Can you hear me out there?
I didn't realize it had been an entire year since I last posted. I've been quiet lately because I've been working on a project. Today we told my team at work about it, so I can now talk more freely about it, including here.
In a few weeks, I'm leaving the work force. I have no idea what's next, if anything. Certainly some short-term things, like a vacation. Then, more swimming, and I hope to redevelop the habit of reading books (yes, on paper) and write more. Perhaps visit some museums. I'm honestly not sure what's next, but I'm planning to listen very very carefully to all the signals.
Onward!
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
sproing!
Ever have one of those days when all day long it feels like you're slogging through molasses, up hill both ways, and never quite getting where you're trying to go?
I usually swim on Tuesday mornings. Sometimes I dawdle a little at home. This morning, I was in my car exactly at the time I had hoped to be. When I turned the key, the car just made sad little noises. Oh sigh.
By this time, Robert had woken up and made an appearance in his bathrobe. After a brief chat, we decided that if he could help me jump start the car, I'd immediately drive to the mechanic. So I called the car shop, they said they'd be happy to take a look, we successfully jump-started the car, and I drove over, followed by a now-dressed Robert.
Then back home, out of my swim suit and into the shower, and an hour after I'd first started out, we started driving to Robert's work together. The idea was that I'd take his car, run an errand during the day, and he'd find a ride home.
The ride to work was filled with delays and many many construction projects. There was even a project going on at the gas station where we had to stop to fill up and on a back road that never has delays. Finally, we got to his work, dropped him off, I got in the driver's seat, and started the slow slog back to my office (nearly all the way back home).
I finally heard back from my mechanic that I just needed a new (and expensive) battery. Fine. I called my neighbor, thinking I'd drive Robert's car home, and my neighbor could drop me off at the repair place. We were all set. I went to start Robert's car. There's a little trick to backing up -- you have to lift the ring under the gear shift knob while easing the car into reverse.
And SPROING! off came the knob, two springs, the casing around the stick, and the panel at the bottom. They flew around the car. And there I was dreading calling Robert to tell him what I'd done. His response? Oh yeah, that happens. He'd just never seen *two* springs. With his coaching, I tried to put the thing back together, but I still couldn't get the car into reverse.
So I called my neighbor, who sweetly agreed to come pick me up at work and drive me to the mechanic's. We left Robert's car at work.
Of course, I was supposed to be getting work done today, but when I was in my office, it was happening in 15-second intervals in between massive (work-related) interruptions. D'oh.
Robert got a ride home from his boss. We'd agreed that he'd come to work where I'd wait for him. Somehow, that got confused with his getting a ride home, but fortunately the boss brought him back to my office. Robert somehow managed to put his gear shift back together and even got his car into reverse. I convinced him to take his car to his mechanic.
So off we went, with me following. We arrived at the dealer's and at that late hour even found someone to talk to who said he'd text the service manager tonight on our behalf. Robert wrote a note about the repair and then ... couldn't find his key. Somehow, between arriving and writing, the key had dematerialized. We finally gave up searching for it. Robert brought me home, got his spare key, and drove it back to the dealer. (He later found the key buried underneath archaeological layers in his tote bag. At least his tote bag is now cleaned out.)
We finally sat down to dinner around 8pm. I had thought that tomorrow, Robert could drop me off at work and just take my car. But now a new complication: he has a dentist appointment tomorrow morning. We'll work it out, I'm sure.
I usually swim on Tuesday mornings. Sometimes I dawdle a little at home. This morning, I was in my car exactly at the time I had hoped to be. When I turned the key, the car just made sad little noises. Oh sigh.
By this time, Robert had woken up and made an appearance in his bathrobe. After a brief chat, we decided that if he could help me jump start the car, I'd immediately drive to the mechanic. So I called the car shop, they said they'd be happy to take a look, we successfully jump-started the car, and I drove over, followed by a now-dressed Robert.
Then back home, out of my swim suit and into the shower, and an hour after I'd first started out, we started driving to Robert's work together. The idea was that I'd take his car, run an errand during the day, and he'd find a ride home.
The ride to work was filled with delays and many many construction projects. There was even a project going on at the gas station where we had to stop to fill up and on a back road that never has delays. Finally, we got to his work, dropped him off, I got in the driver's seat, and started the slow slog back to my office (nearly all the way back home).
I finally heard back from my mechanic that I just needed a new (and expensive) battery. Fine. I called my neighbor, thinking I'd drive Robert's car home, and my neighbor could drop me off at the repair place. We were all set. I went to start Robert's car. There's a little trick to backing up -- you have to lift the ring under the gear shift knob while easing the car into reverse.
And SPROING! off came the knob, two springs, the casing around the stick, and the panel at the bottom. They flew around the car. And there I was dreading calling Robert to tell him what I'd done. His response? Oh yeah, that happens. He'd just never seen *two* springs. With his coaching, I tried to put the thing back together, but I still couldn't get the car into reverse.
So I called my neighbor, who sweetly agreed to come pick me up at work and drive me to the mechanic's. We left Robert's car at work.
Of course, I was supposed to be getting work done today, but when I was in my office, it was happening in 15-second intervals in between massive (work-related) interruptions. D'oh.
Robert got a ride home from his boss. We'd agreed that he'd come to work where I'd wait for him. Somehow, that got confused with his getting a ride home, but fortunately the boss brought him back to my office. Robert somehow managed to put his gear shift back together and even got his car into reverse. I convinced him to take his car to his mechanic.
So off we went, with me following. We arrived at the dealer's and at that late hour even found someone to talk to who said he'd text the service manager tonight on our behalf. Robert wrote a note about the repair and then ... couldn't find his key. Somehow, between arriving and writing, the key had dematerialized. We finally gave up searching for it. Robert brought me home, got his spare key, and drove it back to the dealer. (He later found the key buried underneath archaeological layers in his tote bag. At least his tote bag is now cleaned out.)
