Retroment of Baron and Baroness Von D'Lucci

LA di Duggan

2011-09-28T18:15:00.000-07:00

Greetings:

It had been a couple of decades since we had explored the lower left coast. One of the things I remember from visiting our friend Dennis in Reseda was his being impressed with our lightning blitztour of Universal. This time our raison d’voyage was to see how Chip was surviving in East Hollywood. We did have some reason for concern when we were asked by Chip to view the following picture on Facebook. We were to figure it out from the visual context:

Yes, he is working his way through the opening in the “H” of the Hollywood sign. (You can take the boy out of Chicago…). The event was inspired by a visit from his Chicago ‘Urban Guide’ photographer. This seemed like ‘fun’.

So after a three hour delay at Logan and a nice dinner at Legal Sea Foods, we arrived at LAX at thirty four o’clock Pacific time. Chip was dutifully waiting and eager, as were we, to unite the family.

Now let it be said that there are many traffic nightmares in this country: the LIE (Long Island Expressway) and DC at rush hour immediately come to mind. There might even be something to marvel about the daytime density there also along with some other major urban areas in the US. LA however is a 24/7 stream of automotive angst and vehicular effluvia – YUK!

To each rapturous LA accolade and ambient vista there was the accompaniment of a traffic flashback. Should we decide to bring the retroment out west for a month or more there may need to begin a conscientiously applied program of damnitol and regularly applied psychiatric care.

Chip, our dutiful chauffeur, weathered it all. Of course he had the assistance of two iPhones and a manic navigator.

What a trip, however. We grabbed a few hours of sleep and then headed for Santa Monica. Brunch reminded us of the fact that we were in fresh fruit and vegetable land. We then made our way along the Third Street Promenade which reminded us a lot of Lincoln Road in Miami Beach.

It also allows an easy ramble along the ocean.

There was even a hint of deco:

In coordination with our preponderance of coincidence and kharma we then met with Chris’ Irish cousins who were on a more extensive tour of the western United States. These rendezvous have occurred in Avignon, Tuscany, Ireland, New England and now Santa Monica.

It was great to see them and catch up with news of family and just enjoy each other’s company. Dinner was a bit of a challenge on a Saturday night but Chip managed to find an Italian Restaurant that would serve us before midnight. But then we were reminded of some of the ‘charm’ of Southern California – the portion sizes. Though exquisite of taste and presentation, the allotment of food is parsimonious at best. Paedar firmly announced, after splitting the two scallop appetizer with Noreen, that he would not be ‘sharing’.

Entrees were also delicious but meretricious (Gini felt that hers was just enough – the male contingent was ready to pursue mastodon or sabertooth, Noreen kept her own counsel)

The price, of course, was inversely proportional to the portions (antiportional?)

None the less it did not deter us from sitting on the porch of their B&B into the night hours and conversing. Another coincidence is that this B&B was only a few blocks from where Chip works. Chip, who had been up for at least three hundred hours between work and chauffeur duties, finally called a timeout and we headed to his apartment.

Once again our fabulous son performed a work of mercy by giving up his bed and sleeping on an air mattress right next to us in his limited space residence.

Art has taken a back seat to his current employment. He works at a sober living residence for young men between 18-25. There are currently 8 clients. It is on the upscale side and the house includes chandeliers (Gini was very impressed), a pool, Jacuzzi, rec room and dorm-like suites. Of course Chip has introduced climbing into the routine of the household. Enthusiasm can readily be observed among these guys and, as many of us might know, people recovering from substance abuse and trying to stabilize their lives are not always described as ‘enthusiastic’. Yea Chip!

Though Chip is committed to this group we arrived in the midst of business negotiations. One of the residents had been asked to leave, as he had been from several other sober living situations. The young man’s parents, who love their son dearly but also are very wealthy, were negotiating with Chip to establish a team for another residence. This would have more structure and challenge the ‘clients’ much more seriously. We shall see over the next few weeks what becomes of this.

The weather was not behaving in a very California way so we headed for the Getty Museum. Actually the Museum is composed of two locations: the Getty Center and the Getty Villa. The Villa is dedicated to ancient Greek, Roman and Etruscan art and theater. Our destination was the Center.

A tram glides its way up a quintessential pacific hillside and deposits you at the entrance:

The exhibits, though good (we viewed photographs of Cuba through the years and illuminated manuscripts, for example, both very interesting) were outdone by the complex of buildings and the grounds. As you climb the steps up to the main level you can get an appreciable panorama:

Lovely gardens and lawns (yes a lawn in these brown hills) flow from the main area:

Later that evening we vicariously extended our experience by taking in the movie ‘Drive’ which takes place in Los Angeles. Violent and graphic so as not for all but we thought it was good (especially the scenes of places we had just been riding through for the past couple of days).

The next day we went to work with Chip and enjoyed downtown Pacific Palisades and the residence. After work Chip needed to do something physical so he cut us loose as he joined a fellow climber for ascents that, if viewed parentally, would create dissents. We went to the nearest mall.

For our last day we headed for Malibu where Chip hopes to rent a house for the new venture. We had a great ride, also, through Topanga Canyon and then a fabulous tour of Rick Leslie’s house, which is also near where Chip works in Pacific Palisades. The house was mind blowing. Built into a hillside, this friend of Tom and Michele’s has created an open concept of earth materials, solar assisted living and realized vision. Taking pictures while being given a tour just did not happen. I apologize. It was so engrossing.

However here are some views along the Pacific Coast Highway:

Finally, here are some proud parents and their son:

Our chauffeur wakened us at 5:30 AM, drove us to the airport and then headed for work. May the Force be with him.

What's The Verse That Could Happen?

2011-08-16T18:03:00.000-07:00

Greetings:

August is a very active month for the Baron and Baroness. With the Newfound Lake area as a seductive backdrop, visitors and vacationers, friends and families flow assiduously. The intensity builds as Chris’ birthday on the 8th, Gini’s on the 11th, Dad’s on the 11th and our anniversary on the 11th make for a festive 72 hours.

This year was especially satisfying as all siblings were accounted for. Eileen rented a place on the lake, Tommy and Sandy stayed with us for a week and Bob also made the trek and stayed for several days. Versions of Mom’s tomato sauce, stuffed mushrooms, Chris’ spaghetti carbonara, pancakes, Walker corn were daily treats.

So with appreciable momentum, we headed for our old haunts in Cambridge, MA to rendezvous with Rich and Val. Their daughter, Simone, after many months of diligent strategy, travel and negotiations had, as The Director, organized the National Poetry Slam. Several venues, including the Middle East, the Cantab, the Brattle Theater, the Cambridge YMCA were garnered along with the finals at the Berklee Performance Center.

So, after synchronizing cell-phones, we headed for the Alewife parking garage and jumped on the Red Line. Central Square ho! Déjà vu all over again as we emerged onto Mass Ave. Our former pre-Chip home of six years (1978-1984) had been on the other side of Harvard Square.

We quickly found the ‘Y’ and headed upstairs for the ASL (American Sign Language) version of slam poetry. Richie was positioned on an isolated chair towards the back. He was one of the official photographers for the week-long event. I believe his status, according to one of the several passes pending from his neck, was “God minus two” (or something like that). Val joined us toward the end of the session. One of the interesting points of info is that to show a hearing impaired performer that you are clapping you raise both arms in the air and shake your hands with appropriate vigor.

Many of the audience were interpreters for the other competitions allowing the hearing impaired to take in the proceedings.

After this it was lunch at Asmara, an Ethiopian restaurant across the street. It was so much better than the Ethiopian restaurant in Bristol, NH (little joke – guess you had to be there). Food is served in a large bowl-topped table and scooped with the fingers. Great tastes! Richie managed to escape for some minutes to grab some fingerfuls. And then on to the Haiku competition back at the ‘Y’.

As you might know, a haiku is made up of 17 sounds. What you might not know is that, even traditionally, this short poem can be a wild and crude ride. My favorite from the competition (and I do apologize to the literati and the courteous among you):

“There once was a man from Nantucket…
Whose dick was too long for haiku.”

Arigatou gozaimasu.

8 Contestants were randomly paired competitively. Each one of the pair was given a red or ‘non-red’ medallion to wear. Three randomly picked-from-the-audience judges were given two flags each, a red and a non-red. One haiku was read by each of the two combatants and the judges vote. Rounds 1 and 2: 3 out of 5 wins; finals: 9 out of 17. It was a rock ‘em sock ‘em final with a brutal insulting ‘dis’ by the woman pregnant with twins proving to be the winning margin.

We frolicked and shopped our way down Mass Ave afterwards as we headed towards the Brattle Theater with hopes of viewing one of the semifinals of the main competition. However, as well-provided as Rich and Val were with passes, B&BVD were without tickets or passes. We hoped to purchase tickets at the door but upon arrival at the Brattle at 4:30 we saw the formation of lines and it did not look good for the 8PM performance.

Solution? Head for a pub – Andale! Arriba! Arriba! Here are the Baroness and Empress at tableside:

Logic, fuelled by a bottle of red wine, devised a one-prong attack on the ‘Y”, another site for the semis (there were 4). So at 6:45 we arrived to find a line of 80+ already assembled. Definitely less hostile than the ‘Group W’ bench we schmoozed with the ticketless masses.

Granted we were only, nominally, hours away from a full moon, little did we know that we knew so little.

A man with a clipboard was making his way along the line. He made eye contact with me but I was already married and looked away. He approached…”Have you ever been to one of these poetry slams before?”

“Not a competition, but we saw a showcase of poets last year at the Paradise”, was my attempt at accommodating his curiosity.

“Do you know any of the poets performing?”

That would be “No, I do not.”

“How would you both like to be judges?”

Time stood still, traffic noise faded, the organist was cued….

Gini pleaded to not be a judge, the nearby huddling masses begged us to reconsider…

“You can let him be the judge but you can advise him and give him your input” we heard coming from above the clipboard.

“Well, do you want to do this?” my bride queried.

And then we were being led from the line, brought through the front door and then upstairs to the auditorium – and seated in the front row. There was another couple, young, beautiful and black, who were also going the two-voice, one-vote route; a young robotics expert from Utah; a young Asian woman and a female couple from Jamaica Plains. Clipboard Guy (Eric) elaborately explained the 0.0 (get off the stage and out of our lives) to 10.0 (religious experience/multiple orgasms) scoring system as white boards and markers were distributed.

The auditorium then filled to capacity. It was astounding, time was fleeting…madness took its toll.

There were five teams from Providence, RI; Salt Lake City; Oakland, Santa Cruz and Berkeley, CA. There would be four rounds. Teams could send up one or more poets for each round. Order would be randomly chosen. Each poem could be no longer than 3 minutes.

Fasten your seatbelts. It’s going to be a bumpy night.

The judges were introduced and credentials examined. The Utah robot man had been rejected from two colleges. The black couple was introduced as 2Cute4TheRoom. We were introduced as Baron Von D’Lucci and that we were old and could see through all the bullshit. This was met by wild cheering and adulation.

Three nerd poets individually warmed up the crowd. There was a poem imploring a nerd woman to complete his life and a letter from Mrs. Vader (Darth’s better half). Then a ‘calibration poet’ was served up to help us learn how to score. It was a black poet descrying racism. We deliberated to a 7.6 but were feeling lost in context as we saw that the black couple had given him a 5.0. Oops!

The intensity was steady and increased. Soon another poet was mesmerizing us with a description of an ancient Chinese symbol. This elaboration expanded into other uses of the icon. When placed in its western context it became clear what that symbol was. The poem stirred distaste for the atrocities committed in its shadow. He began to simulate the swastika with his body. But the indictment was accompanied by a subtle modification of his posture and his words. Soon he was juxtaposing another icon that he held responsible for millions of deaths perpetrated under its cruciform image. Yikes! I want my Mommy!

There were articulate compositions vividly reliving drug addictions, abortions, racial abuse. To be honest, the passion and imagery were fantastic; the reality – jarring. Finally a gay poet used 2 microphones to alternately speak stereotypically with first a lisp and then a deep throated macho retort. The topic: you start mixing with those homos and then the next thing you know, you’re gay and so is everyone else. The humor used to deliver a very serious perspective was welcome.

Another fine poem had us convincingly in the Library where we could survive without politics, religion, hate or war and pick from an infinite variety of wonderful milieus. This was also a wonderful respite.

It was now the third round. The third of the five teams came out, it was a single poet, his name was Storm. He carefully gathered himself and began to describe his father, their relationship and his father’s message of what a ‘real man’ is. It seems that his father witnessed some man who was so foolish as to swish his hips in such a fashion that his dad beat the living crap out of that person. Perhaps to death. As the performer continued, he emphasized that ‘how to be a man’ was always uppermost when he thought of his father and purpose in life. I had to grip my chair as he intimated that it may have been he that found himself with his own two hands gripped violently around someone’s throat…knowing that this is what it feels like to truly be a man. ………….Judges can we have your score please….can someone see if the judge from NH is okay?

Gini and I arrived at 9.0 (our highest to that point).

The next artist began his telling… now where is he heading with this? He’s talking about something intense…but, wait a minute…

Lights start flashing, alarms are happening… are we supposed to keep on judging? No one is moving, keeping a stiff upper, you know.

The poet crescendos with a description of a fire… is he responsible for this?

Authoritative figures appear and announce we must clear the building. Several audience members say they can smell smoke. We reach the street to be greeted by several fire trucks, police cars, emergency vehicles…all kinds of lights flashing! Colors ….cats and dogs sleeping together!

We call Chip. We figure if he can call us from Grant Park in Chicago when Obama got elected this is about the best we can do back. He is hysterical with laughter. He can barely hear us over the brouhaha. We try to explain it all from judging to uberangst.

The Director appears (Simone, Rich and Val’s daughter). She and the other event organizers try to figure out what comes next and will it be fair to the teams and the other semifinal sites. There is talk of going across the street to the lawn in front of the library. There is talk of waiting two hours for the fire inspection procedure to finish. Finally it is decided that, yes, there was a fire and it is under control and..and…yes, the judges may re-enter the building first.

Simone sees us; realizes we are judges…as the front door is closing behind us we hear her yell, “They can’t be judges. They’re from New Hampshire!!” (The very idea)

We try to settle in as the rest of the crowd returns. It is now 10:30. According to the rental agreement the contest was to be finished by 10:15 because there are residents here in the ‘Y’ and they want some quiet. It is decided that the audience will not be allowed to talk, clap or snap. The applause from the hearing impaired session is revisited and an ovation of shaking hands ‘applauds’ the decision.

The third round will be started anew. All third round scores will be erased and poets can choose a new poem. The team order will remain the same…..o-o-o-o-kay.

Again we are warmed up by a nerd poet to try and get the momentum going…in a silent room. It is admittedly different. We listen and rate the first two new poems. The third person returns. He emotionally announces he will do the same poem that he had done previously. He will repeat what his father taught him about being a man. OMG!! appears in a thought bubble above my head since I can’t cry out. I grip my seat.

He begins…word for word the same… it is a bit strained…he is being caught by the undertow of emotion…he is having difficulty…speaking…breathing…..

He falls to the stage. His teammates rush up and gather ‘round’. “Give him air!” An electric fan is brought to the stage. Finally he moves with a violent lurch. It has been a seizure. He is eventually brought to his feet and led off stage.

Continue? You gotta be kiddin’ me! Give the same score as last time? Can we talk about this or at least use sign language? We wait again.

No, it will be re-done tomorrow. We quickly admit we cannot make it (wedding in Plymouth, NH). They take our info. We regroup and head for Finale in Harvard Square - cappucino and butterscotch pudding and boston cream cake. Ah-h-h-h.

It really is a full moon isn’t it? More sirens and lights go by.

Let’s go home.

The Kidz R Not AlRite

2011-08-06T09:35:00.000-07:00

Greetings:

As the child of immigrants (Okay, Mom was conceived in Italy but born here) the concept of a dream is an integral part of the ‘New World’. I presume this to be true regardless of where you came from or to what shores you entranced. To a geekish mind it might associate with the kind of decision that ‘starts things in motion’. The idea being that to get to a point where you are leaving your native land and embarking on a new one, there must be some serious motivation. This could range from ‘Feet don’t fail me now’ to a prospect of business and employment.

It could be cited as an example of Newton’s First Law of Motion:

I. Every object in a state of uniform motion tends to remain in that state of motion unless an external force is applied to it.

Extending the analogy on both ends the initial external force could be tyranny, poverty, a collective vision or you’ve just been traded from the Yomiuri Giants. Dare I say that upon accepting the new vector your imagination begins to build and anticipate your new milieu. Fostering children in this situation usually provides the justification for the move in allowing them the opportunity to hopefully flourish.

In fact that is the hope of each generation whether their resume contains mobility or not. The ‘state of uniform motion’ to most of us has been labeled many things including the American Dream. Succeeding generations have been swept up in this motion or generated their own external force to divert or reshape it.

However there is entropy and friction. Things wind down. That swinging child needs another boost; the struggling student needs encouragement; the hopeless and desperate need hope and opportunity. Today the New York Times printed:

“One of the greatest casualties of the great recession may well be a decade of lost children.”

This struck an issue that has been festering with me for quite a while. How do we continue our ‘motion’ of the quality of life if we do not inspire or really piss off our kids? And if we really do annoy them, are they capable of retaliating? Debt reeks from their legacy.

At one time there was an incentive to become a teacher in exchange for expunging significant debt. If there was no money then agencies like the Civilian Conservation Corps focused youthful energy and reinforced environmental stewardship.

So what are we doing now to inspire our youth? Our political infighting and religious fervor has made it all about the selfish adults with the lovely byproduct of polarizing with laser-like efficiency. At one time we were totally enthralled with youth, its prospects, potential and potency. Behold the cover of Time Magazine on July 7, 1967:

Arab youth seem to be making their own mark in taking up the aegis of youth and promise. Our media is quite selective in romanticizing this in a world where suicide bombers and government oppression serve as ambiance.

Our youth need a purpose to either support or adamantly reject but whose product serves as a dynamic external force to the culture. We desperately need them. We do not need them cowering resentfully and impotently while their future becmes more and more subject to myopia.

Children are resilient and certainly no more stupid than we. They are talented. However they are maturing later and have much less opportunity to express themselves or realize themselves.

I have always liked the idea of the Civilian Conservation Corps. It removes politics and religion from an activity that benefits us all. The corps men and women were physically engaged and at least helping our environment.

So I love the radical idea that since these kids are maturing later (personal opinion) – like 25, 26 or 27 years old, let us resurrect the CCC. Enlist these youth in energy and environmental programs. Then tell the baby boomers that mentors are needed. Supervision and dialog become the themes. We are going to need something to do since the only other developing choice is to be set adrift on ice floes. Inspire these kids, give them meaningful work. Stop claiming partisan politics or divine guidance as exclusionary paths for the traitors and the heathens. Let’s change the subject.

A culture that does not have a youth ‘in motion’ is in serious danger. It is the wrong kind of inertia.

The Kidz R Not AlRite

The Latest Buzz

2011-05-09T19:54:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you want to travel because you have always wanted to see the Great Wall of China and you know it is once in a lifetime; sometimes you are sick of winter and you want to get warm; other times it is because of curiosity…and sometimes it is to see somebody..for a once in a lifetime party.

Maurice ‘Buzz’ Beaulieu was going to celebrate his 90th birthday in Norfolk, VA on May 8, 2011. As far as the family tree grows, we begin with the lovely Landry sisters: Gini, Janice and Linda. Their father, Charles, had two sisters. They grew up in Lowell, MA. The elder sister Janet found the love of her life in Lowell and that would be Buzz. He would become a career Naval officer, a pilot. And not just any ol’ pilot, he was a fighter pilot in WWII and the Korean War. Interestingly enough, he attended Lowell High School with Jack Kerouac. They both played football for LHS.

Their family, which eventually would include two sons and a daughter (Mike, Michele and Marc chronologically), would move 30 times across oceans and continents. His decorations included the Silver Star and the Distinguished Flying Cross. Aircraft carriers were his welcome mats and launching pads. His favorite was the USS Enterprise (“The Big E”):

My first encounter with the esteemed aviator was with his wife Janet at a lobster bake in New Hampshire celebrating our wedding:

Always a proper and respectful guest, he never once mentioned my ‘Mao’ hat with its red star and the ‘flower children’ abundantly present. In fact I would say he immediately was in the spirit and made sure he was going to enjoy his ‘lobstah’.

