sound and to the mainland, the last car to get on the boat of the hoards lining up. I left my tenants with trepidation, but apparently they are rugged sorts—their adult children made it over for the weekend on the last boat. I arrived, providentially, in Providence.
   Tomorrow I plan to head south, with a stop at South County Hospital, where a Block Island friend (Edie, for those who know her) is stuck until her missing gall bladder and the weather cooperate to allow her to get back home to the cottage her grandfather built well more than a century ago. Speaking of rugged.