We finally sat down to dinner around 8pm. I had thought that tomorrow, Robert could drop me off at work and just take my car. But now a new complication: he has a dentist appointment tomorrow morning. We'll work it out, I'm sure.
Monday, September 14, 2009
on my mind
Soon after we left for vacation, my friend KenM started posting an online account of his mother's final illness. I've known Ken for 20 years, since he was a young pup. Over the years, I've met his entire family -- his sister through my food coop, his brother through theater connections, and his parents, who live in the same town where I live, here and there.
His mom came down with a chronic and rare lung problem about a dozen years ago. For a while at least, she was waiting for a lung transplant. More recently, she developed heart problems and she was rushed to the hospital many times and always recovered. Many thought that her determination came from having a young grandson with whose arrival she was delighted.
In any case, about two weeks ago, she had a near fatal heart attack, hung on for nearly a week, and died. The family used their reserves' reserves to to ensure her comfort.
In the middle of all this, my friend Ken acquired an elbow infection which turned serious and then systemic. He's been in the hospital since Thursday and was given a day pass for the funeral. They think they have a handle on it, and they're switching him from IV to oral antibiotics. He's being sprung today.
I've been talking to him on the phone, and it's been pure joy to hear his voice get stronger every day. Robert had this same infection about 15 years ago, and it was terrifying. We're lucky he came away with it with all limbs attached. Sounds like Ken will be similarly lucky but I've been quite worried over the whole thing.
As the oft-quoted KAH might say, Friday the 13th came in September this year.
His mom came down with a chronic and rare lung problem about a dozen years ago. For a while at least, she was waiting for a lung transplant. More recently, she developed heart problems and she was rushed to the hospital many times and always recovered. Many thought that her determination came from having a young grandson with whose arrival she was delighted.
In any case, about two weeks ago, she had a near fatal heart attack, hung on for nearly a week, and died. The family used their reserves' reserves to to ensure her comfort.
In the middle of all this, my friend Ken acquired an elbow infection which turned serious and then systemic. He's been in the hospital since Thursday and was given a day pass for the funeral. They think they have a handle on it, and they're switching him from IV to oral antibiotics. He's being sprung today.
I've been talking to him on the phone, and it's been pure joy to hear his voice get stronger every day. Robert had this same infection about 15 years ago, and it was terrifying. We're lucky he came away with it with all limbs attached. Sounds like Ken will be similarly lucky but I've been quite worried over the whole thing.
As the oft-quoted KAH might say, Friday the 13th came in September this year.
Friday, September 04, 2009
on Mount Desert Island
We arrived here last Sunday. Our host, B, was out and had left a welcoming note. We brought stuff in from the car and settled into our little upstairs apartment, complete with Arts and Crafts furniture, artwork, great colors, and stunning views. The highlight of the apartment is a sitting area with three windows looking onto a lawn, beyond which is a meadow and the edge of Acadia National Park. The loons fly overhead each morning, making the commute from the pond just through the trees to their eating grounds. I love their throaty cries.
The island is shaped like a person's lungs. B lives on the west side of the western lobe, the quiet side, diagonally opposite bustling Bar Harbor.
When B invited us to stay here, I wasn't sure how things would work out, if he wanted to be solitary and occasionally wave at us across the clothesline, or if he wanted to spend more time with us. It turns out that we've had the pleasure of his companies on a number of his adventures.
On Sunday, we took a short walk into Acadia NP to see a few ponds and walk on well-kept roads surrounded by tall pines. Later, the three of us drove into Bar Harbor for dinner at a place down a little alley behind a barn. Very fun and very good food. And we walked around BH a bit after dinner. What years before had been a charming town to my eyes suddenly felt like too much -- too many stores, too many tee shirts, too many people. I was glad to get back home.
Monday, we hiked up Acadia Mountain (eastern side of western lobe). It was actually hard going for me, or maybe I should say challenging. For one thing, it was quite vertical, and although many kind souls had cut steps and blazed paths, still, there was some work involved. B thinks the climb was "moderate," a few outside opinions call it "strenuous," and my ankles and knees thought that perhaps doing a climb like that every other day would be appropriate.
Regardless, as we wound our way to the top across rough granite boulders and through twisted trees, we started to get glimpses of the lay of the land. It was a brilliant day and we could see for miles. We were also right next to the water, so we could see sounds, expensive houses next to the sounds, and islands. B pointed out the spot below where he woke up one morning and realized he needed to move to Maine. (He now spends most of his time in Boston and comes to Maine every month.)
Back at sea level, we returned to the house and made dinner for B and his delightful neighbor A. They've both owned houses here for 25 years and enjoy each others' company a great deal.
On Tuesday, B took his boat for repairs. We met him in the boatyard, from which a tourist cruise goes to a small island. The three of us hopped on the tourist cruise. Funny - my expectations were that a bored captain would take us to the island, then sullenly take us back. Far from it. The highlight was the boat ride - the captain knows the islands and which parts are owned by nature conservancies, land trusts, or the park. He knows the animals and we got to see bald eagles and seals, cormorants and auks and terns. He explained the boom and bust cycles of the fishing trade and described how lobstering has survived all these years. He even had a few lobster traps waiting and showed us what it's like when you pull up a trap - what to throw back, how to measure a lobster, and so on.
Our stop was in Frenchboro, a small town on Long Island. There are summer people there, but just 50 people live there year round. Last year, someone from the island graduated from high school on the mainland; the last high school senior is five years older.
After our return, we enacted a hens-foxes-and-boats scenario with B's repaired boat. The boat was on one side of the harbor and needed to be taken out on the other side. We had two cars and three people and no parking places on the other side. It took a while. I was the designated person to wait on the other side with jeep and trailer, and I didn't mind at all. It was a very pretty wait.
Dinner at home again, followed by a scrabble-like game called Bananagrams. I don't play games often, but this one was fun and we were well-matched, which made it more so.
Wednesday, Robert and I took off for another hike while B stayed behind to take care of some work items, or at least that was the plan. B was feeling funny, amused, something that we had not yet seen the "main highlight" of Acadia NP, so sent us over to the eastern lobe for some hiking.