Over the years we developed a fine relationship. He and Janet had settled in Winter Park for his retirement, the same city as Gini’s parents. This allowed for the exchange of many visits, stories and the building of our own memories of Buzz.

Sadly, several years ago we lost Janet. and Buzz finally left his home in the Orlando area to live in the same community as his oldest son Mike. You might remember our visit there last year on our way to Miami Beach (“We’re Off” – December 30, 2009). Buzz was gracious enough to share his apartment with us for a couple of nights.

So the Landry contingent eagerly gathered to begin their voyage of homage. Parking was our first challenge at Logan Airport. This included commandeering and surviving an elevator:

After a brief stay in Philly to connect to Norfolk we gathered at Fellini’s courtesy of Mike Baloo Limousine servce. Twenty four celebrants gathered to ‘mangia a la italiana’.

Buzz is fourth from the right and busily engaged. However, though he had an ear for everyone who would sit next to him to share memories and receive accolades, he would inevitably search out the youngest and follow their antics:

Ava and Christa were more than glad to oblige in their mutual enjoyment of the party and being four years old.

The next day was the actual birthday. With an early start, decorating began at the activity room in the independent living community that is home for Buzz. Michele had filled a van for their drive from St Louis containing party materials and mementos lovingly prepared and researched.

The activity room quickly lived up to its name:

The honored guest arrived and the girls grabbed their uncle for pictures:

The theme was tropical and, yes, those are flamingoes on top of Janice’s head.

It is impossible to describe in detail the books thoroughly encompassing Buzz’ military career and the organization of the memorabilia pages prepared by many, many family members and friends. Here is the one from Gini:

Each person had taken the time to express why they thought this day and the guest of honor were worthy of their love, respect and admiration.

Though feeling very emotional themselves, Mike, Michele and Marc each read excerpts that they felt were of note. This included anecdotes from Buzz’ brother, advice for aging and George Carlin’s take on getting old. We enjoyed it all.

Four generations are always impressive especially when there is so much ‘beaming’:

Dutifully playing the honored guest, Commander Beaulieu played his part with ease. The formal act of honoring his attainment of nine decades was a ‘piece of cake’:

He thanked one and all with his love and emotion stirring the scene. Thank you sir!

Chicago Bound

2011-05-02T19:14:00.000-07:00

Alright, clear your calendar, go to the bathroom, get some water and take a deep breath…

Greetings – let me introduce you to the ArtistFormerlyKnownAsSpeedyVonDLucci:

This man has recently earned his MFA (Masters of Fine Arts) from Columbia College of Chicago in the Interdisciplinary Arts Department. He has been the subject of the Chicago Journal, the school magazine…. security guard alerts…..academic probation….proud parents….gris gris magnet and all-round bon vivant.

The path has been anything but dull. Overlapping experiences with his parents involved high school acting awards, medal-winning track runs, travel and wayward experiments. College brought about geodesic domes, illegality, a fecundity of art, love, heartbreak and a self-defined major/degree.

He is a man in motion: traipsing and camping in the Grand Canyon, roaming the Appalachian Trail, living off the land in the Boundary Waters of Minnesota and learning to deal with the urban dynamics of Chicago.

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Our most recent trip (Gini and I) was a drive to Chicago to be there for Chip’s presentation of his thesis along with several of his fellow degree candidates. It’s never quite that simple. By the time we actually left we had set up a night in Erie, PA at the Glass House Inn (recommended), a visit with our nephew Sam (another graduate this month of the Bachelor kind) at Oberlin College, the transference of title of our Toyota Camry with 250,00 miles that Chip had been driving but was now jettisoning as he prepared for his departure to LA, and a scheduled stop on the return to visit with Rick and Hanna. Gini would then fly from Syracuse to Miami to have her root canal finished because, even with the plane fare, it was hundreds of dollars cheaper than having it done by her regular dentist in Plymouth, NH!

Sam was very glad to see us, as we were to see him:

He gave us the quickie tour of the campus and the ritual eating of burgers at The Feve. Somehow he has to muster enough interest to finish his courses even though he has already procured a lucrative software engineering job in Boston. His father, Geoff, is amazed at his starting salary and wonders where he went wrong with his life – well, that’s another story.

Then… on to the Windy City. Boy is it flat out there. After a while life is just a stream of Americana and agrikharma. By the time we entered the city limits our eyes were victims of some kind of visual Doppler effect:

Eventually we were swallowed up by an exit on the Kennedy expressway and found our way to Chip’s apartment in Lincoln Park. We delivered the title of the Camry just in time for the arranged sale. One thousand dollars seemed like a deal since the engine light was on and his future home of California would treat it like 8oz of water on a domestic flight should he be so foolish as to arrive in it.

Dinner was at a fine Italian restaurant and we thoroughly enjoyed the company of his close friend Frank who was doing graduate work at the University of Chicago in urban environment education. Chris, of course, pontificated on many aspects of his own educator experience and his dream of a ‘puberty-ometer’ that would replace metal detectors in schools.

This was a fitting group to confer on Chip his present for his accomplishments. He had a knowing smile on his face as he unwrapped a gold track baton with the words ‘The Human Race” laser-etched on its surface. Long may he run (some of us need a break!).

The next day was movie day (Lincoln Lawyer – we liked it) and more friends o’Chip at the IO Theater where improv rules. The introductions included a couple of the performers. Dave Pasquesi and TJ Jagodowski were mind blowing in their 50 minute-made-up-on-the-spot skit. They are nationally known and Dave had agreed to be an outside evaluator for Chip’s thesis presentation. Very cool.

The theme of the day also included getting the gallery ready for the show. Chip had already shown us the book he had designed and published:

The pages were arranged to give the reader a feel for the image, feel and location for some of the more significant climbs in Chicago.

Yes, for those of you who may not be aware, Chip’s thesis is The Urban Quiet. It is his experience of confronting the metropolitan dynamo of Chicago head on. He would climb the facades of buildings and understructures of bridges (with the L train pounding overhead) and have a photographing team capture the experience. A head cam would bring some of the ascents visually closer, offering vicarious vertigo.

As he free-climbed he would produce globs of clay to impress upon the rugged hand-holding features of the building. Later he would cast them and produce concrete versions of these ‘holds’. In the gallery he built a faux façade and bridge arch to attach these holds in a sculptural climbing wall of these gotham golems.

Vinyl lettering indicated the source location.

One video screen was placed below the climbing wall to show footage of the obtaining of the impressions during the climbs. Another video was tucked back in the corner but placed in the ceiling of the space about a foot or two above your head with a sound track of Chip’s breathing that recalled the effort necessary for these feats. The Urban Guides of the Urban Quiet were on display on glass shelves opposite these walls.

“…The city has been a stressful loud place for my mind and I get overwhelmed with my resentments of the past and fears of the future, I’m never in the present. Challenging my body physically is immediate relief. I am documenting by photography and video, making a compilation of my failures and successes. Sharing this documentation is a way for me to share this experience to an audience. Also I am taking small impressions of some of the buildings I climb to create an urban climbing hold. This is similar to a climbing hold in an indoor wall but it takes the shape of the holds in the urban landscape; bricks, concrete, metal, etc. This is something to ‘hold’ onto from my experience…” (Artist currently known as Prince Von D’Lucci)

And he even did it under the careful guidance of his mother:

We hooked up with Bill and Janice the next day. Janice is Gini’s sister, Bill her loving and stalwart husband. They were able to take some time and travel out by car, staying with some friends in the burbs of Chicago for the festivities. Though both have been very supporting (along with Linda and Geoff and many other Von D’Luccis) Bill has been prominent with his presence, labor and communication. Chip has been quite fortunate with this.

The next day brought our scheduled, bought-and-paid-for tour of the architecture of Chicago along the Chicago river…in 40 degree dank, wet and gray conditions. However the group seems to have gotten on quite well:

And now I will over/underwhelm you with highlights of the tour (click on picture for better view):

Here is a perspective on Millenium Park:

Grant Park:

This massive display was the urban entity whose immenseness made monumental ‘noise’ to Chip. His response was to immerse and ascend, depend and conquer.

The evening of the show arrived. We entered the building one more time. This time there was a more formal tone:

We headed for a particular section first:

(minus the blue tape)

CBS 2 of Chicago will be interviewing him this Thursday at the gallery and then they will watch Chip climb a column from one of his photos (right middle):

May the universe continue to keep him safe.

So the night was successful. We had a wonderful dinner at Rhapsody and Gini managed to make it to Miami and Chris made it home.

If you have made it this far, you are a victim of Pride and Prejudice, forgive us:

Snails and Weenie Woman

2011-03-16T16:01:00.000-07:00

Greetings – you are lying on your back – you can’t seem to remember what day it is – fronds, that’s what they are, yes, fronds – and such blue! Well this is an attempt to recover from the fact that I missed my coaches meeting today. I couldn’t get out of the driveway because of the four inches of snow that fell this morning and the Camry does not have snow tires!!!! Okay, breathe deep – the gathering gloom – no wrong direction again. Another breath, put three dimes in the grandfather clock and cue the organist ….

It is now several weeks ago…..

Rich and Val had left and sister Eileen was on her way from Orlando with her friend Kathy. She arrived safely but Kathy just had time for hi/goodbye and she was off.

Eileen loves Miami Beach – and Paul – and Gregg –

and staying with us. The visit is somewhat ritualistic in that we are guaranteed a lot of laughs, some great dinners and cocktails (courtesy of Eileen), visits to the Hotel Victor:

The key lime pie and crab cakes are especially good. There will also be at least one new adventure. This year it was the Hotel Mondrian on the Bay. Eileen decided she would create her new Facebook picture there:

Paul and I did manage to sneak away for a bike tour of the Matheson Hammock County Park in Coral Gables. “Hammocks are dense stands of hardwood trees that grow on natural rises of only a few inches higher than surrounding marshland that is otherwise too wet to support them” (thank you Wikipedia). In this case we are talking acres and acres of mangroves. It makes for a nice little arborway:

Coral Gables is fascinating. You might remember from the last blog it is also the home of the Venetian public pool along with the Biltmore Hotel.

Mangroves were the bane of the Army Corps of Engineers as they dredged and created Miami Beach at the beginning of the 20th century. Most of what is Biscayne Bay would be similar to what you see on the sides of the bike path in the picture without the hammock.

Coral Gables also decided to adopt some items from Art Basel in Miami when their safety became questionable – another roadside attraction:

Their antennae make for interesting directionals – but they are soooo slow!

We are actually a bit south of Vizcaya and north of Fairchild Gardens. Next year we hope to revisit on our bikes while dropping Kevin off to do some fishing.

….I called to say that I would not be able to make the coaches’ meeting. The athletic director was fine with it. We had returned two days ‘early’ specifically to make this meeting. The AD said that it was obvious that we came back too soon. I think I need more meditation on palm fronds.

How Sweet It Is

2011-02-14T08:46:00.000-08:00

Well that just about sums it up – see you next blog entry!

OK – details, details. These are two of the fine $500 mojitos that they serve at the Biltmore Coral Gables Miami Hotel. It took several days of bed-making and leaf-blowing to earn these puppies. (Actually we are quite grateful to Val’s magnanimity)

The Biltmore was built in 1926 and was the epitome of luxury for that era. Trains left major cities in the north with Biltmore – Miami as their listed destination.

Their swimming pool was the largest in the world for several years:

Notice the statuary between the columns on the right, very decadent. Johnny Weismuller was the resident swimming instructor and set a world record for freestyle swimming here. Aquatic shows were their source of survival during the depression featuring “…synchronized swimmers, bathing beauties, alligator wrestlers and the four year-old boy wonder Jackie Ott, whose act included diving into the immense pool from an 85-foot high platform.”

The grounds and spaces are just spectacular. It is currently home to a world-famous Sunday Champagne Brunch ($75 apiece – maybe next year) splendiferously arrayed in a gorgeous courtyard:

Coral Gables is quite the neighborhood. Our friend Paul (of Paul and Gregg fame) had a great house here when he first moved to the Miami area. Chip loved the pool and was a bit upset when Paul said he was selling the place. As you have seen where Paul lives now (“Gini and Paul Take A Walk” – Feb 2009) Chip quickly got over it.

Here is Coral Gables version of a public swimming pool:

It is in the National Register of Historic Places This is the Venetian Pool. Built in 1924, its 800,000 gallons are drained daily in the summer, every other day in the winter, and replenished by underground artesian wells. Formerly known as the Venetian Casino it also was the site for the likes of Esther Williams and Johnny Weismuller to cavort and frolic. Over one hundred thousand swimmers a year bathe in its splendor.

With Rich and Val the current guest stars the flavor changes once again. These two are experts on Miami Beach, its history and architecture. So the Biltmore and Venetian Pool were a must-enjoy when they arrived.

We also returned to the New World Center off Lincoln Road and took a tour of the facility. The interior definitely bespeaks Frank Gehry’s touch:

Chris was the duly appointed elevator operator for the tour. It helped cover expenses.

Rich Beaubien is a photographer extraordinaire. You can view his work on: http://www.intheviewfinder.net, Flickr and Facebook. Much of his day was spent roaming the beach looking for photo ops. Val and Gini juggled the pools, hot tubs, Lincoln Road, wine purchasing and walking. Chris just tried to keep up.

Chris provided some chauffeuring as the ambulating trio had set the Fontainebleu Hotel as their destination. When he arrived to pick up his charges he was met with:

James Bond is in the background on the balcony with Jill Masterson foiling Auric Goldfinger’s dastardly tactics in gin rummy.

The Fontainebleu is a real retro trip. It has recently been redone. We definitely enjoy the ‘bow tie’ floor of the lobby:

Also of some note is the Cheese Wall fronting Collins Avenue:

Richie is running around somewhere up there trying to get the perfect shot. Here he is in flagrante:

Next door is the more modern but equally elegant Eden Roc.

Its lobby is actually a beaucoup cool lounge:

Again, you can click on any of these photos to view them in a larger and more detailed context.

So just as the opening photo sort of summed up this week we have a parting photo for your viewing pleasure that depicts our heroes demonstrating their attitude toward the larger than life ambiance of the Fontainebleu lobby:

And awa-a-a-a-y we go!!

It's So Crowded Nobody Goes There Anymore

2011-02-05T19:42:00.001-08:00

When you are hosting several different friends and family members over a period of 6 weeks you need to provide for both the visitor and yourself. There is a concern that a favorite tour, restaurant, walk or café is refreshing but even a prime destination can be frequented to the point of saturation. Also, not everyone has the same taste or preference in how to bask in leisure and free time.

So, thankfully, we were able to procure the above device to guard against these very instances. Our first vict…um participant was Kevin Richard,.our tenant from up north who was visiting us for two weeks and was last seen splayed across a banyan tree.

Using mostly the OSC and BYPASS buttons we were able to experience fishing and Hollywood simultaneously.

Kevin had his destination list for his southern excursion. It included many angling items. We provided him with the Honda Element so that he could fulfill his wish to go to Islamorada, a bastion of American fishing. His plan also included a trip to the IGFA (International Game Fish Association – he’s a member) Fishing Hall of Fame and Museum while he was there; a veritable double header.

Well the fishing happened but much to his surprise he discovered the museum had moved to Dania Beach, close to Fort Lauderdale – oops. So in a great humanitarian gesture we volunteered to drive him there the next day upon his return to Miami Beach. This would allow us to visit the Design Center of the Americas (DCOA). Voila! As the ibis flies they were less than a half mile apart – this was meant to be.

Here we have our guest hero emerging from aquatic bliss and enlightenment:

Meanwhile our hosting heroes were at the DCOA experiencing Film and Design: The Golden Age of Hollywood.

This is an incredible building described as: “…the largest to-the-trade design campus of its kind, showcasing 775,000 sq ft of extraordinary design products that suit the needs for any home, yacht or office project.” It is several floors of elegant showrooms arrayed throughout spacious hallways:

This is one of the atria on one end of the building.

Everything is an expression of art and style.

There was an incredible mobile suspended from the ceiling at the other end:

With the cooperation of many top designers they were able to dedicate showroom space to showcase 18 “breathtaking installations”. Each installation would be part of a “residence” where each room would be inspired by some Hollywood theme.

The ‘foyer’ was dedicated to:

The guest bedroom was dedicated to:

Well if this is business I’d love to see what’s reserved for pleasure.

And who would have thought that Chris would find the bathroom of his dreams? The piece de resistance was its cinematic inspiration:

This is the photo released by someone reviewing the installation but it does not quite do it justice:

That vertical piece of glass is at an angle to the wall but provides a splash-guard to the rain shower. An adjustable, hand-held shower graces the far wall. The ceramic column on the right is one of the two sinks. The drain for the shower is along the floor on the left and is only a few inches wide. Those are two cork stools in front of the glass. At the point where the stools are, the floor slopes very gently towards the drain. Here is a picture we took of the showers:

The black rectangles surrounding the mirror are cabinetry.
(You can click on the photos to make them larger)

What a day this was! We regrouped after our stereo experience and celebrated it at Taco Bell. The only reference at this point to summarize all this would have to be provided by Yogi Berra:

“If you see a fork in the road…take it!”

To Boom Or Not To Boom

2011-02-02T08:56:00.000-08:00

“..to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them.”

….How the hell was I supposed to know that this ‘sea of troubles’ would be my hip and my heart? I never checked the fine print.

Naively and romantically I thought that arms would be wielded for good versus evil; championing the downtrodden; obliterating ignorance; tilting against formidable odds while clad in a loincloth and a hint of mascara. Who knew?

Currently no peer communication is complete without a diagnosis or prognosis, a therapy, rehab strategy, prescription or mystical chant. Now some of this is pretty serious when cancer and stroke populate the conversation. These realities require attention, support, time, assistance, empathy and courage.

The rest of it forms an anecdotal spectrum of boomer existence.

“Well they went in to repair a rotator cuff and then they found out the tendon was almost completely torn..”

“Oh yeah, the lining in my heart just exploded. I felt fine, a little tired but okay. When I heard there was an ambulance coming I asked who was it for, they said ‘For you!”

“You have atrial fibrillation. This is the ‘common cold’ of heart ailments. Would you care for an ablation? Why of course! Do you have Bombay gin?”

“I was just bending down to sit on the toilet when, suddenly, I couldn’t move..”

Having a partner really helps.

It’s amazing what you now need two hands for – even three or four.

And, oh those second opinions:

But back to our favorite Dane (that would be Hamlet or Victor Borge – your choice). What is so ‘outrageous’ about our fortune? Could it be the lack of staff? Where is that valet and why is snow shoveling not one of the corporal works of mercy?

The big reality check is that Jack LaLanne is not immortal. Granted he made it to 96 but wasn’t that supposed to be a brief stop along the way to Elysian Fields? Desire may be our streetcar but there still lurks outrage. And how do you sling it anyway?

Now some of you out there may have just run a half-marathon, gotten a new job or are knee-bouncing grandchildren as we tweet. You are the levees against the sea of troubles. Just like Mr. LaLanne you brazenly wave your manacles and continue to tote that barge. The heck with the bales.

It’s not a level playing field is it? Individually we are counting our blessings and trying to remain positive. Collectively we are hoping that social security isn’t the equivalent of “I’m all in!”. Cashing in the chips may be the hardest part.

If we’re having a great time, why isn’t everybody here? If I’m having a bad time, why won’t it stop? Roseanne Roseannadanna comes to mind – “ You know Mr. Baron, you sure do ask a lot of questions!”

Kevin Ups The Ante

2011-01-26T19:04:00.000-08:00

Maybe it is something we do that we are just not very aware. This is our housemate from NH, Kevin. He had not been in Miami Beach for even 12 hours and this …occurred.

We had just dropped Bob off at the airport earlier in the day. Janice and Gini decided that the condo needed some ‘sprucing up’ so we planned to head to the mainland and tour Target’s, Marshall’s, et al in search of spruce.

These plans were a bit delayed when Kevin called at 11:00 AM to tell us that the sub zero temps in Manchester were still giving his 7:00 plane problems with freezing fluids. Gini went into travel-agent mode and verified that he was ‘protected’ for a 3PM out of Atlanta. So shopping-ho! First a lamp for the bedside ($12) to sit on the new plastic bedside table ($7) and what wonderful fold out chairs for the balcony ($8.95 apiece)!

Kevin’s new (first for him) cellphone allowed us to eventually find him outside Arrivals. The trip home (7 miles) took 90 minutes. As some of you may know, two Miami police were shot and killed last week. Well the funeral cortege was a little behind schedule and backed up traffic most of the day.

Having left -13 degrees to bask in 70 degrees, Kevin could care less about delays and traffic. Upon arrival martinis magically appeared and soon we were wending down West Ave towards Oliver’s Restaurant, a local haunt. After two carafes of Pinot Grigio Kevin anonymously paid for dinner. We took to the streets and soon Kevin was in the embrace of that banyan tree. Through careful instructions of Flamingo Park security we were able to extract him without any permanent marks.

Coffee at the Van Dyke on Lincoln Road ‘calmed’ everyone down and we managed to survive his arrival.

The next day, we walked to the ocean to verify its existence and wandered through the fresh under construction James Ave area that Janice and Bill came very close to putting in an offer. At the Albion Hotel we walked along the side of the bottom of the hotel pool and looked through the portholes in the walls with Kevin pleading for nude bathers.

The big excitement for the evening was to head to Lincoln Road for the opening of Soundscape Park and its Exostage outside the New World Center. The park would open Tuesday night with the concert hall opening the next night for its resident orchestra the New World Symphony.

The building was state of the art with the park intended for people gathering in the park to enjoy the sounds of the live interior performances along with video projected across the 7000 foot screen on the outside wall. It was a Spielberg moment:

This projector provided the video as we enjoyed its first emissions:

Notice along the left what looks to be some columns with a header. These were the left speakers (the whole column) that matched another set on the right. Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess filled the night – cool.

The whole project for the park from design to this evening was about a year. The benefactors wanted the cultural experience of the symphony to be a community experience. Pergola were designed to emulate the puffy clouds of Miami Beach and were seeded to be covered with bougainvillea (soon to come):

So as not to let the elite be the only one to experience live music we were soon koochee-koocheeing to a Cuban salsa band:

We had never heard Guantanamera played with such intensity, speed and rhythm. Yeah baby.

So tonight we will try and be good and stay home and Chris will cook spaghetti carbonara for Kevin, Janice, Paul and Gregg. The guys’ apartment is being painted, among other projects, and would appreciate benefiting from someone else’s kitchen.

So What Did You Do Next?

2011-01-20T17:49:00.000-08:00

We got your Vizcaya heah – kinda like Venice ya know!

Brother Bob will attest that Vizcaya is a special place (Feb 2010-So What Do You Think of Miami Beach?) but this time it was the special Moonlit Garden Tour. We met Paul and Gregg at the gardens and proceeded to bask in the ambiance of a cloudless Miami night.

Here are some of our heroes enjoying a moon over Miami:

Paul and Gregg

The Baroness and the Baron

Gini wants you to know that the Baron is having a good time despite his aversion to posing for photos.

Chamber music splendiferously filled the central atrium of the villa as we entered. We then proceeded to wander lazily and wondrously through the property:

Bob is slowly being conditioned to the South Beach experience. Having left zero temps and an appreciable accumulation of snow his first priority was acclimating to a t-shirt and shorts. He is struggling but making progress.

He definitely likes the walking excursions in the morning. Even the Baron has acquiesced to participating in the perambulating parade. Yesterday’s reward was gelato on Ocean Drive.

As this is written Gini and Bob are heading for a nighttime swim in the heated of the two pools here at the Flamingo. Perhaps they will resolve the competitive activity of this afternoon’s pool table skirmishes. They were rather rowdy I am told.

Chris had opted for the movies once again. The list started with True Grit, then the Tourist followed by The Fighter (great Lowell ambiance). Today was the best so far, The King’s Speech. Colin Firth once again, with the estimable help of Geoffrey Rush, transfixed. (Last year’s A Single Man was incredibly powerful but too much to be seen twice - like Sophie’s Choice). This movie was interesting because of the historical situation of Edward VII abdicating the English throne because of his desire to marry Wallace Simpson and the subsequent coronation of his stuttering brother Bertie.

Chris also did a full tour of the Venetian Islands on his bike today while Gini and Bob explored Espanola Way and South Pointe Park. Tomorrow is more walking and laundry.

As for settling in to the apartment there have been some rough spots. Parking was tough. Last year a parking spot was included after much gnashing of teeth but this year they have foregone the gnashing and charged us $160 to park two towers over.

The dining room light did not work. This was not discovered until the second night when Gini had cooked a great dinner and we had retired to the dining table. However the management company was right on it the next day and Chris was able to dust off some Spanish as the staff person repaired the lamp.

With Kevin, our tenant and major sport nut arriving on Monday, we were a bit disappointed to find that basic cable meant we could follow the weather, watch Jeopardy and practice our Spanish a bit more. Gini is going through HGTV withdrawal but is handling it well. Chris is another story. Since the Patriots lost he is inconsolable and needs a good golf tournament to bring him out of it.

So tomorrow night is dinner at the restaurant at Paul and Gregg’s condo building. They have promised bacon wrapped fillets as a treat. Martinis will have to be libated along with mirth and merriment slated for coalescence.

And So We Continue To Continue

2011-01-18T19:14:00.000-08:00

Greetings:

Beautiful bridge – no? Well we had other thoughts as we headed for Charleston from Rick and Hanna’s.

Once again we were weathering the new winter in the south. It was snowing (since the top of the page) when we left Murrell’s Inlet. The storm was heading north and it looked like rain the rest of the way to Florida but temps looked to be in the upper 30’s to low 40’s. Well some unfortunate motorist slid into the wall on this bridge (Ravenel Bridge over the Cooper River in Charleston SC). Given the fact that everyone in the Carolinas was in denial that this weather was even happening this bridge and any others crossing this river were closed until they could find some trucks loaded with salted sand. This search and subsequent dispersal took the rest of the morning and some of the afternoon. Foolish New Englanders, we, who did not even suspect that this would bring traffic to a standstill.

Well it afforded another trip to 5 Guys and eventual trekking through downpours in Georgia and northern Florida. We arrived safely at Mary’s (Gini’s step-mom) in Winter Park, suburb of Orlando. She was more than pleased to see us and several bottles of Perrier-Jouet Champagne (quite excellent) were dispatched over the next few days.

Some of the visit was ritualistic – a visit to Mary’s friend Saul’s Mexican restaurant where we were treated as honored guests; a movie (The Tourist – could not resist the Venetian ambiance); lunch in Winter Park (French and fanciful); and visit with Nadine and Frank whose son Chris was one of our Miami Beach cohorts until he went and became a resident doctor in Pittsburgh this past year.

A new wrinkle in the festivities was Gini joined Chris for 9 holes at Winter Park Country Club and proceeded to outdo him by four shots on a par 3 by chipping in for a par! This course is the second oldest in Central Florida and is in the heart of Winter Park. Last year Chris had gotten to know some of the nearby residents and transient motorists from his errant links wizardry.

Mary was eventually bid farewell and Miami Beach soon loomed ahead on I 95. Paul and Gregg were ready with martinis and open arms. They were fresh from hosting Gregg’s life long friend from high school in Poland but were still graciously offering to share their beautiful apartment on Belle Isle with us for a few nights until we checked in to the Flamingo. For those who do not remember or have not seen this view it is spectacular:

We were also able to hook up with another friend, Rick, who harkens back to Lowell days.

And then the Flamingo:

Our wonderful balcony view:

As a tolerant gesture we turned off the air conditioning.

We Be Off

2011-01-16T18:47:00.000-08:00

Greetings All:

Gini and I are actually well into our winter sojourn. It has mostly been visiting friends and family, some whom we have not seen for several years.

Our Christmas was a bit different. We were quite pleased to have Chip home for the holidays but we were not so sure he enjoyed it as much. At the age of 25 he had his tonsils removed and it took well over a week before his familiar smile returned.

Tom and Michele Wolfson were able to join us, my brother Tom and tenant Kevin in welcoming in the new year. After all had left we spent a day emptying and cleaning the refrigerator; draining pipes and packing the car. Somehow we exited Bailey Road relatively close to our planned ETD on Jan 4.

Our first stop was at Linda and Arthur’s. These are friends we met through Gini’s sister Janice many decades ago. We are probably talking double digits in years since we had crossed paths. They live in Montgomery Village, MD and graciously put us up for a night as we drove through the DC area. Linda served a ‘regular’ meal as we enjoyed steak filets, potatoes and vegetables along with some good wine. She reveled in demonstrating her skills on an induction stove and confidently placed her hands on the active ‘burners’. We were duly impressed and placed it on the fantasy list for our future, mythical and somewhat legend-to-be condo in Miami Beach.

Conversation settled quickly into the rhythm of former times. Children were, of course, the leading topic. Their Amanda had just recently graduated from College Park and was now hoping for the economy to begin embracing our educated youth. Linda continues to work the intricacies of medical grants and Arthur works on the internet proffering automobile purchases.

In exchange we discussed retirement, Gini’s part-time job at Dressers Unlimited and Chip’s imminent completion of his MFA in Chicago. We had pictures of his Urban Quiet final project. It was only during the holidays Chip had finally convinced Gini to view these pictures since the weather had become too cold to pursue any more footage. The project consists of photos and videos of Chip crawling up Chicago building facades and along the underbellies of skeletal bridge structures.

May the universe allow a safe pursuit.

We had only the one evening with Linda and Arthur and headed the next morning to Murrell’s Inlet in South Carolina. Waiting for us there were Rick and Hanna who we had spent New Year’s with at the beginning of our trip last year and had visited at their New York home this past summer for the fraternity reunion. They had just bought a new house close to the place they had for the past few years. (hmm, weren’t we moving furniture last year at this time with them?). They arrived just a day or two before us and had efficiently organized the move so that we were welcomed into a fabulous home ready for their first guests (an honor).

Rick and Chris, of course, headed for the TPC at Myrtle Beach once again (see last year’s blog). This time the weather was a bit more forgiving. Hanna and Gini continued to shop for the finishing items for the new residence and we all managed to partake of martinis and fresh oysters while line dancers regaled us to a live band.

We also went back to BrookGreen Gardens where we had seen so many wonderful sculptures last year (Jan 2010 – Happy New Year! Is the Furniture Here Yet?). Hanna and Rick wanted us to learn about the ‘Silent Cities’ there. And once again we did our part to confuse South Carolinians about global warming:

The gardens were created in the twentieth century by an artist (Ann Hyatt Huntington, sculptor) and had a previous history as four rice plantations. Our tour guide indicated the boundaries of the old estates and had us envision the land from centuries ago as most traces had been covered over. The focus of the tour were the cemeteries (the silent cities). The contrast between the burial styles of the owners versus the slaves was dramatic. The planters used the European style of above ground structures:

The slaves from that era do not have many above-ground remnants save a few headstones provided by the owners. Their African beliefs had the bodies buried facing to the Atlantic and in natural settings. Markers were of small stones, cement, iron objects, all of which were lost to the natural terrain. However their descendants have requested to be buried there and have since added headstones and other interesting markers:

Thankfully there was hot cider at the refreshment area after our excursion.

Our last evening in Murrell’s Inlet was having dinner with Rick and Hanna and Hanna’s parents who we enjoyed very much last year and once again this year. We love their stories about their life in Poland, Brooklyn and New Jersey before coming to Myrtle Beach.

Orlando is next.

LouisBoston Meets 2001 Odyssey

2010-11-29T13:05:00.001-08:00

Greetings:

When we last left our hero (“Where Were You In Your 60’s?”) the laudatory echoes of second graders were dopplering as he fled into the sunset. Memorable, but destined to be unique, it will be fondly remembered. However it will not have achieved all time top ten status regardless of the pride or bemusement.

“Saturday Night Fever” caught me reminiscing about an occurrence that would make the top ten.

Once again planted in front of the television, my retroment is stimulated by flashbacks. Tony Manero is doing his stuff….and lookin’ good.

As for the flashback…

It was ‘Carnival’ week at Newfound Regional High School. That meant it was the week before February vacation and class spirit would be ubiquitous during the multiple competitions. Each class would try to out-game, out-exuberate and out-energize the others. Bragging rights was the reward.

There was always a theme. The theme inspired hallway decorations and daily dressing. This particular year it was the movies. Hollywood and movie environs transformed the corridors. One of the daily themes was to come to school dressed as a favorite movie character. Well alright!

Now given the fact that I have 359 dvds in my Netflix queue and that I came within a phone call of trying to be a professional film editor instead of an educator, I felt that I had a vast reservoir of choices. Of course, costuming would be a key determinant.

This could be an opportunity to incorporate another satisfying moment in my life. While living with Gini before we were married my father had expressed concerns about my getting a job. (We are now into the second layer of flashbacks). Though exploring the role of a ‘kept man’ had its allure, I had to agree that I should be proactive. My father wanted to know how I dressed for interviews. I told him I wore nice slacks, a shirt and tie. “You don’t wear a suit?!”. (This from a man who prided himself on his professionalism as a pharmaceutical rep).

“Dad, I don’t even own a suit!”, I proclaimed defensively.

“Look, get a suit. I’ll pay for it!”, was his exasperated rejoinder. The wheels began turning. It was 1972, we aspired to being and looking like hippies. Our fashion consultation reciprocated the determination that the purchase had to be a three-piece suit. Several phone calls to the metropolitan Boston area revealed the fact that three-piece suits would not be casually found on the racks.

We escalated our criteria and headed for that hallowed haberdashery, LouisBoston. Its century plus existence begged our business. One can only imagine the look on the parking valet as we arrived in a Volkswagen Beetle and handed him the keys.

No sooner had we entered the store and asked for three piece suits when we were met with the response, “Someone must have told you about our new arrivals from Paris”. Yes, they must have…

After indicating that I wanted a suit just like the salesperson was wearing I was soon being custom fitted. Sure we will take the three silk, you-have-to-tie-it-yourself bowties and, by the way, how do you tie a bowtie? Dad was a bit speechless when he got the bill but to his credit barely complained.

My first trial run with the suit was when we had traveled to Long Island to present Gini to my Italian grandmother, the mystic. She was charmed by Gini (of course) and was appropriately impressed by the three piece suit:

Replace the shirt and bow tie with a wide-collared red silk shirt and a gold chain and I was an avatar for Tony Manero. With the aid of a paint can and a boom box I was ready for Newfound’s Carnival. (back to level 1 of flashbacks)

Each morning at the high school the students would gather in the main lobby since the hallway doors would not open for them until first bell. Teachers were sequestered with the day’s lesson plans in their classrooms appreciating the temporary isolation.

The computer lab, my classroom, was the first one on the left from the double doors to the lobby. When those doors opened with the bell I turned on the movie soundtrack and boldly strode towards the oncoming horde, swinging my paint can and struttin’ in my suit.

“Stayin’ alive! Stayin’ alive!”…

Thankfully one of my cinephile students got the portrayal and chortled it aloud (chortled?!). Though the hall lights did not diversify and strobify I felt compelled to dance. Awe, incredulousness, antipathy…it is hard to describe the reactions. Most stayed in the vicinity to take it all in.

Somehow at the appropriate bell the boom box was silenced and “Tony” entered the computer lab for the day’s lesson. Of course there had to be an encore so at the end of first period the boom box was re-established in the hallway and “Stayin Alive” was played to its conclusion. “How Deep Is Your Love” faded quickly as second period began.

Feeling quite pleased with myself (and a bit out of breath) I assumed we were now back to a normal day. We had a bit of a laugh first about the dancing but settled into our routine.

As the period was about to end there was a knock at the door. It was the head of the food service from the cafeteria. We were good friends so even though I had no idea why she was there it was nice to see her.

“Are you coming out in the hall again? All the ladies want to see you dance.”

Cue “Night Fever” and call my agent.

It was a blast.

Where Were You In Your 60's?

2010-11-20T10:41:00.001-08:00

Greetings All:

You would think that this man has reached a significant milestone, some kind of stone any way. He looks hale and healthy. This was from visits, salutations and exhortations of many friends and relatives during August and September. The Baron and the Baroness both turned 60 while celebrating 37th wedding anniversary. Feasting was the daily fare.

Nostalgic music inspired Sex Pistols air guitar and body surfing at the dining table:

Well then let us settle in and recount the early days of the current experience of the 60’s.

Atrial fibrillation, staggering back/hip pain, substitute teaching 7 year olds and submission to pyramid kharma schemes on the internet. Is there no end to the refulgence of the Golden Years?

Well, let me set up my newest piece of writing as a segue.

Chip gave us a call and said that we had to see Spike Lee’s “Passing Strange”. Described by the Internet Movie Data Base (IMDB) as: “A young black artist leaves his Los Angeles digs and travels to Europe to find himself. A theatrical stage production of the original Broadway musical.”

There is a strand that ties the protagonist to his relationship with his mother. Art rapidly emerges as one of the primary themes of the musical. Chip said he cried for twenty minutes after seeing the movie the first time.

He then proceeded to call us for the next two days asking us if we had seen the movie. Meanwhile he had seen it five times. With this kind of pressure we had to watch it. We loved it and I felt particularly inspired to write about my own perception of art in my life.

Chip said he really liked my response and I was pleased that our artist son found pleasure in it.

Scene: Bridgewater Hebron Village School, Fall 2010

Context: Written response to Chip

Greetings:

“…You know it’s really weird when you wake up that morning and realize that your entire adult life has been based on a decision made by a teenager!...” (quote from “Passing Strtange”)

Let me pass this ‘strange’ anecdote by you.

“Greetings Mr. Duggan, I was wondering if your name had been placed back on the sub list.”.

This was the opening line of a phone call I received on Monday. Somehow she convinced me that I would appear the next day to look after ten second graders. This despite my decision to not volunteer for subbing because of the stress associated with teaching and going back to work and having to earn money and recently having atrial fibriulation and..and… there I was on Tuesday morning at 7:45. What am I…stupid?

I knew the teacher and she was there to greet me.

“You know I don’t think you are going to like this but thank you for doing this.” She then proceeded to point to piles of paper, indicate lesson plans, gesture towards various texts, explain the nuances of the options I could exercise with each one. The spinning of my head was quite quiet. There was barely a breeze. I am sure she felt that she had explained all the necessary instructions and that ‘Mr. Duggan’ had absorbed it all. Yikes! I felt like Arlo Guthrie going through his draft physical from Alice’s Restaurant.

The official starting pistol was the Pledge of Allegiance. I silently but respectfully weathered it. And then began the process of surrendering a pedestrian view of the day and becoming immersed in Gwen, Alaric, Corie, Christian, Skyler, Jack, Levi, Hunter, Adele and . Collin was absent.

Levi, self-appointed, came over and shook my hand and welcomed me to the class. He was careless of whether he had an audience. He thought this was the right thing to do.

As the day unfolded I realized I could write ‘Q.E.D.’ on the day like it was a math proof: ‘Quod Erat Demonstratum’ – ‘What was meant to be shown was shown’. And that was subbing at the elementary level took too much energy.

My immersion was complete, however. I, too, became careless of an audience. I referenced my craft to accomplish the assigned material. But my immersion was complete. Craft led to the release of my soul. No matter how close chaos crept no matter how dynamic the traffic became, my soul led the way.

They sat, listened and questioned as they were benedicted with Roman numbers, the Greek alphabet and the mobius strip crescendo. Lessons were accomplished; learning was celebrated and demonstrated.

This is my art.

And it was about to become too real.

“Mr. Duggan…He’s awesome!”

Tully Zuma Reunion 2010

2010-08-04T18:37:00.000-07:00

(Click on any picture to enlarge)

Greetings:

Well, whether you were there or not, AEKDB has been given another wonderful boost of momentum. We may not be the subject of 60 Minutes or MTV but we have carved a significant niche in the annals (that wouldn’t be anals would it?) of the human condition.

Our illustrious hosts:

They had just refinished their wonderful kitchen so that Zuma could descend and celebrate. On Friday it would be a New York theme. Cheeses, wines and beers were carefully chosen to create a New York State of Mind. I, myself, succumbed to the Wailing Wench:

Shamelessly, Rick and I managed to partake of her charms several times during the evening.