The main part of the park has a 27-mile long driving loop, carriage roads (originally for horses; today there are more bikers and walkers), and extensive hiking trails. We got a good taste of all three, with some stunning views thrown in. We started out by driving half the loop, the half along the ocean. It's a slow drive, but not a crowded one, at least not while we were there.
We parked at Sand Beach (notable for its sand - most of Maine's beaches are rocky) which we visited briefly. Then we headed up to the peak of Gorham Mountain. The walk parallels the shore, so you get views along the way and you especially get views at the top, which is less like a point and more like an extended ridge line. This walk was more crowded, in that we saw people along the trail, but there were plenty of times that we felt like the only people on the trail.
The trails around here are a mix of flat boulders, shaded tree trunks, natural cobblestone paths up small creeks, and carved steps. The maintainers do a great job of keeping the trails clean and well-marked. In places exposed to weather, they also place cairns, small arrangements of rocks, to guide you in case the blazes wear away.
Near the top, we saw a fawn browsing on blueberries, and I hope getting fat for the coming winter. Although you could not see its ribs, it was so hungry that it didn't mind our presence. Every now and then it would look up to see if we were still there, then go back to the job at hand. We were able to talk quietly, take pictures, move around, all without disturbing it. Such a gift.
When we got back down, we walked on a path between the road and the ocean. We saw thunder hole. In quieter waters, it's more like "Hole that sloshes." But in rough weather, it apparently booms with each wave that comes in. A few weeks ago, several tourists were swept off the rocks there and one girl died. This despite the best efforts of rangers who tried to keep people off the rocks because they knew how dangerous the situation was. Apparently an unheard-of huge wave came out of nowhere and managed to snare seven people. Very sad.
There were beautiful little coves, some with perfectly round pebble-like rocks at the bottom of the cliff. There were people and dogs, wildflowers, gorgeous rocks you could walk onto. Back at the parking lot, we realized we were hungry, so we headed for the only restaurant in the park. But so had everyone else, and we headed out of the park to a small nearby town where we called B to check in.
Turns out that friends of his had sailed into that same town and he was helping them dock. Off they went for a sail, and we went in search of lunch and for a stroll in the little village. Then, because it was yet another beautiful day in this corner of paradise, we decided to drive up Cadillac Mountain (over 1000 feet!). At the top, there's a huge parking lot and lots of people. Still, it's very pretty and very windy and we took a short walk on a carefully paved path.
Another checkin with B and plans were still gelling, so we headed back across the island and walked for a bit on carriage roads. Very peaceful and quiet there, with just a few people in sight. These are wide roads with very gentle rises and falls and beautiful bridges to carry traffic above and out of sight. After a bit, B called (thank goodness for modern technology) to say that the five of us had dinner reservations at 6:30. So we tore back to the house, washed all the salt off, and returned to the other side of the island.
The restaurant was in an out of the way town, south of Bar Harbor, and the food was absolutely delicious. The place was packed, too. I have been loving the fresh fish here and have been eating way more than I typically do.
That brings us to yesterday. B had mentioned a place up the coast (off the island) called Schoodic Peninsula. Apparently, this Sunday's Boston Globe had a brief article about it which said that it's the quieter side of Acadia, undiscovered, almost unvisited. Part of the peninsula is devoted to fishing villages; the other part is owned by the Park Service. It also has a loop road, which we drove. There's a little area from when the Navy owned it, and a sculpture event going on with massive pieces of granite and sculptors from different countries. Along our drive, we stopped to hike up the very short Schoodic Mountain. It was still a challenging hike and there were some very vertical parts, although we did not take the trail described as "steep."
Then we noodled around the countryside, partly in search of antiques (I ended up with a tiny cat statue for $2), partly in search of lunch, which was ok, not stellar. And on another country road, we stumbled on a small organic farm that has a 25-family CSA and bought some food for dinner. Then into a town for some feta to complete our salad.
We had a small cocktail party with the neighbor across the street, then started dinner. Fortunately there were three dishes because I made one of them way too hot. Whoops. We put yogurt on top, which helped, but still.
So that's the trip so far. We have two more days here, then we're off to Portland for two days before easing back into society as we know it.
The island is shaped like a person's lungs. B lives on the west side of the western lobe, the quiet side, diagonally opposite bustling Bar Harbor.
When B invited us to stay here, I wasn't sure how things would work out, if he wanted to be solitary and occasionally wave at us across the clothesline, or if he wanted to spend more time with us. It turns out that we've had the pleasure of his companies on a number of his adventures.
On Sunday, we took a short walk into Acadia NP to see a few ponds and walk on well-kept roads surrounded by tall pines. Later, the three of us drove into Bar Harbor for dinner at a place down a little alley behind a barn. Very fun and very good food. And we walked around BH a bit after dinner. What years before had been a charming town to my eyes suddenly felt like too much -- too many stores, too many tee shirts, too many people. I was glad to get back home.
Monday, we hiked up Acadia Mountain (eastern side of western lobe). It was actually hard going for me, or maybe I should say challenging. For one thing, it was quite vertical, and although many kind souls had cut steps and blazed paths, still, there was some work involved. B thinks the climb was "moderate," a few outside opinions call it "strenuous," and my ankles and knees thought that perhaps doing a climb like that every other day would be appropriate.
Regardless, as we wound our way to the top across rough granite boulders and through twisted trees, we started to get glimpses of the lay of the land. It was a brilliant day and we could see for miles. We were also right next to the water, so we could see sounds, expensive houses next to the sounds, and islands. B pointed out the spot below where he woke up one morning and realized he needed to move to Maine. (He now spends most of his time in Boston and comes to Maine every month.)
Back at sea level, we returned to the house and made dinner for B and his delightful neighbor A. They've both owned houses here for 25 years and enjoy each others' company a great deal.