Gini and I had arrived Thursday but after a rousing golf game with Tim Haley and Larry the neighbor, (you might remember from the emails that Larry’s basement was nominated to be the refuse reservoir for the RV’s that would descend) on Friday our work was cut out for us. Rick had purchased a cavernous canopy that came in one of those eight foot long boxes that was only eight inches square. Assembly was required. Using the skills honed by Tom Sawyer, Rick quickly had the early arrivals deep in construction of the challenging structure.. Somehow he was loading ice in the coolers and checking on the refreshments (which included the Wench).

Bravely Rick Schug and Kathy, Mike and Anne Foley weighed in upon arrival to erect the requisite structure. It became subtly apparent that subsequent arrivals were surreptitiously waiting down the street for completion in anxious observation of the mastering of the structural diagram and ensuing flurry of engineering activity. As was later apparent, something must have come together:

The mini-Woodstock continued to amass participants. Cheeses were sampled, beers were quaffed and wines were guzz…uh, sipped. The social inertia was overwhelming. This party could never be gauged for a beginning or an end. Whatever had coalesced in the late sixties and early seventies had permanently affixed itself to the fabric of the universe. It was seamless in execution. These people really liked each other.

Chez Nye is such a wonderful venue:

If one were now to turn and experience what is across the street:

You might begin to get an ides of what a wonderful location this is.

Now of course there had to be lake tours:

However, the Rivier contingent decided they would take a more leisurely approach (a RivierBoat?):

Highly suspicious of course that Anne did not have to paddle. Jackie claims that Anne provided the nautical experience that saved them time and again (‘Turn into the wave!’).

Friday night saw a migration to the dock under the care of the Lord of the Manor:

Much was bandied about as to the gender related expertise of tending a fire (Was Mrs. O’Leary really to blame for her cow?)

Saturday heard the conch shell sound, beckoning shoppers to gather and descend upon the area. Gini exercised incredible restraint as she remained behind to prepare her incomparable strata breakfast. Many were pleased.

The agenda was somewhat repetitious…laughter, brotherhood, nostalgia, reveling and the occasional frolic. However the afternoon menu would be launched with steamers:

Our heroes were expert in their grasping of the fundamollusks of steaming but were still awed by their accomplishments:

So let us now give way to the participants. Let it be said that the universe exercised its whimsy by preventing Carl, Lucy, Mark, Jane, Skipper, Valerie, Dick and Judy from attending for formidable reasons. Dave Seaward’s vicarious participation was vital to much of the group picture-taking. The following picture was autographed by all and hopefully delivered to the former Grand Master:

Also included was a brother montage of the twelve, quite biblical in nature:

Then there were the Kappa Significant Others who have enabled those smiles:

Among those who impressed through time and distance by congregating with the group for the first time in over thirty five years were:

Rich Schug and Kathy (seated at left):

Their arrival was perhaps the most dramatic as they arrived in a 45 foot vehicle that would divulge three dogs and a motorcycle Indian. Let’s just call it the Schug express:

The Keagys ventured north from Virginia bearing two accomplished sons, a PhD candidate and a current manager of a Panera’s. Cindy still looked great and Al still generated those wry, quiet comments that were anecdotally celebrated during the weekend:

And hailing from Franklin, Tennessee were Terry and Sue Dunham. One of the highlights of the storytelling was Terry’s rendition of being one of the charming chauffeurs for the female party participants at the fraternity. He vividly recalled Kenny Diegel’s surprise as Kenny’s derriere was being mooningly proffered at 60 mph on I495 and then being given a resounding slap from Terry while he was driving the vehicle subjugated to viewing this nocturnal phenomenon. Sue took it all in stride and offered her own unique Lowell memories which included working at a stereo production factory and witnessing employees dropping stereo components out the window…ah Lowell!

And the wonderful DunhamMobile:

A pleasant surprise, but no strangers to the winter Kappa Sig get-together were Dan and Annie Busby. Their daughter Catherine was about to enter college in South Carolina and portended empty-nesting while their son Tom was running a camp for kids and soon to be headed cross country before entering the Peace Corps. And, oh yeah, by the way, he has an acceptance to Harvard Law School awaiting him when he returns. F. Lee Busby, Inc is quite proud:

Some of the festivities was dedicated to the picturesque and provocative nicknames many of us have acquired; for instance, ‘C-Man’. Now, granted we did not put Paula through the actual etymology, none-the-less, one’s curiosity is piqued.

They had traveled from New Hampshire and have become familiar faces at these gatherings. During the nighttime festivities we thought we detected a subtle cobalt glow, or perhaps it was a singular combination of trace elements producing a post-nuclear aura.

Other nicknames were quite innocuous, say, for example, ‘GB’. As a premonition of future celebrity, the two letter nickname would indicate fan familiarity and meteoric ascension. Ecce Gary Blomquist:

This mild mannered mathematician is a survivor of the pallet-like bedding of a previous Tully reunion sojourn at the Best Western. He seems no worse for wear. That could be because of the complementary karma of his partner Caroline:

At this point I find myself having grouped the participants subconsciously. I realize that all the succeeding personas are highly suspect.

Exhibit A:

These two have never met a mechanical component they could not repurpose. Jack continues to arrive in vehicles that have light speed capability while Gary continues to project the quiet guy who in reality makes McGiver look like a piker. If the words ‘DeVilbiss’ or ‘Air Force One’ have any relevance to you then you know what I mean. They have complicated the disguise by marrying beautiful self-motivated women who could carry the household themselves:

But then again, wasn’t Jackie a RivierBoat Queen?

This only gets more insidious. Email readers will have been subjected to the vicious expose´ of the Tully area as invectively hurled by Monsieur Foley. This just resonates with the allegorical basis of ‘Big Pink’. At first one might be sympathetic to Anne but she was able to get up the lake without paddling.

One must express gratitude and appreciation for the musical abilities of Fole. Saturday’s campfire was splendiferous with fireworks:

and folk revival:

Then there is the Bon Vivant Boola. This brother circumvented ritual muster while establishing a cardioid connection of significant longevity. He has inspired many to outburst and few to boredom. He has come a long way to stashing Kraft’s Macaroni and Cheese for emergency rations:

Lady Luck has also been kind to Mr. Peculiar in the personage of Pam:

Her caprese was one of the many superior treats provided by the attendees and always reminds us of the aesthetics of southern charm.

As for ‘Captain’, Gini firmly informed all, that there would be no divulgence of its origins.

This woman almost single-handedly rescued the aforementioned Captain from the psychiatric rubbish heap.

My enjoyment of the celebration may be visually summarized thusly:

Love that Jameson’s.

Now Rick and Hanna have not just settled for a past filled with fond memories of friends and Cumnock Hall. They have been instinctively developing further connections with newer friends who understand trust and brother/sisterhood. Some such as Tim and Mary bonded with Zuma in Italy and the Foley reunion. Others just form the Tully support group:

They are quite talented as demonstrated by the fascinating feeding of the bass in the lake:

Rick and Hanna also are successful nurturers as attested to by their lovely daughters and faithfully providing for the 21 year old Frisky:

So let it be known that this crowd can still party properly:

What a fabulous feast enabled by the pas de deux:

So long may it wave:

Homeward Ho!

2010-03-17T12:36:00.000-07:00

Now that you have had a few minutes…Is your pulse/heart rate a little quicker? Sweat subtly appearing?…upper lip?...slight moistening…on the forehead? My, my, my, how the mind and eye dance in strange ways…

**********************************************************************

We bid a fond farewell to South Beach on the last day of February. The Flamingo now just a fading memory like the image of a tree in the Louisiana Bayou.

The Honda Element was spatially challenged as we loaded all our stuff plus Jan and Bill’s suitcases with a month’s worth of articles and, lest we forget, Jan and Bill! Through the use of cell phones we were able to keep in touch with the back seat as we rode to Winter Park to visit Mary.

Alas Mary was suffering the loss of Sophie, her sweet companion (see picture in Blog Archive, Jan. 2010, “Ah…The Women”). Our arrival was fortunate for her to provide and share an emotional visit to the site in the backyard where Sophie now remains. Latest news is that there is a new Sophie and we shall see if the newer incarnation lives up to the sprightly standard of her predecessor.

After a quick stop for lunch we bid farewell to our Flamingo mates and Mary to head for Tallahassee. Gini had booked a night to give us a travel break for the long haul to Lousiana. The Florida capital proved to be more interesting than anticipated but we had to make progress.

In our endless quest for Five Guys we were further surprised by the charm and beauty of Mobile, Alabama. It even has a French Quarter with a fascinating history to match. This city deserves its own destination visit.

Now, fully nourished by Five Guys cuisine we made our run to Lafayette… in a pouring rainstorm that lasted through Mississippi and just about to Katy and Chris’ house in Lafayette. Our arrival was celebrated in grand fashion. When the debris was organized we realized we had drunk several martinis and the equivalent of a bottle of wine apiece. Late morning prayers were seriously offered in thanks for our survival.

Zach did get his GED and also was able to put together a scholarship application with the help of our ad hoc Von D’Lucci village. Now, Zach, about those dishes…

Taco Sisters was of course our daily agenda for lunch. The ladies are doin’ fine and are now open on Saturday. Y’all come on down now!

The small town of Breaux Bridge is a must for anyone fortunate enough to be in this area. Its charm is exquisite and offers Zydeco, antiques and great food. In fact we have officially decided that inside the continental US this is the best region for its food.

Katy’s great friends Margaret and Walter decided that the yankees should be treated to a proper crawfish boil. We meandered to their house just a few blocks away to a gorgeous cottage:

As evening fell it became the perfect milieu for crawfish:

Laissez les bon temps rouler! And so they did. Walter steeped and swirled the crawfish as a labor of love. Corn, mushrooms, potatoes, onions and delicious artichokes were first cast into the boil. Then four pots worth of crawfish made it to the cooler:

Grab your tray, some beer and try to remember to breathe.

The next morning saw us having to bid farewell to Katy, Chris and Zach. Hopefully we will see them here in New Hampshire this year.

It was then on to the Huntsville, Alabama area to meet with Helen Keniston Oney and her family. Helen graduated from Newfound in 1986 and had become a close friend of the family after initially being in Chris’s classes and taking a turn at baby sitting Chip. Now she has three children of her own. The oldest is just starting his 20’s. The youngest gives the impression of being ten years old but has been categorized as a Force of Nature. We will hear from her again without a doubt.

We chose a Japanese steak house and were entertained by the flashy show of the cook as he made dinner right in front of us. Helen kept us entertained with her stories and engaging take on life. Bill and Chris exchanged family stories and discussed the history of rocketry in the Huntsville area.

Helen is looking forward to her trip to India later in the spring. She has always kept it interesting.

The next morning we continued our driving odyssey with a stop in Franklin, Tennessee. It had been over thirty years since the roommates had seen each other. Terry Dunham and Chris had been roommates for three years in college. One of the years included Mike Foley (remember he married Gini’s roommate Ann). In senior year Terry lived with his wife Sue in a Lowell apartment. Terry, as you might remember, was the instigator for the Ouija Board incident (Everything You Know Is Wrong – Blog Archive, Nov 2009).

There are many things in life that exist and are not easily described in science but are readily known when experienced. Reuniting with Terry without missing a beat in comfort, intimacy or emotion qualifies. Though our lives have been physically separated for over three decades there is a continuity to the feelings that had linked us together so long ago.

We were able to meet Gretchen, their 34 year old daughter (34-Yikes!) and enjoy her company. Unfortunately, their oldest, Chris’s namesake, lives in the Pacific Northwest and was not currently visiting. He’s 37 (Yikes squared!).

Sue has faithfully maintained communication with the fraternity and is an ardent follower of the blog. Gini regrets that she had not known much about her back in college and is so glad to have had this opportunity to reconnect.

I like this quote:
“Many people will walk in and out of your life, but only true friends will leave footprints in your heart”

The journey continued as we were to meet someone in Nashville that night.

In many ways we have a “second son” in Luke Elliott. He graduated from Newfound in 2000 and was a member of the track team that finished third in the state (“Coach, we left nothing on the track, we gave it all for you” …and they did).

He had been living in San Francisco for several years and had decided to start anew in Nashville. He has a couple of roommates but one was in Australia. The other, Christine, has a great relationship with Luke and we had a great time together. Delicious pizza was the dinner choice followed by a panoramic walk across the Cumberland River. There was a casual cruising of downtown Nashville. Not too crazy on a Monday night but were impressed by the number of musical venues. We were without our cowboy hats and boots and needs must return.

Luke guided us to a great breakfast place the next morning and we were off once again. This day was the long haul since it involved over eleven hours of driving and a time change that was not in our favor. However waiting at the other end were Chris’ cousins Kitty and Phil. In fact they almost wound up waiting a lot longer than planned when it was discovered that they were in their new home and our GPS instructions were for their old house. We would have knocked on some strangers’ door late at night with a struggle for an explanation.

Kitty figured it out and provided a great family welcome. Phil (“Oh no! Not those guys!”) eventually came around and we managed to enjoy a couple of bottles of wine while exchanging family news and old stories. Their house is enormous! We had to pack a light snack to take in all three floors. The basement is a paradise for their grandchildren and their rollerskates.

We were treated the next morning to a monster breakfast as we headed out for Rich and Val’s in Mass. Kitty and Phil promise to visit New England – we shall see, it would be great to have them.

So the home stretch brings us back to familiar territory. Instead of the last day of our trip we decided to think of this as the first day of being back and doing what we like to do. Val, still missing Miami Beach after her one week stay, cooked up a delicious meal. Richie had some great pictures to show us and stories of New York City and adventures with Simone, their daughter, at her poetry events.

Chris made it back to Newfound the next day in time to attend a couple of track meetings. Damage to the house seemed minimal until we tried to turn on the dishwasher and it would not fill with water. Hopefully someone will figure it out.

So 5800 miles later Gini could only exclaim, “Auto Train next year!”.

So What Do You Think Of Miami Beach?

2010-02-24T14:47:00.000-08:00

We believe we have documented evidence of what a conscientiously applied program of South Beach and regular solar care will produce:

We would show you ‘before’ pictures but it is best that we think of them in their current incarnation. This picture was actually taken on the mainland in Coconut Grove at the Vizcaya Museum and Gardens.

Vizcaya is the former home of James Deering, vice president of International Harvester. For those who might be curious the Deering Harvester company merged with the McCormick Reaper to form International Harvester. There was an eruption of money that resulted in land being purchased in Coconut Grove.

By 1916, and after spending 20 million dollars, Mr. Deering had produced an estate that showcased the Italian Renaissance style with a Miami Beach appreciation.

Here is the Venetian look:

In the background is the Tea House.

To the left is the Great Stone Boat:

Funny, the Empress Dowager of China was also famous for a stone (marble) boat. You would think they would have had a better concept of buoyancy with all their money and all.

As to Vizcaya, itself, let us turn 180 degrees and look at it from its best perspective from Biscayne Bay:

The archway on the second floor above the three blue openings was the private balcony of James Deering. He would surreptitiously gaze at the public who could roam the gardens on the weekends.

Sadly he only lived until 1925. In 1926 a hurricane did tremendous damage to the property. Its history is filled with minimal staff and hurricanes. Finally in 1952 a token amount of 1.3 million was paid by Miami-Dade County and the next year the property was made available to the public.

The gardens were not completed until 1921 due to the outbreak of World War I. They have moonlit tours once a month in the gardens. The original 180 acres have been reduced to 50 but it still remains beautiful:

We were also impressed with the number of celebrities we encountered.

“What Link from yonder window breaks?” Well that would be Chris Link, soon to be Dr. Link in a few short months, taking a break from bedside ministrations to entertain a duet of damsels:

And did we not say that HGTV is ubiquitous? Though he shyly turned from our camera, we encountered David Bromstad (he of the blue shirt) filming an episode for his Color Splash show for the House and Garden TV network. There was appropriate oohing and ahing:

We all know that the Miami area is a mecca for fashion and style. This picture says it all as to the allure of Vizcaya and the world of Elle and Vogue:

Let’s just think of them as the Mamarazzi.

Who Dat Up There Who’s Dat Down There

2010-02-06T13:23:00.000-08:00

The super bowl crescendo/whirlwind is ubiquitous and unrelenting. South Beach is not the NFL’s primary focus (Fort Lauderdale is). but they have ‘assumed the position’ Last night was a free concert on the beach featuring Rihanna and Justin Bieber and broadcast on VH1. We had spent a lot of the afternoon on Ocean Ave and the sand so we thought we would capture it in the safety of our own living room on TV. We were watching it for 15 minutes before we realized that, yes, the music had started and that the repetitive sounds and motions were it. Now Rihanna turned out to be a real talent but what is this Justin Bieber thing? He looked like an early version of Peter Noone (Herman’s Hermit’s) – granted with better teeth and skin.

Well – just a little joke. However one must be careful about these little jokes, just ask columnist Dave Barry. (“Dave has also written a total of 30 books, although virtually none of them contain useful information.” – Dave Barry Website)

Dave is a regular contributor to the Miami Herald and South Florida gadfly cum humorist. On a good day when the b.s. (blog stuff) is flowing, his style is Chris’ aspiration. Well Dave exercised the poor judgment of trying to advise those who had come to his fair city for the Super Bowl. His basic premise was that one could feel safe, mobile and fiscally responsible as much as one wanted as long as they did not leave their hotel room.

His reference to maniacal driving practices on I95 and the Palmetto Expressway; his fondness for the serendipitous public transit system and its ability to transport live sharks; the preoccupation with people (read ‘breast’) watching; the Clinton administration being the last time that someone from Miami found a parking space on Miami Beach; and the probability of hailing one of Miami’s 4 cabs seem to have upset some Miamians.

So the next day he retracted everything in an enumerated list of mea culpas which included a solemn desire to reassure everyone about the courteousness of every driver and the wholesomeness of South Beach. However, due to the extremely tight security, anyone holding an umbrella would be taken out by snipers and congregating would be investigated (this would, of course, include huddles).

Well, Dave is still my kind of guy – maybe we are both just drawn that way.

Anyway, Paul, Gini, Jan (Gini’s sister) and Bill (her husband) are sporadically distributed around the pool (group assembly, then, not an issue).

Here is our runway model when she is not slaving in the kitchen:

Our search for the perfect fleur-de-lis continues.

As does Chris’ attempts at night photography:

(Click on pictures for separate viewing)

We do intend to leave our apartment but only for vital supplies (gelato….cappuccino….chocolate martinis….)

Ciao.

Deco Rating

2010-02-01T15:41:00.000-08:00

Greetings:

Major flood warnings have been issued. Chris has begged Gini to save herself and just leave him the gin, a smidgeon of vermouth and some olives. (He can be so brave). However Gini will not stand for the gin being left behind and will weather whatever the storm offers.

Flashback to a few days ago…

Our heroes love to walk and one of the reasons is the Miami Beach architecture. Here is just a small sample:

The shelves above the windows are known as ‘eyebrows’. Should they ‘wink’, immediately call a cab.

Chris got a little space-oid with a shot of the Royal Palm Hotel on the beach:

He felt that it was an obvious nexus for aliens and wanted to casually make contact. The rest of the crew thinks maybe they’ll just have brunch there someday.

Meanwhile night photography becomes a challenge from the balcony:

Fast forward to the recent past (don’t hurt yourself)…

Two very wonderful events occurred within moments of each other.

The first was a make your day/month/year variety. Zack Hinchliffe called to announce that he had obtained his GED. Chris was weeping because it was not ‘owed to a fairy tale’ and had finally happened.

Next, Elayne (remember ‘Take Me To The River…’ in High Springs blog?) emailed to let Chris and Gini know that one of her most recent paintings would be on display at a local theater. The painting captured one of the photo experiences during the canoe ride down the Santa Fe River, specifically Blue Springs:

Chris just kept weeping.

Fast forward to the relative present…

Janice and Bill have just arrived. It continues to rain…the force seems to ripple each time new players make the scene. Thank goodness they landed a few hours before the Indianapolis Colts landed at the Fort Lauderdale/Hollywood airport. Pro Bowl/Super Bowl weeks are lurking out there.