On Tuesday, B took his boat for repairs. We met him in the boatyard, from which a tourist cruise goes to a small island. The three of us hopped on the tourist cruise. Funny - my expectations were that a bored captain would take us to the island, then sullenly take us back. Far from it. The highlight was the boat ride - the captain knows the islands and which parts are owned by nature conservancies, land trusts, or the park. He knows the animals and we got to see bald eagles and seals, cormorants and auks and terns. He explained the boom and bust cycles of the fishing trade and described how lobstering has survived all these years. He even had a few lobster traps waiting and showed us what it's like when you pull up a trap - what to throw back, how to measure a lobster, and so on.
Our stop was in Frenchboro, a small town on Long Island. There are summer people there, but just 50 people live there year round. Last year, someone from the island graduated from high school on the mainland; the last high school senior is five years older.
After our return, we enacted a hens-foxes-and-boats scenario with B's repaired boat. The boat was on one side of the harbor and needed to be taken out on the other side. We had two cars and three people and no parking places on the other side. It took a while. I was the designated person to wait on the other side with jeep and trailer, and I didn't mind at all. It was a very pretty wait.
Dinner at home again, followed by a scrabble-like game called Bananagrams. I don't play games often, but this one was fun and we were well-matched, which made it more so.
Wednesday, Robert and I took off for another hike while B stayed behind to take care of some work items, or at least that was the plan. B was feeling funny, amused, something that we had not yet seen the "main highlight" of Acadia NP, so sent us over to the eastern lobe for some hiking.
The main part of the park has a 27-mile long driving loop, carriage roads (originally for horses; today there are more bikers and walkers), and extensive hiking trails. We got a good taste of all three, with some stunning views thrown in. We started out by driving half the loop, the half along the ocean. It's a slow drive, but not a crowded one, at least not while we were there.
We parked at Sand Beach (notable for its sand - most of Maine's beaches are rocky) which we visited briefly. Then we headed up to the peak of Gorham Mountain. The walk parallels the shore, so you get views along the way and you especially get views at the top, which is less like a point and more like an extended ridge line. This walk was more crowded, in that we saw people along the trail, but there were plenty of times that we felt like the only people on the trail.
The trails around here are a mix of flat boulders, shaded tree trunks, natural cobblestone paths up small creeks, and carved steps. The maintainers do a great job of keeping the trails clean and well-marked. In places exposed to weather, they also place cairns, small arrangements of rocks, to guide you in case the blazes wear away.
Near the top, we saw a fawn browsing on blueberries, and I hope getting fat for the coming winter. Although you could not see its ribs, it was so hungry that it didn't mind our presence. Every now and then it would look up to see if we were still there, then go back to the job at hand. We were able to talk quietly, take pictures, move around, all without disturbing it. Such a gift.
When we got back down, we walked on a path between the road and the ocean. We saw thunder hole. In quieter waters, it's more like "Hole that sloshes." But in rough weather, it apparently booms with each wave that comes in. A few weeks ago, several tourists were swept off the rocks there and one girl died. This despite the best efforts of rangers who tried to keep people off the rocks because they knew how dangerous the situation was. Apparently an unheard-of huge wave came out of nowhere and managed to snare seven people. Very sad.
There were beautiful little coves, some with perfectly round pebble-like rocks at the bottom of the cliff. There were people and dogs, wildflowers, gorgeous rocks you could walk onto. Back at the parking lot, we realized we were hungry, so we headed for the only restaurant in the park. But so had everyone else, and we headed out of the park to a small nearby town where we called B to check in.
Turns out that friends of his had sailed into that same town and he was helping them dock. Off they went for a sail, and we went in search of lunch and for a stroll in the little village. Then, because it was yet another beautiful day in this corner of paradise, we decided to drive up Cadillac Mountain (over 1000 feet!). At the top, there's a huge parking lot and lots of people. Still, it's very pretty and very windy and we took a short walk on a carefully paved path.
Another checkin with B and plans were still gelling, so we headed back across the island and walked for a bit on carriage roads. Very peaceful and quiet there, with just a few people in sight. These are wide roads with very gentle rises and falls and beautiful bridges to carry traffic above and out of sight. After a bit, B called (thank goodness for modern technology) to say that the five of us had dinner reservations at 6:30. So we tore back to the house, washed all the salt off, and returned to the other side of the island.
The restaurant was in an out of the way town, south of Bar Harbor, and the food was absolutely delicious. The place was packed, too. I have been loving the fresh fish here and have been eating way more than I typically do.
That brings us to yesterday. B had mentioned a place up the coast (off the island) called Schoodic Peninsula. Apparently, this Sunday's Boston Globe had a brief article about it which said that it's the quieter side of Acadia, undiscovered, almost unvisited. Part of the peninsula is devoted to fishing villages; the other part is owned by the Park Service. It also has a loop road, which we drove. There's a little area from when the Navy owned it, and a sculpture event going on with massive pieces of granite and sculptors from different countries. Along our drive, we stopped to hike up the very short Schoodic Mountain. It was still a challenging hike and there were some very vertical parts, although we did not take the trail described as "steep."
Then we noodled around the countryside, partly in search of antiques (I ended up with a tiny cat statue for $2), partly in search of lunch, which was ok, not stellar. And on another country road, we stumbled on a small organic farm that has a 25-family CSA and bought some food for dinner. Then into a town for some feta to complete our salad.
We had a small cocktail party with the neighbor across the street, then started dinner. Fortunately there were three dishes because I made one of them way too hot. Whoops. We put yogurt on top, which helped, but still.
So that's the trip so far. We have two more days here, then we're off to Portland for two days before easing back into society as we know it.
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
summer vacation, part 1
Finally, we're on vacation! Last Thursday, Robert worked a half day, and then we drove northeast to our first destination, Belfast Maine.
We ended up at a very sweet B&B, run by a mostly-retired couple from New Jersey who've had the inn for about 20 years. It's an old Victorian with interesting rambling rooms and just a few guest rooms. It turns out we were the only guests.