Eileen (Chris’ sister) left yesterday to drive back to Orlando. She has formulated a sophisticated plan to get a transfer from TDBank (her current employer) to the Miami area as a rich executive. It sounds foolproof.

Val left this morning just two hours before the New Orleans Saints’ team jet landed at the Miami airport. Her plan was a bit more direct. She was going to inform Jan and Bill that their room was no longer available and that it was a real tragedy. We just assume the pedestrian position and hope for the best.

They have resumed flying severely injured Haitian patients to Florida hospitals. This is a good thing.

We give thanks for what we have.

When I Get Older, Losing My Hair, Many Years From Now

2010-01-29T09:45:00.000-08:00

Greetings:

Charles Poitras, a Newfound graduate who has lived in Miami Beach for some time, says that the Flamingo South Beach is referred to as the South Beach Dorm. Eighty percent of the people here are under thirty five. The phrase ‘eye candy’ is bandied about…especially by those over thirty. Hot tubs are especially soothing…and the articles are great too.

Here is the view as you approach from the south:

There are those moments, especially in the elevator where age is the elephant in the middle of the room. Upon being given a casual greeting, one young woman gave that look similar to when you had to take some yucky medicine and there was no way out. Others have been very cordial but think either we are their parents in disguise or have been sent by them. French, Spanish, Italian are more common than English.

As for the apartment itself, it is wonderful. The management is another issue. For example, where are more keys for the apartment and a mail box key? We are now in day 6. To make matters even more ‘fun’, our arrangement with our local post office in New Hampshire has created a ‘button, button, who’s got the button’ game where we may or may not be allowed to play. If you mail us please use carrier pigeon.

To be in sympathy with northern climes the hallways are frigid. A heavy towel is needed at the bottom of the hallway door so as not to foster precipitation. We had, at one time, looked at this building as a possible site of purchase. As a rental it is great, but not so much for ownership. Maintenance and management are arbitrary. No one really knows what is going on.

So here is the good stuff. When you walk in you see:

That’s the internet router on the floor since there is no WiFi. The kitchen is not particularly well supplied and is basically equipped for a runway model. We are glad to have glasses, dishes and a few cooking implements. The layout is good though:

Master bedroom does have a bathroom:

There is a second bedroom (and a hallway bathroom):

But then there is the balcony; this we like very much. Here is Val at leisure:

Looking directly below at the ‘bra’ or ‘moustache’ pool (take your pick):

Sunset is always special:

Val’s arrival has given other purposes to walking. Her expertise from having researched and written their book ‘Discovering South Beach Deco’ with her husband Richie has been a real treat. The next posting will show some of the places seen along the walks.

Meanwhile Gini and Julia say ‘Bon Appetit’ (‘Runway model at work’ says Val):

Val, Chris’ sister Eileen, Greg and Paul admire the kitchen creations:

Ciao.

We Be At The Beach

2010-01-23T12:22:00.000-08:00

Greetings:

This posting is basically to let people know that we are here safely in Miami Beach. Our first week is with our friends Paul and Greg (and Mishu). Here is a picture from last year with the view from their balcony:

It is on the first Venetian Island (Belle Isle) going from Miami Beach to Miami. It is the same island where we have purchased a condo.

However we are renting the condo for the year and are grateful to Paul and Greg for having us each year. But one week is enough if you want to remain friends. So we have a five week rental at a place called The Flamingo South Beach at 1504 Bay Road on Miami Beach.

Miami and Miami Beach are two different worlds. We do enjoy the Design District, Midtown Miami and Chris bicycles through Bayfront Park to get to Key Biscayne. However, the world of South Beach is our preference. Our lifestyle is not glamorous but the surroundings are.

A typical day begins with Gini and Paul meeting some friends to walk five miles down to South Pointe Park and back. Chris sleeps in a bit and will meet Rick sometimes for activities such as a bike ride or coffee. Rick is a very dear friend. Chris was his mentor back in Lowell days to help him get through high school. He and Paul were living and business partners at one time but life has moved on. Rick lives in the next building here on Belle Isle.

More than likely Chris will go to an afternoon movie at the 18 screen Regal on Lincoln Road. Gini, Paul and various other moviegoers will accompany him. So far the list includes: It’s Complicated (Meryl Streep, Alec Baldwin and Steve Martin were very entertaining); A Single Man (devastating movie that was excellently made but brutal emotionally); Sherlock Holmes (Robert Downey and Jude Law redefine this pair in a very good way) and Up In The Air (sad but very well done and George Clooney is great).

Shopping is also an agenda item. The stores on Lincoln Road are world class and places like Sawgrass Mills constantly beckon. Ocean Ave is filled with eye candy and elegant hotels. Art deco architecture also interests us and makes local walks interesting tours, especially with our friends’, Val and Rich’s, book ( Discovering South Beach Deco: Walking Tours in the Miami Beach Art Deco District) which describes the buildings along the walks in great detail.

Over the years many of Paul and Rick’s friends have included us in their company so there is always an interesting opportunity for drinks and dinner. Many of these people live on Belle Isle so the venue is fantastic and the ocean and Biscayne Bay are never far away.

Tomorrow we move into the Flamingo. Val will be joining us on Monday; Eileen on Thursday. Then the following Monday they are tag-teamed by Gini’s sister Janice and her husband Bill. We will be together for four weeks, the balance of our stay here in ‘the Beach’. So perhaps we will post some pictures of our rental there and ambient accoutrements.

But, bottom line, we are safe and doing fine.

Ah…The Women

2010-01-16T14:44:00.000-08:00

Propulsed by our Five Guys infusion we found our way to Cyndy’s in Osprey, Florida. It had been many years since we had seen her. She is the former head of special education at Newfound Area School District and an amazing woman.

Fortune had thrown her and Chris together in an office above the 5&10 in Bristol. The experience was a positive one because when the new high school was built Chris begged and pleaded with her to share his office. So began the era-ette of ‘Special Needs Computer’. This was how the stenciling read above the door to the office. Immediately below it was a three foot picture of Howdy Doody (and you thought Dante’s invitation was of concern).

It soon became apparent that Cyndy’s home situation needed changing at the time, so she and another friend, JoJo, the drama director for the school, decided to enlist in the International school system in Bahia, Brazil. All accounts of this experience rival Woodstock – not bad for two ‘old broads’. How they survived is amusing and takes the ‘non’ out of non-plussed.

However that was not enough to satisfy her exotic wanderlust. She then signed on for two more stretches in Damascus, Syria. Having read many of her letters, we both want Cyndy to publish her ‘memoirs’. One of the more incredible tales was how she and another woman started out by bus from Damascus to Lebanon and then proceeded by train (by themselves) to Nice, France.

Her kharma has provided her with a nice town house in a retirement community in Osprey. Our conversation upon arrival begs conveyance. It was rich with ‘catching up’, fun filled nostalgia and philosophical exchanges. Chris has been fortunate to have had some very interesting office ‘mates’.

The agenda consisted of a tour of the coastal barrier islands, known as keys, in the Sarasota area; Casey Key, Siesta Key, AnnaMaria Key, LongBoat Key, all very impressive but… oh yeah, the weather. Now for those in the throes of New England winter you will feel like there is some justice in the universe when we relate the fact that temps had not really risen above 40 degrees anywhere we had visited and that sleet was gently kissing our windshield in downtown Sarasota.

In summary, Gini reluctantly admits that we might be the equivalent of Typhoid Mary. Ice in the streets of Myrtle Beach, biting winds preventing golf; ice dripping from fountains in Savannah; Elayne and Russ losing their water three mornings; and…while sitting comfortably in Cyndy’s living room, the power goes out. Our solution to the latter was to play three rousing games of Yahtzee by candlelight. Could this mean that the locusts would arrive in Punta Gorda to meet us?

Well this picture from Siesta Key sort of sums it up:

Long may Cyndy roam!

On Sunday, January 10, we left for Punta Gorda after a fine Perkins breakfast in Vencie…uh, Florida that is.

*************************************

Sandy and Lori had flown down to Charlotte Bay to investigate real estate. Sandy is a friend from many years who was present when Gini’s water broke for Chip at the ‘chicken barn. Check the comments section for that posting for her description.

Port Charlotte and Punta Gorda had been ravaged by hurricane Charlie. That, along with the current economy made for some very inexpensive homes. Here are some examples for between $45K and $60K:

Finding a good real estate agent can be quite challenging. Gini and I surreptitiously amused ourselves following Sandy and Lori and their agent during their tour of property. At one point Lori was gesturing madly through the back window about being rescued.

Their quest continues as the third day proved fruitful in finding a good agent but necessitates further visits to the area.

Gini and Chris liked downtown Punta Gorda. It was filled with funky shops and houses:

As for the title of this blog – ‘Ah..The Woment’. This portion of the trip has been filled with fabulous independent, single women. One of the days searching for real estate involved Lori driving her rental car with Sandy, Gini and our cabana boy Chris doing iPhone searches and locations like he was born to it.

Cherchez la fun:

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For those of you who know the blog from last year you will remember Mary, Gini’s step-mom. She and Gini were last heard yelling ‘Ride ‘em cowboy’ as they descended at breaknail speed down the side of Pila mountain in the Alps. Awaiting us in Winter Park was a fancy bottle of champagne, Mary’s signature. You may remember a previous blog posting of Gini’s dad, Charlie, helping build the steps. Mary is who he left with us for safekeeping.

Mary had decided, though, to foster a drug party. It was our first morning with her and there on our plates were small straws and ‘Pocket Espresso’. Chris’ attempts to convince everyone that the proper way was to snort it required a knowing demonstration by Mary:

We were impressed with Mary’s rendition of ecstasy:

However, ‘Ah....The Women’ would not be complete without Mary’s precious Sophie:

The bike was ridden today so there is thermal hope. Tomorrow we will visit Gini’s roommate from college, Nadine and her husband, Frank, and then later to try and finish another bottle of Moet and Chandon Imperial. Saturday – Miami Beach!

Take Me To The River...Drop Me In The Water

2010-01-09T16:02:00.000-08:00

Greetings:
(click on pictures to enlarge)

The ride from Savannah was fairly uneventful and we passed the time with some decent oldies stations and a CD or two of our own. However the actual location of Elayne and Russ’ house is beyond the capability of any GPS mapping system and some simple directions were relayed by mobile phone as we approached.

Elayne was jumping up and down in the yard when we came through the gate and made our way across an open field to the house. The property is a ten acre strip that is narrow and very deep, terminating on several hundred feet of frontage on the Santa Fe River north of Gainesville, FL. Many homes, such as theirs, are built away from the river to afford river traffic a natural view of the flora and fauna.

Elayne and Russ have been married six years which accounts for how long we have known Russ but Elayne is another story. Thirty six years ago Gini took a job with an orthodontist in White Plains, NY as her first newly-married-income-producing endeavor. Elayne was working there. It was not long before there were ‘shenanigans’ going on during lunch hour, during work and eventually we were shenaniganning regularly as a group.

Elayne did not last much longer with the illustrious doctor and soon diversified. She helped Dr. Dubin, her husband at the time and a great optometrist, developed her own optician skills but really just kept gathering momentum towards her real talent as an artist. Our departure from White Plains after just two and a half years (Chris got himself fired from Archbishop Stepinac High School: “Too much Star Trek and rock music, Mr. Duggan!”) did not stop the maintenance of our friendship.

Eventually Elayne would travel to Spain and support herself solely on her income from art and even sojourn in Bristol, NH. She had an apartment and a studio in the old Abel’s Restraurant and had some success in town. She would wend her way to Maryland and then High Springs, FL. There she would initially have a store front and studio in the nearby funky town of Alachua and begin taking on art students. At one point she was teaching forty students. Currently she has downsized to another studio and still maintains many students.

So here is our star:

The house is filled with wonderful pieces of her art. Here is an example:

Russ is a man of many traits. He has recently retired from managing air traffic controllers. His list of accomplishments is most impressive but the one that we most attribute to his natural abilities is river guide, but more of that later.

Here is the house:

Elayne also has a small studio on the property, there is an old VW bus waiting to resurrect and yard scultpture (object d'yard) but Russ’ pride and joy is his Big Deck (hear, hear):

This multi-leveled platform is backlit, frontlit and sunlit for the exclusive purpose of fun and frolic. There is room for a band and about thirty or forty seated friends/guests. The bar is eclecticly resplendent with fishing gear and fiber optics.:

And of course there are the groupies:

Mother Nature dominates however as you go down their passage to the water to their dock. You pass about 8 or 10 canoes, skiffs and kayaks along the way until you are struck with the beauty of the river:

Elayne had to address a local woman’s club and could not join us on this one day of good weather and temperature. However Russ bundled Gini and Chris into a large canoe and they were off.

We were the only humans on the river but it seemed to be Turtle Day as we skimmed along:

The wind had died down and movement seemed effortless, especially for Gini who sat oarless between Chris and Russ. There was some concern to her vantage point:

Many springs feed the Santa Fe River and we made our way to one of the more public ones called Blue Springs. It could have been the Caribbean or Hawaii as the transparency of the water of the springs allowed for color and the beholding of fish:

Though it was Russ’ idea, Chris crumbled some dried leaves to make the fish think he was offering food. Later it was noted that there were underwater posters with Chris’ picture with warnings about a no good northerner peddling false wares:

The entire community is in love with the river and tries not to impact it negatively while still providing themselves access from their property:

One of the more interesting members of the community is Naked Ed. We had met Ed at Russ and Elayne’s wedding. The wedding, itself, was fabulous. The wedding party arrived in canoes and the ceremony was performed at the dock. The event had been synchronized with the full moon and later that night the members of the reception all paddled along the moonlit river. A destination was Lily Springs where guitars, etc were produced under the approving eye of the owner, Naked Ed (in all his glory).

This time the weather was a bit much and Ed was almost unrecognizable. He does provide an announcement to casual paddlers:

But perhaps the most glorious component of this escapade was the paradisical glow of our native guide:

We are wealthy and fortunate in our friends. In this way life has been very kind.

Next is a visit with Chris’ office mate from many years ago, Cyndy. Leaving High Springs was difficult and we took to the road with some reluctance. But thanks to our initiation by Rick and Hanna in Myrtle Beach we were able to notice a great place for lunch as we headed further South. ‘The best hamburger you ever tasted’ claimed Rick and was verified for the second time as we pulled into a Five Guys hamburger place. May you all be so fortunate.

One Night Stand in Savannah

2010-01-06T12:07:00.000-08:00

Greetings:

Despite the freezing conditions, Savannah was beautiful. Gini was able to get a travel agent discount at the Residence Inn on the edge of the Historic District. This district is architecturally fabulous. After a visit to the nearby Visitor’s Center to purchase a self-guided walking tour booklet we discovered that our destination for lunch was one of the most beautiful buildings to see. It is the Gryphon Tea Room that was formerly an apothecary:

The interior is still preserved from the apothecary days and is full of crafted detail, ceiling highlights and furniture appropriate to the former business. Our booklet claimed it was the place where Robert E. Lee had his last prescription filled (maybe not the best endorsement). Our lunch was on the wonderful side and we sat in the large, floor-to-ceiling window to the right of the entrance.

Many of the streets have malls in the middle with mossy draped oaks providing a classic southern ambiance. Detailed items were in abundance. such as a dolphin downspout:

…and a sunflowered gate:

Henry Ford’s first showroom has been repurposed:

There are 2300 houses in the historic registry. They nestle one after the other and lazily flow between well-kept parks and fountains. One of the nicer fountains was dripping with ice, a rare Savannah sight:

Here are a few examples of some of the homes:

We thought that this one would make a fine home for the Von D’Luccis:

That evening we enjoyed dinner at Garribaldi’s, a very good Italian restaurant with dishes designed to reflect Savannah’s local offerings.

Next is High Springs, Florida where we will meet up with Elayne and Russ at their riverside ‘estate’. See y’all then.

Happy New Year! Is The Furniture Here Yet?

2010-01-04T15:18:00.000-08:00

Greetings and Happy New Year!

The Grand Strand is a crescent of sandy beach stretching from the southern tip of North Carolina down along the South Carolina coast. Its ‘capital’ is Myrtle Beach, home to over one hundred and thirty golf courses… and our friends’, Hanna and Rick Nye, winter getaway:

This was one of the lynchpins of the Element Tour of the East/Southeast. There was to be New Year’s merriment at the Tournament Players Club at Myrtle Beach and general frivolity at all times.

The Nyes and the Duggans go way back. Rick and Chris have known each other for forty years due to Lowell Technological Institute and Kappa Sigma Fraternity. Rick claims that we were only friends for the first ten years and that Gini is the main reason we continue the relationship.

Hanna was also a math major at LTI and that Lowell experience stays with you your whole life. She is most proud of their daughters, Emily and Sara, and the great life they have created as a team.

The TPC course, of which Rick is a member, is rated 5 stars by Golf Digest alongside Pinehurst #2 and Kiawah Island. Despite the unusually cold weather and saturated conditions, the boys had a fantastic time chasing those little white balls:

Rick was fresh from a morning lesson and was pleased with the day’s results. However the ninth hole will soon appear as a major novel starring both Rick and Chris.

Another great experience was an incredible surprise since neither Gini or Chris were aware of Brookgreen Gardens. and Atalaya. Atalaya was the winter home of the Huntingtons of Huntington Beach fame and nineteenth century landlords to Central Park. Anne Hyatt Huntington was a gifted sculptor and used the residence to board animals (bears, monkeys, horses and a macaw). Also the nearness to the beach was a factor. Rick and Chris immediately became Knights of the Grand Strand:

Brookgreen Gardens is a segment of the Huntingtons' purchase of 2500 acres along the Grand Strand dedicated to sculpture. Dozens of artists are well represented along with Anne's works.

Despite the chill wind we were grateful for the winter sun to illuminate the artworks.

A very life-like leopard:

“Reaching”:

Greek mythological figures were well represented.

The theme and role model for our stay, Dionysus:

Pegasus – so large that three blocks of stone had to be used:

Diana overseeing her garden. Do not mess with Diana – just ask Actaeon.

Ah, fauns, sylvan creatures and Muses:

Chris was especially pleased when he found Ecstasy:

Rick, though, had spoken highly of his appreciation of ‘the Big Girls’, professionally known as the St. James Triad:

One heck of a sundial:

And the piece de resistance, our seeker of the Impossible Dream who symbolizes the theme of this blog (Don Quixote by Anne Hyatt Huntington, herself):

Thank goodness for friends like Sancho…

and the Nyes.

Nightlife in the Myrtle Beach area is plentiful and playful:

Our last evening was spent with Hanna’s parents. Mom made her appearance while hoisting out the makings for margaritas (not bad for 75). Both she and Dad then held us spellbound with tales of being ‘removed’ from Poland. The trail made its way through Siberia, Iran, Lebanon, England, Brooklyn, New Jersey and finally Myrtle Beach. Their current life is filled with tennis and their wish is to end it all while delivering an overhand smash (‘That’s inside the line, of course’, says Rick).

Sadly we said goodbye to Rick and Hanna as we head for an evening stay in Savannah. Thank you guys for your friendship, generosity and love. AEKDB.

We're Off

2009-12-30T16:22:00.000-08:00

Greetings:

Mile 0

The Element is packed almost to the ceiling with our sets of golf clubs and Chris’ bicycle. We set off for Dad’s in Franklin to leave him some cash and to say goodbye. He is upstairs in the dining room at Golden Crest and is glad to see us. Hopefully we will all survive without seeing each other for over two months.

Gini was presented with a ‘truffle snake’ in her Christmas stocking. It has since been put back into its original 2 lb Harry and David Dark Chocolate tub and given preferred seating in the front seat. As we left Franklin, NH we felt like our trip had begun and Gini was definitely on vacation. The Patriots game on the radio was to serve as our entertainment as we made our way to Middletown, NY to visit with brother Bob. He lives in the family house now so he could save on rent and was awaiting us for dinner at Nina’s.

As we started listening to the game we made a pact. For every touchdown that the Patriots scored we would eat a dark chocolate truffle. This became life threatening as Brady passed for four touchdowns and Morris ran in another. We decided that maybe every other touchdown would be cause for embracing Harry and David.