The wife of the couple cooked amazing breakfasts and chatted with us a lot. The inn is nicely decorated, but not overly so - we were totally comfortable there.
Our first night, we went for a walk downtown and ended up at a brewpub called Three Tides. We sat on a deck overlooking the harbor, sipped beer, and nibbled on American tapas.
On Friday, Robert drove while I navigated - about 150 miles of noodling. We first went to a beautiful new bridge that has an observatory tower from which you can see scenery for miles around. We continued across the next peninsula and onto an island, keeping to the coast. We went through Brooklin (where EB White summered), onto Stonington, and back up the other side and around Castine.
We stopped for lunch in Stonington and found a really nice local place with very fresh fish. Of course, we got to sit outside and enjoy the view of the working harbor.
That evening, we made it back to Belfast in time for the last bit of their weekly open gallery tour. We made it to perhaps five galleries and saw some good work before heading back to Three Tides for beer samplers - nine beers in small glasses. Yum.
The next day it poured rain and we headed south. Years ago, we'd visited the Farnsworth Museum which I remembered fondly, especially for it's multi-generation Wyeth holdings. Before we left, though, we stopped off at a Belfast gallery and bought some artwork that we'd admired the night before (small pieces). We talked to the artist a bit - about her work, about her "winter" job as a school nurse, her family, politics, the usual.
Then south, with a long stop at the Carver Hill Gallery, a mix between a home design showroom and one of the best art galleries we've ever been in. It's set up like a house, complete with working kitchen, living spaces, bathrooms, and the art is displayed in every room. They display traditional wall art, furniture, sculpture, textiles, and kids' art. Another nice chat with the manager, and we finally went on to the Farnsworth, where...
The Andrew Wyeths were wonderful and satisfying. The lady at the desk was snotty (she scolded me for not making their Robert Indiana show a top priority - not what I came for). The Jamie Wyeths (son) were disappointing - lots of seagulls in a show called the Seven Deadly Sins. I didn't even see half of it. And the NC Wyeths (father) were *fine*, not my favorites. We did see another exhibit, mostly of modern prints and a few paintings, mostly by Maine painters, that was satisfying. But we felt that the Carver Hill experience was far more interesting with a small exception for the Andrew Wyeths.
Then back to Belfast, an early (and delicious dinner), and back to the inn. It was rainy and cold and the innkeepers made a fire for us. They invited us to play board games with them but instead, we opted to spend the evening reading. One of the innkeeper's cats decided that my lap was the designated two-hour evening nap spot, and I can't say I minded.
The cats were beautiful - a mix between sealpoint Siamese and Persian, with comfortable faces (neither pointy nor smooshed) and luxurious medium-length coats. And such placid personalities.
On Sunday, we drove further into Maine, mostly east. We are now downeast on Mount Desert Island, staying in the upstairs apartment of a friend whose property borders Acadia National Park. A few adventures down, and a few more to go. It is very peaceful here and a good place to be.
We ended up at a very sweet B&B, run by a mostly-retired couple from New Jersey who've had the inn for about 20 years. It's an old Victorian with interesting rambling rooms and just a few guest rooms. It turns out we were the only guests.
The wife of the couple cooked amazing breakfasts and chatted with us a lot. The inn is nicely decorated, but not overly so - we were totally comfortable there.
Our first night, we went for a walk downtown and ended up at a brewpub called Three Tides. We sat on a deck overlooking the harbor, sipped beer, and nibbled on American tapas.
On Friday, Robert drove while I navigated - about 150 miles of noodling. We first went to a beautiful new bridge that has an observatory tower from which you can see scenery for miles around. We continued across the next peninsula and onto an island, keeping to the coast. We went through Brooklin (where EB White summered), onto Stonington, and back up the other side and around Castine.
We stopped for lunch in Stonington and found a really nice local place with very fresh fish. Of course, we got to sit outside and enjoy the view of the working harbor.
That evening, we made it back to Belfast in time for the last bit of their weekly open gallery tour. We made it to perhaps five galleries and saw some good work before heading back to Three Tides for beer samplers - nine beers in small glasses. Yum.
The next day it poured rain and we headed south. Years ago, we'd visited the Farnsworth Museum which I remembered fondly, especially for it's multi-generation Wyeth holdings. Before we left, though, we stopped off at a Belfast gallery and bought some artwork that we'd admired the night before (small pieces). We talked to the artist a bit - about her work, about her "winter" job as a school nurse, her family, politics, the usual.
Then south, with a long stop at the Carver Hill Gallery, a mix between a home design showroom and one of the best art galleries we've ever been in. It's set up like a house, complete with working kitchen, living spaces, bathrooms, and the art is displayed in every room. They display traditional wall art, furniture, sculpture, textiles, and kids' art. Another nice chat with the manager, and we finally went on to the Farnsworth, where...
The Andrew Wyeths were wonderful and satisfying. The lady at the desk was snotty (she scolded me for not making their Robert Indiana show a top priority - not what I came for). The Jamie Wyeths (son) were disappointing - lots of seagulls in a show called the Seven Deadly Sins. I didn't even see half of it. And the NC Wyeths (father) were *fine*, not my favorites. We did see another exhibit, mostly of modern prints and a few paintings, mostly by Maine painters, that was satisfying. But we felt that the Carver Hill experience was far more interesting with a small exception for the Andrew Wyeths.
Then back to Belfast, an early (and delicious dinner), and back to the inn. It was rainy and cold and the innkeepers made a fire for us. They invited us to play board games with them but instead, we opted to spend the evening reading. One of the innkeeper's cats decided that my lap was the designated two-hour evening nap spot, and I can't say I minded.
The cats were beautiful - a mix between sealpoint Siamese and Persian, with comfortable faces (neither pointy nor smooshed) and luxurious medium-length coats. And such placid personalities.
On Sunday, we drove further into Maine, mostly east. We are now downeast on Mount Desert Island, staying in the upstairs apartment of a friend whose property borders Acadia National Park. A few adventures down, and a few more to go. It is very peaceful here and a good place to be.