Mile 300

It was good to see Bob at the old homestead. From 1957 to 1968 it was Chris’ home. Gini first paid a visit in 1972 and Mom liked her. Gini, at the time, marveled, as did many others, at the back yard. For Dad, after coming from Ireland and then the Bronx, this was his first house and could not cope with the condition of the yard. So he had it blacktopped. Odd as it was, it was a mini school yard the whole time Chris lived there. Bob and he played hours and hours of home run derby, whiffle ball and managed to hit whiffle golf balls in a competitive fashion over the years.

Now Middletown did not seem charming with all the crowded ‘garden apartments’ squeezed into lots meant for single family homes across the street. Street noise and activity was 24/7. Nina’s, however, was a different story. Somehow this restaurant, which could have easily competed with anything in Manhattan, had nestled onto Main Street in Middletown. Dinner was most enjoyable.

The basement at the house was filled with many of Mom’s ‘backups’. Literally one could furnish three or four kitchens with the accumulated treasures of over fifty years of marriage. Well, maybe in the spring we could deal with this … but now? Not so much.

Morning brought sunny but windy weather. Now begins the iPhone versus AARP/MapQuest death match. Google was not helping, there was an hour’s difference in travel time with their version. We decided to head for Delaware and make for Cape Charles and the Chesepeake Bay Bridge. Anyone who has driven this must be amazed at how this bridge dips, not once but twice, under Chesapeake Bay and then leaps to the surface once more. The sun is blinding as we head west late in the afternoon. The wind is howling and one might think we are in a Hitchcock movie as seagull after seagull lies lifeless on the side of the road.

Mile 770

We did successfully arrive in Norfolk thanks to the iPhone. The reason we were there was because of Gini’s family. Uncle Buzz had taken an apartment to be near his son Mike (Gini’s cousin), his wife Mary and their daughter Amy, her husband and the latest star, three year old Crysta.

Buzz lives in a wonderful senior apartment complex called the Talbot on the grounds of a major hospital in downtown Norfolk. He is a former Navy jet pilot who was glad to see Gini:

He is 88 and pretty fit. He has a second bedroom at his place so we were quickly shown to our suite.

Dinners that night and the next were filled with seafood from Chesapeake bay. Oysters William and crab crakes were big hits. We also learned of the area’s icon the mermaid. She is displayed in various ways throughout the region:

The first night culminated in a drive through the visual wonders of the local botanical gardens. The trees are lit up with Christmas themes:

The next day we immersed ourselves in the rich history of the area. This is Yorktown, Hampton Roads; Newport News; Gosport and Portsmouth shipbuilding; the Monitor and the Virginia dueling to a draw. Mike had hoped that we could see the story of the Monitor at a Newport News’ Mariners Museum but it was closed that day. We then opted for Norfolk’s Naval Museum guarded by the USS Wisconsin:

Not only was it fascinating because of the area’s rich historical pedigree but Buzz was in his milieu. He had made over 500 landings on aircraft carriers for three decades. First hand info is always sweet.

The Beaulieu clan then hosted us at Olive Garden for a family dinner that had four generations present:

We still have a soft spot for good family/friends:

And the joy of a grandmother and her grandchild:

The next morning Mike and Mary took us to IHOP and we were off to find Myrtle Beach and Rick and Hanna.

And Your Little Dog Too!

2009-12-09T13:57:00.000-08:00

Greetings:

As you may or may not know, to make a comment on a blog posting you go to the end of the post and click on the link that reads ‘0 comments’ or ‘1 comments’ or what ever number followed by ‘comments’. You will be able to read submitted comments, if any, and be able to type in your own. You are always more than welcome to do so.

After Coop d’Etat 2 (Part 2) there was a single comment:

Chip Duggan said...
Ok... all happy go lucky fairy tale comes true. i love it... I really do... but lets here the juicy stuff, disenchant us for a sec. Like, the hard times, I mean the really difficult times... you know the juicy stuff... Then you can go about how luck you two truly are... which by the way is really f@C!%&G lucky. Fairy tales do exist and its not a goal, you just are living it!

your son,

Chip

Can you imagine this? From your own son?! This was like Toto pulling on the Wizard’s curtain. I am the Great and Powerful Baron!!

Now somewhere there must be a burnt witch’s broom in exchange for this presumptuous behavior. Well, we’ll deal with the ‘broom’ later.

Interesting quote in the online New York Times today:

"People who have something really private to say probably shouldn’t do it in a text on their cellphone."
MARC ROTENBERG, executive director of the Electronic Privacy Information Center, a public interest research group based in Washington.

So let it be known that Gini never chased me down the driveway waving a golf club but maybe in the past forty years there may have been three or four times when she might have had the urge. So yes, my son, there have been moments on the dark side. Some of them need to have their garments of embarrassment and shame shed before discussion but there is a chance that some of them may forever remain … private.

I know that because of “…fearing … that I'd become my enemy in the instant that I preach” I have forsaken the lecture approach echoing with sentiments of “Don’t you make the same mistake!”. However, the humbling confession in a blog-like posture might be able to yield some perspective on disenchantment.

So here goes…

Charlie, Gini’s dad, was mentioned in the previous posting. Ann, her mom, had passed on several years before Charlie died. She had battled breast cancer for twenty years and finally succumbed. Gini has always been mindful of the genetic message that may have been transmitted to her.

We had only been married a year. The doctor’s report was handed across the desk for our perusal. Underlined in red was ‘malignant carcinoma’. Gini was not to escape. Dr. Henry P. Leis, in medicine’s Who’s Who and chief of breast surgery at New York Medical College, quietly awaited our response.

Gini had made a promise to herself after absorbing her mother’s experience. There would be no mascectomies … no disfigurement. A biopsy would be performed but even should it be malignant then nothing else but a lumpectomy would be done.

The discussion each succeeding night concluded in the same way. There would be nothing done besides the lumpectomy and I was not to exercise my legal right as husband to determine any other course of action upon learning of the biopsy diagnosis while Gini was on the operating table.

We tried black humor amidst the ambience of ‘Love Story’ to try and maintain our epicurean vector.

The morning of the medical procedure came. Gini was taken away. I sat there resolved to respect my wife but wishing I could live with betraying her for my own selfish reasons. Each hour passed, many hours passed, too many of them. I could not betray her. Que sera sera!

It was during these long hours that disenchantment took hold and sunk its claws into our psyche. It still was not easy to shake when Dr. Leis finally came to me in the afternoon and proclaimed, “Your wife is a witch! The incision bled like there was a malignancy but the cysts are benign and were removed.”

************************************************************************
Now let us fast forward to a much awaited opportunity of travel that Gini had provided. It was to be a trip to Mexico that included several days at a spa south of Mexico City overlooking a lake. However, Gini in her determined effort to be responsible and to try to be adult (at this point the garage had not been built), had scheduled an appointment with Ned Gordon, our lawyer. The purpose was to create our Last Will and Testament. We’re gonna do what before leaving? You’ve got to be kidding! And lo the documents appeared and were signed. Airport … ho!

Mexico was wonderful. The spa was amazing. I had not been treated like this since I was a baby and the swaddling clothes were a nice touch. We were aromated, massaged, reflexologized and cuticled until we were mush. It is also the one time when we can claim with recreational delight that the earth moved. We were resting and a mild earthquake rumbled and a rainbow appeared above the lake. Magic!

Our last night was celebrated with a romantic dinner. What was supposed to be a lingering glance suddenly became something else. Gini’s eyes rolled back as she fell to the table and then slumped to the floor. She did not respond to my pleas. She did not move further. Superstitious thoughts of having signed the wills rushed to my mind. Why wouldn’t she respond?

I yelled in Spanish for help and have someone call a doctor. Aid came and we were soon able to determine she was breathing. The doctor came to the conclusion that the circuit breaker labeled ‘Gini’ had flipped off but it was back on now and everything would be fine. Mexico… hmm … maybe some other time.

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Now from the point of view of a child (namely Chip) who knows what our relationship looked like. We will have to continually ask him to develop and refine a perspective. He did witness some rather adult partying and perhaps some hypocritical behavior. Which brings me to that burnt broomstick that I have presumed he has ceremoniously produced.

Perhaps our example was the subliminal rendering of “Surrender Chip”. Hard to say but it would be agreed that the development of the story of ‘The Party’ would prove stressful.

I was drooling over the sausages and peppers I was fryin’ up and getting ready to pop open a Sam Adams when the phone rang: “Dad I’m in trouble…” Every parent knows that these words are to be feared but must be met robustly.

We had purchased a home outside Keene as an enlightened way to avoid dorm costs upon resale. Chip had three roommates. They had a party. Over three hundred people came thanks to cell phones and the internet. The fire department came, The police came. The drug squad came. The media came. Our house was famous on Manchester’s Channel 9. Twenty six pot plants were found in Chip’s closet by the drug squad… two and a half hours before they got a search warrant.

The flying monkeys had landed. This was most disenchanting and family pride seemed vertiginous.

Chip will be clean and sober five years on December 11th. He has become an artist, a carpenter, a lover, a graduate student, a seeker, an outdoorsman, a good son. He can be very enchanting. Somehow he melted the witch with gifts that he always had but previously thought he was without.

********************************************************************

No one is infallible. No one is mistake free. No one has done it all correctly. Some are lucky.

Yes, my guard stood hard when abstract threats
Too noble to neglect
Deceived me into thinking
I had something to protect
Good and bad, I define these terms
Quite clear, no doubt, somehow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I'm younger than that now.

Enchante´
.
.
.

Coop d'Etat (Part 2)

2009-12-02T15:43:00.000-08:00

Greetings once again. When we last left our heroes they were hub deep in mud trying to master the backhoe in one week.

By the time that John did arrive, the foundation excavation and regrading along the entrance side of the house had been accomplished even though Chris was now channeling Noah. Not too much damage – Chris was rudely educated about the articulation abilities of the backhoe when he swung it in a direction that he thought would be away from the house. That crunching sound was so disappointing. The framing around one of the windows of the front apartment bore the scars until just a couple of years ago.

Chris decided to spread the energy and the anguish by having his basketball team (did you know he coached the jayvee for two years and the varsity for two years?) carry cinder blocks and mortar under John’s direction.

It began to take shape:

Bob Huber also came to the rescue with his earthmoving equipment to help backfill and finish grading.

At this point John was back in his element and the framing, walls and roof rose quickly. Chris managed to save some face by doing the plumbing and helping with the electricity and speaker system. And then it arrived:

Steps would have been nice, huh? Well, later with that.

We could not deny that the only description for this whole escapade was decadence. The chickens would be so jealous! (There was and always be concerns about poultrygeist)

This tub was warranted for only ten years with a life expectancy of maybe fifteen. Somehow we have been using it for over twenty years. It has been brought back from death’s door at least twice and has a slow leak to remind us of its age. But boy does it feel good after a tough day and the weather is frightful. Gini always tried to convince various soakers to run out into the snow afterwards. Chip and Claire fell for it – ah youth! Gini, herself, did make the chilling plunge once also – you go girl!

There was much rejoicing when we finished.

From the front of the house:

But the best view of the barn has always been from the back:

But as you have seen, for the first several years of the barn’s domicility there were no steps to go from the parking area down to the house. This became even more dramatic when we regraded the area for the hot tub room construction. My poor mother when she visited! Everyone’s poor mother!

Now I never thought too much about this but we were always convincing Von D’Luccis that helping with these projects was tantamount to exhilaration and godliness. There is something to be said that our role model was Tom Sawyer and his fence painting – or should I say the coordination of the fence painting.

This time Charlie, Gini’s dad, definitely was in tune with the vision. Mike Foley spent a rapturous afternoon in the window of the front apartment designing the steps and Geoff (our brother-in-law) fell into laborer status. But Charlie was inspired by the steps. Despite his initial retreat when suggesting living in town when we were renovating the barn, he always was in love with the project. Now it was his turn to shine – and shine he did. His energy was boundless.

Geoff and I were along for one heck of a ride. It all culminated in Charlie demanding a ‘tamper’ to make sure that the fill in the steps would be firm. He built one from a six by six and long threaded bolts for handles. (seen behind me in the picture)

These steps will survive nuclear attack and ‘…will outlast us all!’.

Charlie left us about a decade ago. Though there are many ways in which he is remembered this is my favorite. I have to disagree with Shakepeare, for the good this man did does live after him and is not interred. Merci beaucoup Charles.

**********************************************************************

The barn has been a Von D’Lucci vortex for quite a while now. Gini and I counted one hundred different people that had spent the night here during the course of one year. Dining, drinking, dancing and divertissement have been the themes.

The quintessential event may have been when we were host to Katy’s Cookin’ Cabaret. Katy Richard and Chris Hinchliffe provided Alexandria, Bridgewater and the surrounding community for several years with fine food (Cajun theme) and equally fine music.

With the barn as the venue for this memorable evening, Katy gave a cooking class:

There were almost thirty people seated for the extravaganza:

We did have to make room for the music:

Everyone should have a friend like Katy:

But we actually do. Laissez les bon temps rouler!

Katy and Molly (her sister) are now Taco Sisters in Lafayette Louisiana and are wowin’ ‘em there too. (See February 2009 blog)

***********************************************************************

The barn does continue to expand and just in time for Chip’s high school graduation a two-car garage, family room and three-season porch were added. Gini says this marked our true emergence as ‘grownups’.

So in the famous words of Fred Ebb:

Come taste the wine,
Come hear the band.
Come blow your horn,
Start celebrating;
Right this way,
Your table's waiting

And as for me… and as for me,
I made my mind up back in Chelsea,
When I go, I'm goin’ like Elsie.

Coop d'Etat (Part 1)

2009-12-01T19:06:00.000-08:00

You’re gonna live in a what? A chicken coop? You’ve got to be kidding!

This was basically the response from parents, family, friends and riff-raff. Our poor parents thought that now that we had been married for 11 years, Gini was working for a travel agency in Boston and I had been teaching at the University of Lowell, that the worst was over. We had matured and turned the corner on outrageous behavior. Uh, maybe not.

Gini and I subscribe to the monkey wrench theory. If things are going on too long, no matter how smoothly, you ‘throw a monkey wrench into it’. If you cannot put the pieces back together again or have lost interest in doing so you might as well find out about it sooner than later. If you do put the pieces back together then you will be bonded much stronger. We have done this two or three times in our forty year relationship.

This time we had bought this chicken barn in 1980 and had dabbled with improvement projects for a few years. Then, as bratty as we were after being ‘just us’ for eleven married years, Gini became pregnant, we quit our jobs and sold our house in Cambridge that we owned with Gini’s sister and my cousin and headed for New Hampshire.

Now wouldn’t you feel just calm and tranquil upon seeing your expecting daughter/daughter-in-law move into:

Well, both sets of parents decided to visit us at ‘The Barn’ very soon after our move. Within two hours of arrival my father, with lifelong back problems from various car accidents, was lying in the back seat of the car. My mother, who had one scotch and water everyday late in the afternoon, decided 1:00 pm was the right time for this one. Gini’s Mom found it difficult to speak. But Charlie, good old Charlie, decided to play the visionary with me:

We talked about fruited plains, purple mountain’s majesty and at least two golf holes.

Just a few hours after their departure Charlie and Anne called. Somehow the vision was clouding and they would pay for us to live in an apartment in downtown Bristol if we would come to our senses. Well, politely and firmly, we would like to decline your offer.

I mean we had amenities like a flush toilet. It was in the back part of the barn that was basically an open 48 by 24 foot area. We thought the Moroccan wall hanging was classy:

The basics were definitely present. You know, a fridge for beer, a hammock, wood for the stove:

I mean we even had electricity!...and a satellite dish!!

Granted there were shades of the Grapes of Wrath ever present:

and we had to be somewhat creative with our closets:

Our first Thanksgiving was memorable since Gini was now well into her fifth month and the furnace that we had ordered arrived in such poor condition that we had to send it back to Somerville Lumber and wait for a replacement. In the mean time that stove that you saw only burned for two hours before you had to reload it. Ah those restful nights.

None-the-less Chip made his appearance on time and he thought that the rustic approach was the way to go:

We all lived in the front part of the barn. This was where the chicken farmer had kept the feed and the tools. There were air tight, tongue-in-groove stalls for the feed with tubes leading to the outside so that the feed truck could pressure blow the feed into the stalls. These made good walls for a bathroom to surround our Moroccan wall-hanging.

At this time let me introduce our hero John. Granted I can say that just one other guy and myself renovated the barn but really...I was the “other guy”. John said that he would do the job for an amazingly low price due to the Beautiful Sister Discount (he loved Gini, Janice and Linda) but we had to name Chip after him. So enter Charles John Duggan as the legal sobriquet for Chip.

Now let it be said that some people can do things so well that they can perform with “one hand tied behind their back”. We did not really anticipate that John would take this as a real challenge:

About 80 per cent through the job John had an aerial dispute with a wasp.

The first real project after making the front apartment livable for all of us was the back deck. This was because we needed a platform for the blender. Our daily incentive was the DOD (Drink Of the Day) which required precise blending:

The roof was the hardest – thirteen days non-stop. I now have arthritis in my feet from lifting 4 by 8 sheets with the arch of my foot.

Chip proved to be an interesting addition – he did not sleep – for two and a half years. Our friend Linda was also living with us and John. All of us were in the front part of the barn, when Chip arrived. There couldn’t have been ten feet separating any of us. We, being the progenitors of ‘benign neglect’, proudly made Chip the first inhabitant in ‘our’ side of the barn when his room was completed first. Thank goodness for those baby monitors and speakers.

Chris, having completed a master’s degree in Energy Engineering decided that the high tech way to heat this place would be a Russian Fireplace, a centuries-old technology. We sent our precious five dollars to Basilio Yevtuschenko in Richmond, Maine for plans. He sent us the plans and some phone numbers of some satisfied customers in case we needed further convincing.

This kind of fireplace is a large box of bricks that has ‘baffles’ in it so that the heat from the fire goes up and down several times before escaping through the chimney. When the fire is out, a damper is closed to seal in the heat. On the coldest of days the fire only burns for a total of 8 or 9 hours. For over twenty years we heated our entire side of the house with just three and a half cord of wood. Thank you Basilio.

Getting a mason to build such a ‘crazy thing’ was not easy. None of the Newfound area masons would take it on since they did not believe it would work. The only mason in Meredith who would do it said we had to wait over two years. Our friend Reno Rossi, yes, of the Rossi family that built the restaurant as you come off Exit 23 on I93, felt sorry for us and agreed to do it:

It took eleven days and he even he was impressed when the first fire draughted very smoothly:

We were very proud of what John led us to do though we were very nervous when the huge half round window for the master bedroom was lifted into place:

The finished product was impressive:

Now we could enjoy our view directly:

That car sitting in the yard was the only irritant to Gini, a real Saab story. It was later removed as a birthday/anniversary present.

So it was the simple life for us – that is if you feel that a hot tub is de rigeur to simply relax. I dared to rent a backhoe/loader in the midst of seven inches of rain but out of the west came John to rescue us once again. (to be continued).

Commencement 2000

2009-11-21T12:23:00.000-08:00

Greetings:

For the sake of completeness I am posting the commencement speech to the graduating class of Newfound Regional HS in the year 2000. As mentioned in the previous posting it was a speech that I had, uncharacteristically, worked on for many weeks to ‘fine tune it’. Not helping the situation, at the time, was the promise of bad weather and the move of the ceremonies into the stuffy, very warm gymnasium.

I wore my custom made Italian suit (boy is that another story!). We sat on the stage waiting for the graduates to make their way into the hall. At each seat was a plastic bottle of water. I had never been a fan of bottled water so I was ill prepared to figure out, on the spot, how to open it and use the handy-dandy dispenser for sipping. I tore off the outer wrap; struggled with the nozzle and then proceeded to spill an appreciable amount on my light gray, linen suit. The water stain did not look like it came from a bottle but from me!!

Observing all this was my good friend, Bob Miller, the Guidance Director, who advised me to go into the locker room and use a drier. Quickly I agreed this was a great idea, rushed inside the phys ed teacher’s office, into the locker room and then realized the drier was the one on the wall - about five feet off the ground and not easily applied to my soaked thighs. So I boldly removed my pants and stood there waving them under the blasting hot air. It became readily apparent that this was a magical solution as the water vestige vanished in two minutes. Had anyone come in at the time they would have been hard put not to die of hysterics. It did, however, cause me to break into hearty, relieved laughter thus calming my nerves in preparation for my commencement speech.