Monday, August 24, 2009
practice vaca #2 - back to the berkshires
Another great weekend in the Berkshires, though shorter this time, and a little less packed with activity.
We saw two very satisfying concerts led by Kurt Masur. Mr. Masur is 82 years old and worked entirely without a musical score for both concerts. He has tremors in his hands. It looks like he's giving extra instructions to the orchestra, but somehow the orchestra understands all his nuances and plays masterfully under him. His eyes sparkle and he clearly loves the musicians, often blowing them kisses at the end of a piece. He also is much more concerned with recognizing the musicians than in being recognized himself. The orchestra seems completely devoted to him, in turn. It all makes for very good chemistry.
We were sitting up front and way to the side for both concerts, giving us a good perspective on the conductor's face and allowing me to hear parts of the orchestra that somehow don't come across as clearly when heard head on.
The first concert was Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, with a young and very good pianist, David Fray (someone we'd never heard of until the event, though there was a short blurb about him in the Globe on Friday). He earned a standing ovation for his first performance at Tanglewood, a nice accolade.
The second concert was all-Mendelsohn, but three "greatest hits" pieces, all very familiar. The soloist was Gil Shaham, whom we first stumbled on in London, on a night when we couldn't find an open theater, so decided to go to a concert. That night long ago, we heard a wild, showy violinist who sounded in danger of burning up his instrument. This weekend, we heard a wildly restrained violinist with amazing control over his instrument, especially at the higher notes. I kept thinking that it would be hard to find another soloist this good with this piece.
Unfortunately, the weather was highly uncooperative, dumping massive amounts of rain on the area in short amounts of time. Both nights, the lawn was nearly empty, a sight I've never seen before. Good thing, then, that for next week's five sold-out performances, James Taylor is donating his entire fee (a cool half mil) to Tanglewood. Good for him, and I'm sure, especially appreciated this year.
A side-benefit at Tanglewood was that we bumped into a fellow contra dancer who lives in the area, someone we haven't seen for ages. She volunteers as a greeter there, and we got to catch up with her on both nights. Very sweet person and we may have convinced her to come to dance camp this fall.
On Saturday during the day, we went to the Norman Rockwell museum, where they have two main exhibits. One is a a traveling exhibit of "greatest hits," now back home. We've seen many of these pieces before, but now they have great explanatory plaques. It was like visiting again with old friends.
The second exhibit is of NR's son's work, a lot of sculptures and some water colors. I especially enjoyed a series of small bronzes - tiny, exuberant, in-the-moment, acrobatic human figures.
One of the exciting things about this museum is that NR died just 30 years ago, which means that many people still remember him. It's fun to listen in on tours because they're mostly stories about NR, gossipy without a touch of meanness, and not so much scholarly dissertations on the art. I've actually met two models for his paintings, one a co-worker, and one the model for "The Problem We All Live With." The spirit of NR is very much kept alive.
As a side-note, Robert said that in the 18 years of knowing me, he's never seen me stand up for such an extended time as I did on Saturday. I was really enjoying myself and fortunately came away not even needing my usual ibuprofen antidote.
On this visit, we stayed at our favorite place, in a little out-of-the-way town that most people don't know about (ssshh! don't tell anyone!). We've now stayed there at least six times. We love staying in a place where the owners grew up, hearing family stories, and even hearing about the current struggles the family is going through. Yesterday, we sat at the breakfast table for three hours, first talking to other guests and then to family members.
And then we came home. We flew down the Pike - the Sunday afternoon traffic hadn't picked up yet. Our neighbor did a great job taking care of the cats, so they were happy to see us and seemingly undisturbed that we'd been away.
And now... on to the week and the long-awaited real vacation which starts at the end of this week.
We saw two very satisfying concerts led by Kurt Masur. Mr. Masur is 82 years old and worked entirely without a musical score for both concerts. He has tremors in his hands. It looks like he's giving extra instructions to the orchestra, but somehow the orchestra understands all his nuances and plays masterfully under him. His eyes sparkle and he clearly loves the musicians, often blowing them kisses at the end of a piece. He also is much more concerned with recognizing the musicians than in being recognized himself. The orchestra seems completely devoted to him, in turn. It all makes for very good chemistry.
We were sitting up front and way to the side for both concerts, giving us a good perspective on the conductor's face and allowing me to hear parts of the orchestra that somehow don't come across as clearly when heard head on.
The first concert was Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, with a young and very good pianist, David Fray (someone we'd never heard of until the event, though there was a short blurb about him in the Globe on Friday). He earned a standing ovation for his first performance at Tanglewood, a nice accolade.
The second concert was all-Mendelsohn, but three "greatest hits" pieces, all very familiar. The soloist was Gil Shaham, whom we first stumbled on in London, on a night when we couldn't find an open theater, so decided to go to a concert. That night long ago, we heard a wild, showy violinist who sounded in danger of burning up his instrument. This weekend, we heard a wildly restrained violinist with amazing control over his instrument, especially at the higher notes. I kept thinking that it would be hard to find another soloist this good with this piece.
Unfortunately, the weather was highly uncooperative, dumping massive amounts of rain on the area in short amounts of time. Both nights, the lawn was nearly empty, a sight I've never seen before. Good thing, then, that for next week's five sold-out performances, James Taylor is donating his entire fee (a cool half mil) to Tanglewood. Good for him, and I'm sure, especially appreciated this year.
A side-benefit at Tanglewood was that we bumped into a fellow contra dancer who lives in the area, someone we haven't seen for ages. She volunteers as a greeter there, and we got to catch up with her on both nights. Very sweet person and we may have convinced her to come to dance camp this fall.
On Saturday during the day, we went to the Norman Rockwell museum, where they have two main exhibits. One is a a traveling exhibit of "greatest hits," now back home. We've seen many of these pieces before, but now they have great explanatory plaques. It was like visiting again with old friends.