Gini was another story. From her perspective from the audience I had been calmly sitting on the stage and now was nowhere to be seen as the music announced the entrance of the graduates. I was still unaccounted for, the class president came up on the stage to greet the audience and introduce the class. Eventually I was seen scrambling behind her to regain my seat in my freshly dried suit.

I do agree that this speech is somewhat involved and could make your head hurt, that is if you had not already decided to zone out. Many of the graduates did enjoy it as did several members of the audience. I am sure that there were many who did not.

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Graduation 2000

Thirty two years ago at my own high school graduation I gave the valedictory for our class. It was a time of high energy, unrest, creativity, dreams, ideals, horror, consciousness-raising and naivete. The theme of my speech was: ‘Create and be responsible for what you create…’. It was touted as a formula for life and success.

So now, no longer seventeen years old, another speech is to be given to graduates. The world seems to have maintained its atmosphere of high energy but for earning power instead of flower power; horror and unrest are something we do not want to have anything to do with while claiming concern for those in the midst; dreams and creativity are assessed for their applicability to the internet and NASDAQ; and naivete is a quaint notion that does not even survive the Teletubbies.

So how does ‘create and be responsible for what you create’ fare in this world and from a more experienced , perhaps, mature, perspective? Well in terms of prognostication it couldn’t be farther from state of the art. Amazingly in this culture at this time it is always someone else’s fault. ‘…How did I know the coffee was going to be so hot when I spilled it on my lap when I was driving?...’ to ‘…you cannot mark that wrong because you made the question so confusing!...’ So perversely I must take responsibility for missing the point and vow to be more responsible in considering other people’s conditions when I make demands on them.

Well, what about the ‘create’ part then? Are we in a new Renaissance of thought and production? If we are talking about the august microchip we are certainly creating new definitions of how many additions, subtractions and comparisons can be done in a billionth of a second. If we are talking about the world of finance, our creativity is unbounded when we sign checks for the Big Dig or make initial public offerings for businesses that would challenge Seinfeld’s sense of being about nothing.

Sorry about the jaded commentary but I wanted somehow to make a connection to what inspired me back then to what inspires me now. At the same time there must be a reason for why I feel consistent with that statement made so many years ago uttered in urgency and as a challenge.

It is here that Newfound comes into the picture. What an atmosphere in which to create. At first I thought this would be done through the big picture. Within two years of arriving here I was at the administrative level negotiating with the state of New Hampshire for grants and programs for our district. During that time I became familiar with how all our schools and communities operate. There is a lot of competence in our region, you have been fortunate.

So in creating what some referred to as a technology empire and others as ‘smoke and mirrors’, I wandered through your classrooms. You were probably in the first grade and you were the ‘students’ in the big picture. This pattern continued for about ten years before I realized that although I had come to know the staff, school board, budget committee and community support members, I had very little idea who ‘the students’ were. Faces were familiar but names and their personae were not. Luckily I was able to coach basketball and now track and some of you came into focus. Ultimately, though, the joy of what education could offer was missing. So I felt responsible to do something about it. As a full time teacher for the past three years we have shared the same world and I am very pleased to be a part of it.

The world you have made here is a good one. There are many districts who would love to have the atmosphere we have here. I will always be impressed with the way most of you treat each other. There is a sensitivity and action that at times we wish you would apply to your school work but beneficently provide for each other. This is a good thing (pause) These things you say and do matter very much.

But now we wave our magic wand and…ding…you now have to deal with a lot more than homework. You are expected to say and do things that carry a lot more responsibility with them.

What is it that you feel when you respond to these expectations? Are you anxious to let someone know what it is, or are you giving them what you think they want? Have you developed enough sense of self to know how to gauge that response? At times high school seems about performing to a set of standards fixed by the world of education. So your choices are conditionally limited to these expectations. As staff we spend many hours examining and developing these standards. We even feel enlightened occasionally. Our concern is rooted in an appreciation of skills and processes that we value highly. They represent mastery.

In achieving your diploma you have mastered certain skills and processes. This was very responsible but have you created anything in pursuit of these definite standards? I think that there is something unique in your possession of your creation and that is your self and sense of self. It is through your choices and actions that ultimately provide the definition of yourself.

Believe me… we, parents, staff, relatives and friends, have tried to help you with this. But it truly is your creation and no other’s. It is yours to determine how to feel satisfied, happy and accomplished. This realization is constantly challenged by everyone else’s version of what should be done and how to do it.

So here is the real challenge, perhaps even a contradiction. How do we be ourselves in the midst of everyone else being themselves? How can someone else know what it is that is driving me and what I need to feel fulfilled and successful? What is it that I need to be aware in order to allow that feeling for someone else? Well, if it comes down to a curriculum or a rubric I think we are all in serious trouble.

We will get back to that… So… what is truly great about this moment today? Let us just be this moment – (pause) –
There is no assignment due, no deadlines to be met, the future is for later and maybe we should start snapping our fingers to the beat of now and treasure it. (graduates snapping fingers) Dig it.

The idea of something being valuable for just feeling it is almost a cheat. Let us feel good about ourselves here and now because of this day, the ceremony… the ritual. There is no necessity to explain why, it just feels right to take it all in. But slowly, oh so slowly that gambit of responsibility interferes with our idyll and time emerges to measure our response.

So engage, create once again and make it yours. The perfection of the timeless moment now a prisoner of memory. What you do does matter. It matters in your development, it matters to the rest of us who are looking for support and opportunity to present our own creations. It matters to the well being of the planet and the universe. For as long as one moment yields to the next, you are the dynamic providing meaning and purpose.

Compared to our luxurious indulgence of no time and no responsibility this may seem contradictory. What is there in continuing our efforts in a responsible fashion? Hey, maybe it’s joy. Maybe it is seeing your child or those in your care frolicking. Or, dare I say, because you like yourself better when you see yourself meet your responsibilities. Or because you disengage that ongoing argument with yourself, that ceaseless criticizing of yourself and begin to feel currents and breezes that you had never noticed before. Forces not of your own making available somehow for … what?!

Let us review here. You have somehow survived school standards, your personal life, the interaction with other’s lives to be at this graduation ceremony. Some guy who you thought would be an interesting speaker is rambling about creating, being responsible and just enjoying the moment. He keeps saying that what I do really matters but I probably will not know why. This is school all over again.

Check this out…

When you do things that bring you joy, simple and otherwise; when you like yourself for what you are doing instead of disliking yourself for what you are not doing; when you have emerged as a person operating in the climate of the universe, something interesting happens. You have qualified for the ultimate experience. You can now be caught up in some of those breezes and currents that you may not have noticed before. You can now use them to maneuver as if they were cosmic tides. The extreme among you may use them as cosmic waves for surfing.

And in this manner of pursuit, sense of self has been supplemented by something greater. It might be that you have tapped into the daily rhythm of a life that suits you and those around you. It might be that time and fate have conspired to afford you opportunity and wonder. It might be the sensation of self surrendering into another person, another place or another existence.

What ever it is for you, the meticulous building process of school whereby it was important that we name the tools, the components, the procedures will now be something else. The future, instead of threatening to be an elaborate burden of creations and actions is now a transcendent flow. What could be occurring is that you have tapped the essence of the universe.

So will you be so bold as to embrace this process under the scrutiny of today’s values and pressures? Perhaps it would be easier to adjust to earning power and follow a financial plan and hope that friends and family will happen along the way. Or will you try to avoid it all because none of it makes any sense?

I propose to you, no, I challenge you to take all the efforts so far, the self that you have developed, to answer the responsibilities of your life, to create in a stylized fashion all with one real purpose. The purpose of attaining a sense of being beyond yourself … It is here at Newfound that I have found a flow outside myself. Your actions in class, on the track, in the hallways, the competency of the staff are the currents and the breezes. From Tim Mahurin who, to some of you, may be a face on a plaque in the science wing to the daily ministrations of Mary Gallagher, with these parameters Newfound has shown me how to maintain my commitment to my challenge thirty two years ago. It is your development that inspires the transcendence of self. To me this is the ability to love and in case you haven’t noticed you are deep in its midst now. Thank you for your attention.

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And in the famous words of Rick Nye: “You are such a windbag!!!!”

Baccalaureate 2003

2009-11-11T14:54:00.000-08:00

Here is a transcript of a videotape of the Baccalaureate speech that I gave to Newfound’s graduating Class of 2003. This was Chip’s class and I was one of the two class advisors.

The original speaker had backed out and one of the class officers asked me to take his place. I accepted but I had made a previous promise to myself a few years before.

I had given the commencement speech for the Class of 2000. I had poured my heart and soul into the speech and had spent weeks preparing it. This was very unlike me. It was delivered in a very hot gymnasium because of the threat of foul weather. It was fairly well received, a few even raved, but several felt that it required too much thinking and was very complex and deep.

So, much to the concern of the principal, I decided to make this one up on the spot. I had a general idea that I would relate a trip to New York City with Rich and Val to faith, hope and love, quote a song… and that was about it.

My parents were in the audience (because of Chip’s graduation). My mother was to pass away seven months later. This speech was one of the finest and proudest moments of my life:

*********************************************************************

Greetings!

First I’d like to thank the class for the honor and the privilege you have given me this evening. Secondly, I’d like to let you know how uncomfortable and anxious this has made me. (low laughter). And you will probably see this as we go along. Up until just a few short years ago, at the end of the scholarships, I did not return. I don’t consider myself a religious person but I do consider myself spiritual. And after hearing Mr. Gilman’s speech, just a few short years ago, I realized that there is a lot to spirituality.

But I decided to look up ‘baccalaureate’ to try and ease my anxiety….so I got through some definitions..’graduation sermon’. …I didn’t like that. –So I’m lookin thru, lookin thru- ‘sermon: a long and tedious speech’ – I’ve done that plenty of times. (ripples of laughter).

The day after Nicole asked me to do the speech, we were heading for New York City with some very close friends. And I don’t know if you are familiar with the island of Manhattan – it is very long and thin. And in the middle of it is a big green rectangle, called Central Park. And it stretches for miles and miles… trees, flowers, bridal paths, reservoirs, pond, …plenty of people.

So when we left our hotel and we had decided what we were going to do..The girls went one way and the boys went another way. So Richie and I decided that we would walk up the west side of Central Park to the Museum of Natural History, We’d go see the Rose Science Center.

As you get to the Museum of Natural History, it looks like a traditional museum but on the side is – a glass cube. It’s about 70 feet tall. What’s also impressive about it is that there is no span across it, just a glass cube. But inside it is a huge sphere.

Now as you come into the science center you walk around this sphere. And they use this sphere to try and impress upon you the scale of things in the universe. At first you might be looking at Jupiter as compared to maybe one of the moons. Another time you might be looking at a hydrogen molecule as compared to an electron. It is very fascinating just to walk around.

Then you go into the bottom half of the sphere, where they present you, on the bottom half, with a film of the birth of the universe…How they got the cameras there, I don’t know (strong laughter) (pause, shoulder shrug)…CNN! (spoken a la James Earl Jones). So..Maya Angelou narrates the birth of the universe. And, after the big bang, they let you out, your head is reeling just a bit. And you follow a long spiral path…Every step you take is ten million years ..(pause)..it takes a long time to get down. As you wend your way down, which is quite a ways, you realize you covered thirteen billion years. At the end…the very end, there is a very small line …and that represents the presence of humanity…in the history of the universe.

So we got out of the Museum of Natural History and go to..oh excuse me, we didn’t leave..We went upstairs to go to the top half of the sphere…And they have redone, with technology, the entire floor of the top half of the sphere as a sub-woofer. It vibrates as you watch the universe unfold before you.

And as you did leave the Museum of Natural History, and got some sandwiches and headed for the park, we were just reflecting on our cosmic experience. One of the things we reflected upon is that there is so much that we cannot, and never will, understand. And to me, that is the basis of faith. You cannot know..everything.. or explain..everything. You just have to go on. And, to me, being there in Central Park with my friend, in awe of the cosmic sense… It’s the same awe one might feel watching the sun set over Newfound…or maybe in climbing the mountains in the Presidential Range. … or maybe being with a close friend.

And we sat and ate our sandwiches and we started to get up and walk so we could meet Gini and Val over the other side of the park…when, all of a sudden, a whole bunch of runners come running by us. … all full of energy. Two of the runners were way ahead because they were aliens. They were running way too fast. (chuckles) And then there were just hundreds and hundreds of people just going by us. And we made ourselves to the other side of the park over to the Guggenheim Museum, which, again, I recommend you go to, because in the midst of all the squareness and angles of Manhattan is this long, flowing, wavy building. It was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright.

So we got together and started walking…finding our mandatory cup of cappuccino …. and began thinking: What is it that causes us to build these huge buildings, and put this green rectangle together, and to run like crazy through it with all this energy.

I believe it is one of our contributions to the universe..and that is hope. Why should we, in the midst of not knowing, not being able to know, should we invest all this energy? To make great buildings. To make wonderful places to sit and have lunch. To expend our energy just for the feeling it gives us.

As we wended our way through, and I decided I wanted to see a movie..I had to make my way to Times Square. I was standing there waiting to cross the street in Times Square and I realized as I looked at all the corners..There are more people here than in all the Newfound School District! (good laughter) And as I watched these people…I saw families… I saw friends… lovers… people just going around, having a good time… And then it made me realize about the connections that we make. How we get outside ourselves and how we become connected to the universe. I believe that to be love. Every time you extend beyond your own limits, when you step out with faith… with hope…and you connect with somebody, you are connecting with the universe. And that, to me, is what I believe… to be love.

Faith, hope and love… These are our contributions and our connections to the universe.

(Reaching into the inside pocket of my jacket to take out a folded piece of paper and putting on glasses)
As I walked up the west side of Central Park… I walked by a person’s house that used to live there. And as I was trying to do that, that person had a bit of an effect on my personal life. Let me read you something…

Imagine there's no Heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today

Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace

You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world

You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one (voice shaking)
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one

(Folding up paper, putting it back inside the jacket,)

So, my hope for you…is peace.

Our gift to you is love.

(Flashing the peace sign)
Keep the faith, baby!
(taking off glasses)

(Uproarious applause, standing ovation)

Post Script to Shaw Hospital

2009-11-05T12:45:00.000-08:00

Greetings:

As a Post Script, Terry sent along pictures of the drawing of the young girl that we had in our room at the fraternity house. this picture was used at the Shaw Hospital and supposedly had the tear appear while it was there:

Everything You Know Is Wrong (Part Three)

2009-11-05T08:35:00.000-08:00

Greetings Ouijaphiles!

Those three weekends were amazing in their frenetic nature. We needed maps of Lowell in order to find cemeteries described by the board. We found gravestones with predicted inscriptions….It was basically nuts.

One of our brothers, “Ma” (so called because he was so neat and a role model for truth justice and the American way), who was in ROTC (Reserve Officers Training Corps) at the time, and eventually a retired lieutenant colonel for the Air Force, became intrigued. He was from Whitman, Mass and went home during this time and did some research that, I am sure, affected us.

He discovered the ties of the Ouija board to its role of religious dictation; that there was a hierarchy of communication that could be ascertained by the position of the stylus on the board (or plastic disk in our case). At the top of this hierarchy pyramid was Jesus. This position was almost never achieved and you should dial 911 if perceived. The next level was quite interesting. It consisted of two entities, Rosenkreuz and St. Germain.

The Rosicrucians were related to the Knights Templar era and St. Germain was an alchemist. I believe if the stylus stayed between ‘R’ and ‘S’ it indicated Rosenkreuz and if it slid back and forth between ‘G’ and ‘T’ it was information from St Germain. (If out of town then call collect!).

There was also a satanic position and I am not going to seed your little subconsciouses with that location.

Ma swore that at one of the sessions back home a blinding flash of light appeared in the room while in contact with some upper hierarchy. This did not help us focus on our studies.

The dean of the college had to ask his father, who had lived in Lowell all his life, about the information we gave him concerning the Shaw Hospital. When it was verified, he was somewhat curious as to how we found all this out. “Ouija board, Dean!”. I think the dean preferred the regular Monday morning meetings with fraternity officers to consist of explaining police reports rather than the occult.

Someone discovered that the witch had been in contact and was curious as to any succeeding events after the séance broadcast. It was quickly agreed she would come back and visit the fraternity house. It is to my regret that Gini and I decided to spend that weekend at her apartment in Boston rather than in Lowell. I did not find out what really happened that weekend for over a year.

Here is what I eventually was told:

The witch arrived with her own board. It was multicolored and ‘dipped in morphine’. She was a member of a coven (you know, instead of getting together to play bridge you cast spells) and the coven members were focusing on and supporting her from afar for the evening.

A tape recorder, which actually had been used in recent sessions, was set up and a recorder designated. The session kicked into gear quickly and the Shaw Hospital became the ongoing topic. I do not know how long this transpired but at some point the stylus switched to the Jesus position on the board, the tape ran out, the recorder stopped recording and of the more than a dozen people there, only 12 were awake (oh, you apostles, you).

The board then began to personally address each person in the room through dictation to the point where each person broke down crying before dawn because of the intimate nature that the board was describing about their personal lives. They were supposedly assigned a mission and were to meet one year later and no one outside the group was to know about this. Subsequently they were encouraged to go to church in the morning. I was told that when they emerged from the fraternity house, dawn was most refulgent (who needs LSD?). However their collective experience at the church was a bit of a disappointment and all returned to get some sleep.

Now I return from Boston and begin hopping around, “What happened with the witch? Did you find out anything else about the doll or the hospital? What happened? Huh?! Huh?!”.

This was met by very guarded responses. they talked about the strange board the witch had brought, the coven and some information about the hospital, not much of it new.

What I was not told was that one of the brothers (was it Rick?) who lived in an apartment and would use my bed on the weekend when I visited Gini, was told that he would wake up screaming that night. So he did not get much sleep. I, on the other hand, then became the next person to sleep there. It was the top of a bunkbed. Terry was in the lower bunk. Bill and Dave were next door in their bunk beds. I started to drift off to sleep. In my mind’s eye a face appeared and started to come closer to me and as it did it became older and older and closer and closer….

I screamed.

There was a slight pause. Then Terry quietly asked, somewhat petrified, “Captain, are you alright?”. Dave and Bill (also participants the night before with the witch) had their fingernails clawed into the adjoining wall and door.

“I think I’m okay but I had this image of a face getting closer and older .. it really freaked me out!”

Terry followed with, “Well, the witch said that if Rick went to sleep in your bed he would wake up screaming. We weren’t supposed to tell anybody.”

My quick response was, “Thanks a shitload!!”

I did not learn any of the rest until the future appointment a year later had come and gone without the group reassembling.

What did all this mean? Who the heck knows?! It did happen and many of us still have sharp recall of the creepy feelings from specific parts of the tale. In fact, Terry just wrote me yesterday to reminisce about how outrageous all this was. He pointed out that the radio station had the year wrong. It was 1970 and not 1971. This makes more sense.

My grandmother Rienzo, the mystic (and that’s another story) would have had quite a chuckle about these naïve children of the sixties floundering in wacko-dimension land. But, as stated, it just reinforces the idea that everything we know is wrong.

Everything You Know Is Wrong (Part Two)

2009-11-03T14:36:00.001-08:00

Your basic Toys R Us Ouija Board.

When the board was moved to the main floor many people tried to use it. Each time one of the two with their hands on the stylus would accuse the other of moving it. Everyone denied it.

The board seemed to know its audience and how to get them on edge. It spelled everything quickly, correctly and in complete sentences. It became very specific about the history of the Shaw Hospital. It claimed the reasons for all the brouhaha was that illegal and sloppily performed abortions and operations were the reason for the eventual closing of the hospital. Spirits from these people were not at rest. Much to several people’s chagrin, seven sets of initials were presented as being associated with seven of the patients/victims at the hospital. Gini was one of them. This was not really my idea of ‘showing her a good time’.

The seven were then charged with liberating the spirits of these unfortunates. This could be done by finding records of these incidents and publishing them. These records could be found inside a doll which was somewhere in the hospital.