The second exhibit is of NR's son's work, a lot of sculptures and some water colors. I especially enjoyed a series of small bronzes - tiny, exuberant, in-the-moment, acrobatic human figures.
One of the exciting things about this museum is that NR died just 30 years ago, which means that many people still remember him. It's fun to listen in on tours because they're mostly stories about NR, gossipy without a touch of meanness, and not so much scholarly dissertations on the art. I've actually met two models for his paintings, one a co-worker, and one the model for "The Problem We All Live With." The spirit of NR is very much kept alive.
As a side-note, Robert said that in the 18 years of knowing me, he's never seen me stand up for such an extended time as I did on Saturday. I was really enjoying myself and fortunately came away not even needing my usual ibuprofen antidote.
On this visit, we stayed at our favorite place, in a little out-of-the-way town that most people don't know about (ssshh! don't tell anyone!). We've now stayed there at least six times. We love staying in a place where the owners grew up, hearing family stories, and even hearing about the current struggles the family is going through. Yesterday, we sat at the breakfast table for three hours, first talking to other guests and then to family members.
And then we came home. We flew down the Pike - the Sunday afternoon traffic hadn't picked up yet. Our neighbor did a great job taking care of the cats, so they were happy to see us and seemingly undisturbed that we'd been away.
And now... on to the week and the long-awaited real vacation which starts at the end of this week.
Monday, August 10, 2009
excellent weekend - practice vacation 1
This August, we have two tiny practice vacations in the Berkshires before going on our real vacation at the end of the month. We had our first practice this past weekend, and what a lovely time it was.
At this point, we have two favorite places to stay in the Berkshires, and given that we go about twice a year, we get to stay in each every year. This time, we stayed with Richard on his llama farm. Richard has three guest rooms and fascinating guests every time. He lives on a stunning piece of property half way up a mountain, with beautiful views to the west and the rest of the mountain (and over 100 square miles of public land) rising behind. We were privileged to go on a llama trek, this time with him. It turns out that he loves noticing animal tracks and reconstructing the story. We saw many deer tracks, some walking, some running, some raccoon, turkey, and coyote tracks. We even found some scat and Richard was able to tell us what the animal had been eating -- fruit and voles.
On Thursday night, we went to a performance at Tanglewood in the littler hall (Seiji Ozawa), which is stunning -- I often wish Mark had lived long enough to see it. One of the clever parts of its design is that the back of the hall rises to two massive doors. For concerts, the doors are open and the floor continues directly onto the lawn, which continues to rise.
We saw just about our favorite dance troupe -- Mark Morris, accompanied (in part) by two little-known but talented musicians -- Yo Yo Ma and Emanuel Ax. I'm sure they'll make it some day with a little more practice. I wanted to sit through the performance five times. It was hard to know whether to listen to the music, watch the dancers, look at the hall, try to integrate the whole experience (really hard), or just sit and let the experience come to me. In the end, I decided that if we were disappointed with every thing else this weekend, this performance would have made the trip worthwhile. Of course, that was far from the case: MMDG was only the beginning of a great time.
Friday, we headed up to the Clark Museum in the Northwest corner of the state. This is one of my favorite museums, both for its permanent collections and for its special exhibitions. They currently have an exhibit on Georgia O'Keefe and one of her mentors, Arthur Dove. The curators at this museum have a special talent for juxtaposing works so that you can compare themes, styles, ideas, which all made the exhibit even more wonderful.
Last year in New Mexico, we saw a lot of O'Keefe's works at her museum in Santa Fe. We also drove over to Abiqui to see Ghost Ranch where she did a lot of her southwest work. So it was especially interesting this year to see an exhibit mostly of east coast work with a little southwest thrown in.
We revisited an exhibit we saw last year of American landscapes in the permanent collection. Landscapes are typically not my favorite, but these are great -- powerful, evocative -- and it's a small exhibit of large works.
They've just opened a new trail through their nearly vertical meadow, so we took the long way to their two-year old conservation and exhibit building. On entry to the meadow, we were met by two stunningly beautiful horses who sniffed us all over to see if we'd brought them treats. I called them the attack horses, but really, they were very gentle and happy to be petted if not fed. The walk was complete with gorgeous views of the next mountain over, of woods and meadow flowers. The resident cows barely glanced at us and resumed their munching.
The new building, the Stone Center, could be the most awful kind of architecture in less skilled hands. Instead, it is modern and purposeful and well integrated into its surroundings. They are running a lovely exhibit on Japanese landscapes (from about 150 years ago) and modern Japanese ceramics. Later, we sat on their patio and had a light lunch just so we could watch the landscape some more.
That evening, we headed to Jacob's Pillow for a dance performance of Rennie Harris. RH is a hip-hop artist with street training who came to formal dance later in life. Last time we saw him, he was just working with men, and now women have joined his troupe. The beat rocks and so do the dancers. Amazing work.
On Saturday, we visited the Berkshire Botanical Garden, always a treat. They have a meandering path around a park with different types of gardens -- cottage, herb, rock, water, farm. It's a peaceful place.
Then we headed back to Jacob's Pillow to see a talk I'd noticed in the brochure the night before -- Rachel Maddow speaking about public policy and the arts. Doesn't that sound like the most boring topic imaginable? Of course, it wasn't. She was funny, delightful, insightful. She started by giving a history of Jacob's Pillow, complete with tiny eye wiggles and admiration. She talked about funding arts as an act of patriotism. During audience questions, someone mentioned that they'd read that RM's partner is an artist and suddenly the conversation switched from the political to the personal.
At the beginning, during the history portion, RM said that she originally thought 10 people would come and so she'd brought a picture to pass around. Given that about 1000 of us showed up (dancers, grandmothers, baby dykes, us, everyone in between), she decided that was a little impractical. We didn't get to see the picture, buy Boy Howdy (as she would say), we did get to see her.
That evening, we went back to Tanglewood to see a Prokofiev symphony (very short, very listenable) and the star attraction, Carmina Burana. Perhaps I should mention that I despise classical singing and this piece not only has three soloists but an adult chorus and a children's chorus. And we still went. And it was fantastic. I've heard recordings over the years, but to see it live was an absolute privelege.
Yesterday, we went on our llama hike, then headed back to Tanglewood for a long concert with four pieces, all by people I'm unfamiliar with. Shostakovitch was perhaps the most familiar name. Some of the descriptions (atonal, for example) made some of the pieces sound frightening, but they were all very easy and pleasant to listen to. But the star attraction was Yo Yo Ma (again) and a young conductor who got his big break last summer when James Levine fell ill at the start of the summer season. Both were excellent, and Yo Yo Ma makes nearly every piece we've heard him perform into something listenable.
Then home, and work starts up shortly. Phew. What a great time. And we get to go back soon.
At this point, we have two favorite places to stay in the Berkshires, and given that we go about twice a year, we get to stay in each every year. This time, we stayed with Richard on his llama farm. Richard has three guest rooms and fascinating guests every time. He lives on a stunning piece of property half way up a mountain, with beautiful views to the west and the rest of the mountain (and over 100 square miles of public land) rising behind. We were privileged to go on a llama trek, this time with him. It turns out that he loves noticing animal tracks and reconstructing the story. We saw many deer tracks, some walking, some running, some raccoon, turkey, and coyote tracks. We even found some scat and Richard was able to tell us what the animal had been eating -- fruit and voles.
On Thursday night, we went to a performance at Tanglewood in the littler hall (Seiji Ozawa), which is stunning -- I often wish Mark had lived long enough to see it. One of the clever parts of its design is that the back of the hall rises to two massive doors. For concerts, the doors are open and the floor continues directly onto the lawn, which continues to rise.
We saw just about our favorite dance troupe -- Mark Morris, accompanied (in part) by two little-known but talented musicians -- Yo Yo Ma and Emanuel Ax. I'm sure they'll make it some day with a little more practice. I wanted to sit through the performance five times. It was hard to know whether to listen to the music, watch the dancers, look at the hall, try to integrate the whole experience (really hard), or just sit and let the experience come to me. In the end, I decided that if we were disappointed with every thing else this weekend, this performance would have made the trip worthwhile. Of course, that was far from the case: MMDG was only the beginning of a great time.
Friday, we headed up to the Clark Museum in the Northwest corner of the state. This is one of my favorite museums, both for its permanent collections and for its special exhibitions. They currently have an exhibit on Georgia O'Keefe and one of her mentors, Arthur Dove. The curators at this museum have a special talent for juxtaposing works so that you can compare themes, styles, ideas, which all made the exhibit even more wonderful.
Last year in New Mexico, we saw a lot of O'Keefe's works at her museum in Santa Fe. We also drove over to Abiqui to see Ghost Ranch where she did a lot of her southwest work. So it was especially interesting this year to see an exhibit mostly of east coast work with a little southwest thrown in.
We revisited an exhibit we saw last year of American landscapes in the permanent collection. Landscapes are typically not my favorite, but these are great -- powerful, evocative -- and it's a small exhibit of large works.
They've just opened a new trail through their nearly vertical meadow, so we took the long way to their two-year old conservation and exhibit building. On entry to the meadow, we were met by two stunningly beautiful horses who sniffed us all over to see if we'd brought them treats. I called them the attack horses, but really, they were very gentle and happy to be petted if not fed. The walk was complete with gorgeous views of the next mountain over, of woods and meadow flowers. The resident cows barely glanced at us and resumed their munching.
The new building, the Stone Center, could be the most awful kind of architecture in less skilled hands. Instead, it is modern and purposeful and well integrated into its surroundings. They are running a lovely exhibit on Japanese landscapes (from about 150 years ago) and modern Japanese ceramics. Later, we sat on their patio and had a light lunch just so we could watch the landscape some more.
That evening, we headed to Jacob's Pillow for a dance performance of Rennie Harris. RH is a hip-hop artist with street training who came to formal dance later in life. Last time we saw him, he was just working with men, and now women have joined his troupe. The beat rocks and so do the dancers. Amazing work.
On Saturday, we visited the Berkshire Botanical Garden, always a treat. They have a meandering path around a park with different types of gardens -- cottage, herb, rock, water, farm. It's a peaceful place.
Then we headed back to Jacob's Pillow to see a talk I'd noticed in the brochure the night before -- Rachel Maddow speaking about public policy and the arts. Doesn't that sound like the most boring topic imaginable? Of course, it wasn't. She was funny, delightful, insightful. She started by giving a history of Jacob's Pillow, complete with tiny eye wiggles and admiration. She talked about funding arts as an act of patriotism. During audience questions, someone mentioned that they'd read that RM's partner is an artist and suddenly the conversation switched from the political to the personal.
At the beginning, during the history portion, RM said that she originally thought 10 people would come and so she'd brought a picture to pass around. Given that about 1000 of us showed up (dancers, grandmothers, baby dykes, us, everyone in between), she decided that was a little impractical. We didn't get to see the picture, buy Boy Howdy (as she would say), we did get to see her.
That evening, we went back to Tanglewood to see a Prokofiev symphony (very short, very listenable) and the star attraction, Carmina Burana. Perhaps I should mention that I despise classical singing and this piece not only has three soloists but an adult chorus and a children's chorus. And we still went. And it was fantastic. I've heard recordings over the years, but to see it live was an absolute privelege.
Yesterday, we went on our llama hike, then headed back to Tanglewood for a long concert with four pieces, all by people I'm unfamiliar with. Shostakovitch was perhaps the most familiar name. Some of the descriptions (atonal, for example) made some of the pieces sound frightening, but they were all very easy and pleasant to listen to. But the star attraction was Yo Yo Ma (again) and a young conductor who got his big break last summer when James Levine fell ill at the start of the summer season. Both were excellent, and Yo Yo Ma makes nearly every piece we've heard him perform into something listenable.
Then home, and work starts up shortly. Phew. What a great time. And we get to go back soon.
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