Obviously we all took this very calmly – yeah right! Thankfully no one changed appearance or their voices. However we did have to pop the plastic disc out of the center of the stylus because it had taken to traversing the board quite rapidly. Only one finger of each of the two ‘conduits’ was now on the disk. It was easier to control this way. Again, thankfully, when the fingers were removed the disk stopped moving. It did want to spin and twist as a tripod and slide quickly off the edge, ergo just use the plastic disk.

Now since Dr. Shaw was not too pleased with ‘those college students’ from the radio broadcast the night before and had boarded up all the windows and doors to the hospital, we were concerned about our mission. As we were discussing how to get in to the hospital the board stopped hovering over letters and switched to highlighting numbers; none of which were higher than 7. Some brilliant person cried, “They must be musical notes!” and ran off to get a guitar. So we then played “Name That Tune”.

Either myself or some other crazed Irishman announced that the tune was “Tu Ra Lu Ra Lu Ra”, an Irish lullaby. This tune was to be sung on our way to the hospital.

Can you imagine us now treating this board like another person as we asked, “Who should go?”. The board immediately slid and threaded out, “All 20 of you”. Now who had been keeping count of how many were coming and going in a fraternity house on a Saturday night? So we stopped and counted…16..17..18..19…oh shit…20.

Each count resolved itself the same way…whoops! We then found our focus and asked the board, “How do we get in there”. Zippin’ and zappin’ it spelled out that we should use the northeast stairway and go 22 steps. We should do this at 9:07 (or sometime close to that).

Well, we decided that we would accept the challenge and we should all go. That is, 19 of us did. Prow, a fraternity brother of long standing and our cook, was in the kitchen banging around pots and pans. He was not going.

Prow (for some reason our nicknames bespoke of a nautical paradigm, mine was Captain) was a rather large person but was a mild mannered student who worked in the Plastics Department. He actually became rude as he emphasized he was not going.

“Prow, come on! We have to sing this song…go at 9:07….find the papers..free the spirits..come on!”

He would not budge until finally, at 9:10, he told us why he would not go.

We were fairly new to this fraternity house on East Merrimack Street. In fact the first house for the newly formed chapter of Kappa Sigma at Lowell Tech was on Methuen Street the year before. Prow was one of the charter brothers who helped start the chapter. He was also a member of the ‘House Search Committee’. This group had looked at several large, old houses in Lowell (of which there were many to choose)…including the Shaw Hospital. They had eventually decided that there would be too much work to be done to get the place up to code and had moved on to other properties. However during the tour of the hospital Prow distinctly remembered seeing something that was somewhat inconsistent with the hospital surroundings…. the doll!

Now we were sure there was a series of explanations that would rationally align all this but somehow it escaped us. So now, 19 of us, struck out for the hospital singing Tu Ra Lu Ra Lu Ra walking down the middle of the street.

Our poor neighbors..they had been subjected to parties, rock bands, the sixties and now this sight – arrgh!

One of the crew reached in his pocket to pull out a rosary and jokingly yell, “Look we’re protected!” but what he showed no longer had the crucifix attached. He was replaced by a puff of smoke making its way back inside the fraternity house. He was later found hugging a Jack Daniels bottle and mumbling, “Glory be to…”.

So 18 is a good number isn’t it? ….Tu Ra Lu Ra Lu Ra…Tu Ra Lu Ra Lai…Tu Ra Lu Ra Lu Ra…Hush, now don’t you cry…

We stood before this brick monstrosity of a hospital, complete with spire and tower and, using the nearby Merrimack River to orient, determined the northeast stairway. Counting 22 steps we turned to a solid brick wall. That was it…gotcha!

We began our sheepish retreat to the fraternity house but the conversation settled into- “What if we should have paced 22 steps instead of counting 22 stairs? There were landings along the way up.”

So we ran for our handy-dandy Ouija Board and demanded, “Steps or paces?”. … “Paces” was the response. Further conversation with the board resulted in Gini, two others and myself as the candidates who would return to the hospital.

Upon re-encountering the staircase we used up several of our ‘paces’ on the landings and wound up much further down the stairway. We turned…there was a window…there were no boards or plywood over the window…we pushed…it opened.

Gini and I then duly appointed ourselves the guardians of the open window and would defend against impossible odds anyone who would attempt to gain entrance to the house while the other two explored. Our offer was accepted and they entered. After about ten minutes they returned…doll-less.

Our return to the house led to some more rapid ‘dictation’ from the board and it was all duly recorded. Love those engineer-types. The only remaining dramatic instance from that particular night was a call for a bible. As someone went to fetch one (see – we may have been crazed hippy freaks, engineers and jocks but there was a bible in the house) the board dictated a book, chapter and verse. This was done before the person returned, so we waited.

When they returned they placed the book down already open. Of course! It was already open to the chapter and verse cited by the board’s gallivanting. The passage pertained to murdered children…need I say more?

The next day, Sunday, we went down to the hospital to check for possible entries that were not obstructed. There was only one. We also managed to procure the original tape of the broadcast from the radio station. As stated earlier, some of the brothers worked at the station and could get it for us. Also, remember that the on-air broadcast had been edited through a several second delay, specifics of the location and the background of the hospital would not be heard over the radio.

We compared the notes from the night before to what we heard from the tape. The accuracy of what we had written when compared with the portions of the tape that were not broadcast was a bit disconcerting.

Returning to the transcript of the WBZ broadcast:

“…And everything that we got was not one hundred percent of what was on the tape but everything that we got was a hundred percent accurate …And that pretty much , uh-ah, brought it to our attention that maybe we were playin’ with somethin’ here and we managed to further investigate the hospital…”

“…We were asked to do all sorts of bizarre rituals such as singing of songs, finding of graves and, uh, all the information that the Ouija Board would volunteer …we would have no idea what it was talkin’ about but then it would give us enough direction so that, sure enough, its information would be correct…To the point where we were asking the dean of the college as to the background to the Shaw Hospital. And our basic mission for this whole thing was to, supposedly, vindicate certain spirits and certain people operating the board were associated with these spirits….Though they were never, ah, physically affected by it. The board just associated them with it. And this went on for, oh, about three weekends. Until they finally brought the witch back and, uh, I wasn’t there that night. And the night they brought the witch back…”

Oh what a night! To be continued…..

Everything You Know Is Wrong

2009-11-02T14:55:00.001-08:00

Ah – All Hallow’s Eve. This day rated as my favorite holiday. (Bastille Day was second – serving our Heads of State to the masses). Granted there were times during the punk era when it seemed like we celebrated it daily!

It does bring out creative talents. Gini gave it her School-Of-Fashion-Design-all to enable Chip to ‘come up to bat’:

In fact, each year we felt it was a challenge to gather the Von D’Luccis and let ‘er rip. When we lived at Branch Street in Lowell we were famous throughout the city for our Halloweeen festivities. Literally hundreds would show up in this 8 apartment, century old Victorian house. Each apartment was devoted to some theme such as food, dancing or ‘other’. We even had visitors from Remulac…er…France:

Metamorphosis was not uncommon. Take one bank executive and one software consultant and poof! It’s Magenta and Medusa casually discussing what to do with the guests.

Though my all-time couples appearance for Gini and myself was as Patty Hearst and Gary Gilmour (look him up in your Funk n’ Wagnalls), sad to say there is no photographic evidence to reminisce. However we can ogle the Pink Panther and her alluring tail:

Some of us, however, aspire to artistic heights year after year:

But topping all of these soirees is the all time Zuma/Rodriguez/Von D’Lucci Halloween experience – the Shaw Hospital and its aftermath. To this day it remains the wonderful enabler to the adage, “Everything You Know Is Wrong!”. It occupied the lives of those of us attempting to go to Lowell Technological Institute (now UMass Lowell) and redesign the fraternity experience during the cerebrally challenging 60’s and early 70’s.

Each year, as a teacher, I would reserve a class day for the telling. At one point, while teaching at the University of Lowell (yet another manifestation of LTI), my lecture hall, usually about a third to a half full, would teem to capacity with eager listeners to what became known as the ‘Ouija Board Story’. Fame spread to WBZ radio whose nighttime host, Larry Glick, decided to broadcast the story nationally (11/4/1991), thus including myself in Warhol’s prediction of fifteen minute fame (actually a half hour).

It all began with a the college radio station wanting to have a live broadcast in a haunted house in Lowell. These facts can be objectively viewed at:

http://www.wuml.org/history2.php
(in the last quarter of the page)

The station at the time was WLTI (now WUML) and they had convinced a real witch, from New Jersey no less, to be in on the shenanigans. It was Friday, October 29, 1971. The fraternity heard the first rumblings, however, the next day. Several of our brothers worked for the station and one was involved with managing it. Other reports had emerged about students freaking out at a house near our fraternity house on East Merrimack Street. In fact the house was the Old Shaw Hospital only five houses away. It was a favorite ‘haunt’ of ours because of its imposing architecture and the ‘ark’ in back which was actually a creation of Dr. Shaw.

The radio website agrees that someone who believed she was a witch cooperated with them to do the broadcast as a ‘fun’ endeavor. The hospital was prepared with gimmicks and sound effects. Participants were collected at the school, blindfolded and then brought to the hospital. A séance was initiated. Before the evening was over many of the volunteers would initiate information about where they were and incidences in the history of the hospital. The tape of the show was eventually procured and the events were even shaking up the announcer as his voice quavered and cracked. At one point a charcoal drawing of a girl on the wall was thought to turn blue and have a tear appear on a cheek. The witch finally declared that this was all too much to handle and everyone ran from the house (a la Monty Python – “Run away! Run away!!”). None of the planned gimmicks or sounds had been activated.

Our weekend at the fraternity, so far, had been part of a series of events planned to enjoy with our dates. Saturday’s scheduled activity was a hayride. Gini and I had just started dating and were looking forward to the fun.

My roommate, Terry, was affianced to someone back in New York and decided to forego the hayride. He convinced a few other brothers to indulge in a trip to Toys R Us to purchase a necessary item for one of his ‘hobbies’.

We had been roommates for three years (Mike F had joined us for one) and I had traveled home with him on vacations so I could ‘practice’ on his parents before I took on mine. During those visits it became quite clear that he was a key member of a cabal that partied with Ouija boards (you know, the original internet). Well, maybe not a cabal, just very close high school friends. Many times they severally attested to the strange and bizarre whenever their group ‘seanced’ and the board did its thing.

So as we returned to the house after our golly-gee-willikers hayride, we were met by a darkened house. On a Saturday night?! Cautiously we realized that there was a small cluster on the second floor. The scene was discovered to be candle-lit and the board was very ‘active’.

At this point I will attempt to transcribe from the narrative I did on Larry Glick’s radio broadcast:

“..But when we came back from that hayride, they had the stylus on that Ouija board moving very, very quickly and managed to be describing relevant events to the Shaw Hospital. They managed to describe events that we had not heard through rumors; that we had not heard through the radio station. In fact, the radio station was careful to eliminate certain information from being broad cast over the air. I am sure you are familiar with tape delay… We had managed to pick up this information independently through a Quija Board. And later, after we got this information, we took it down in written form after it was dictated from the board and compared it to the tape from the radio station, which was unedited. And everything we got wasn’t a hundred percent of what was on the tape, but everything we got was a hundred percent accurate. and that pretty much uh brought it to our attention that maybe we were playing with something here and we managed to further investigate the hospital…And I don’t know what Jim (friend of Larry Glick and my student at the time) has told you, but some of the more dramatic events were that the people who owned the hospital, boarded up the hospital after the séance…Not wanting any more college kids to run around ‘spookin’ the neighborhood… And we managed to find out a way to get into the hospital mainly through the Ouija Board after he (Dr. Shaw) had gone through a lot of trouble boarding up windows and doors…we were brought specifically to a spot in the hospital so as to gain access, two of us did, and we were asked to do all sorts of bizarre rituals such as singing of songs, finding of graves and all the information that the… “ (pause transcript)

There’s a lot to fill in here that the radio broadcast did not cover in detail. This posting has gone on for quite a bit. What do you think? Do you want some more of the story?

Go Away...Please! Go Away!

2009-10-13T16:05:00.000-07:00

Well it’s a wrap. Was it the internet? Was it the economy? Well, yes but there does come a time...

When we first moved to Bristol and I began to circulate among the community socially and through civic organizations I had a distinct impression. It seemed that women were very much involved in running things around the Newfound area. Many successful businesses, if only for longevity, were owned and run by women. Atlas Travel only reinforced that opinion.

In the case of Atlas, an amalgam of skills and talents was manifest. From even before we moved full time to the “Youngs’ chicken barn” in Alexandria, Bob and Carol Huber looked out for us. Bob was in charge of our initial ground and foundation projects at the barn as we made the usual noises of flatlanders who said they would move ‘up north’. Lo and behold it did happen. Gini quit her job at Astro Travel; I quit teaching at the University of Lowell and after 12 years of being brats we decided to become parents. Chicken coop – ho! (“You’re really not going to live in a chicken coop are you?” was the echoing response of the gestating Von D’Lucchi).

Carol tended bar (and still does) at Rossi’s restaurant from the first day it opened. Her previous years in the business made her an ideal choice to schmooz with Exit 23’s itinerant and resident clientele looking for some good Italian food. Since our barn was not ‘ideally’ equipped for cooking (gas stove top fastened to some upright two by fours) when we took a break from our weekend-away-from-Massachusetts, Rossi’s was the place. The girls began cooking a scheme of their own. Gini had good experience in the travel business and Carol knew just about everybody – Voila!

With their blessing and friendship we decided to quit jobs, move to NH and prepare for the arrival of Chip. We were 34 at the time and yet our parents acted like we were teenagers who could not see the forest, the trees or the benefit in erecting walls around a flush toilet. However, taking in (and abetting) all our madness were Bob and Carol:

Now Atlas Travel, itself, has been a ‘well-traveled’ business. Originally these women had a storefront in a small building next to the Huber house until they decided to move a little closer to town…about 9 feet closer. Bob lifted the building, I presume swept under it, and put it back in its new location. Later they began to play musical rooms in the building next door as they could not let any moss gather. There were a total of 4 locations but one site – there’s a pun in there somewhere.

Gini and the travel business had originally been on a collision course. She experienced her first taste of the Old World during a summer jaunt with relatives while still in high school. Later at Rivier College (Nashua, NH) she became versed in how to travel on a scooter in Bermuda, a sobering experience.

Her degree from the Boston School of Fashion Design raised her to the ranks of the shopping cognoscenti and demanded a future with promising venues. Her next stint as an orthodontic assistant braced her to finally declare that there had to be something better than this. And besides, Chris had a lot of time in the summer and all those school vacations!

Enter Astro Travel and Mr. Butler…he was one of the good guys. He impressed upon Gini the idea that travel made you a better sales person. Gini needed very little convincing. So back to Bermuda:

She became quite adept at bargains and smart traveling. On this same trip she was able to collapse me into a bottle and put me in her carry-on.:

Upon emerging I gave her any wish she desired.

Gini became more and more the professional. She was able to immerse herself in new cultures and locations. At times though it became a trick to bring me along since I was still dedicated to changing the world through non-violent but clever revolution. To give you an idea where she had to start, here is square one:

Square two was not all that much better as I was convinced that a green cap with a red star would be the next tri-corner hat

Gini, as we all know, is very upbeat and optimistic. So she decided to be proactive and give me a unique (for me) Christmas present. It made its appearance in a nicely wrapped small box. I eagerly ripped at the paper and quizzically espied a certificate enabling a couple to take a Caribbean cruise for only the price of the sales tax. Gini was sorely tried as she became the ubiquitous audience for my dissertation on the exploitation of the working man and the excesses of the decadent. But I did finally embark:

The first two days were tough as I tried to rally everybody from our cabin steward to the dining room waiters to unite against the oppressor. Gini, bemusedly, would enjoy the food, the sunshine and the sophisticated patience of the staff as they did their professional best to ensure our comfort and pleasure. In fact, our cabin steward spent about an hour sitting and talking with me on the floor in the hallway outside our cabin and he, very politely, re-adjusted my take on the third world proletariat to a more gracious level. By the third night I was in my dinner jacket with Gini and a martini on a moonlit deck watching my hippie-self go down for the third time in the ship’s wake.

So, need I say it? Booking the next cruise was my idea:

Gini was so proud.

She has provided us with a wealth of experience and enjoyment.

Yes that’s the Great Wall and it is aptly named!

Our son has reaped the benefits of world travel and multiple cultures.

Yah mon – every ting is iree!

The magic that was maybe Atlantis on the island of Thera (Santorini):

Gini thrilled our godchild, Colleen, the daughter of our roommates by taking her along on a trip to San Francisco. I got to play Uncle Aldo and drive the convertible hither and yon:

She was also able to take her dad to San Fran soon after her mom died and he had a wonderful time.

But there is something very special about seeing and being with Gini when she is traveling. She is an integral part of the adventure. The joi de voyage. She makes sure that the hotel is affordable but elegant, that touring opportunities are known and understood; that your luggage is packed efficiently or she will send you to the Russian front (there is a little Nazi in all of us); that lunch on the train will be a dining experience:

She will definitely get into the spirit of things:

From sunrise in Sicily:

To sunset in Jamaica:

Her career is a mark of excellence, enjoyment and realized opportunities. Thank you Carol and Gini for so many years of service to those of us who want to get away from it all. May all your sunsets be filled with refulgence and every ray beaming from a satisfied customer.

Chapter I - I Am Chained To The Mast

2009-09-29T10:40:00.000-07:00

Greetings All:

Yes, bless me readers for I have slacked - it's been too long since my last confession, er, submission.

A visit to Chip, data madness with the beginning of school and just plain inertia are all at fault.

So what I have decided to do for now is to submit the first chapter of a possible book, Cosmic Flux (or Boomer Retirement), and ask for your reaction. Hopefully I will be able to get something together concerning Gini closing her business of 25 years and post that soon.

So......

************************************

The day started with my stepping on Gini’s earring stud that she had lost and given up for recovery. I always like these moments of joy and surprise especially when my serendipitous shuffling makes me out to be a hero.

“Oh my god! That’s it! Where did you find it? Oh – I love you!”

My response no doubt was a single entendre for sexual favors that was met with joi d’earring that echoed with promise and delivery.

The only problem was that it was so early in the day. That meant subsequent events could not top this … and perilously on the list was our trip to the NH Retirement System in Concord, NH to file papers at 10AM. Oh well.

Now let it be said and briefly debated that the cup that is either half this or half that has holes in it anyway. Like those math problems with flow rates involving hoses and drains and suspect liquids in arcane containers. No sooner do you get the idea that you might be able to calculate whether it is filling or draining when the person from whom you borrowed the hose drops by and casually asks for it back. So what cup were we talking about?

Oh yeah, the loving cup of retirement. So if it is a reward then is it about being tired and having done so well I get to get tired all over again? Or are we talking treads and mileage here? Sometimes I think anecdote is just a Rorschach for babel. One thought leads to itself and any sensibility must be muscled from the reader.

Okay – we were going to file retirement papers and Gini’s life was missing one less stud. The paperwork had been completed the day before as an exercise in maturity and planning. But – but we forgot it had to be notarized twice. This was meant as a fail safe that my worst enemy was not surreptitiously terminating my career or that he nor I had lured a surrogate spouse into being my beneficiary. It is times like this that make me marvel at ‘the powers that be’. So we had decided that we would be at the bank at 8:30 so as to have plenty of time for the 40 minute drive to Concord and our 10:00 rendezvous.

Well the bank was thinly staffed and we had to go to a second bank. Usually during such incidents my demeanor is often confused with a colicky infant and everyone must pay! Luckily I was still reeking with maturity from the previous day.

Somehow James Joyce could make an entire novel out of this day articulating each moment and suspending thought and intention. However, oblivious to the drive, my next recollection is finding the NHRS building with our notarized documents carefully tucked in my organized folder. Car after car was swinging and wending to the same location obviously reminiscent of Woodstock. I wondered if they gave lollipops or brown acid upon successful completion of the document submission. Well we were sure gonna find out.

The waiting area was bursting with budding retirees and soon-to-be-heckled-by-his-lordship-due-to-his-hanging-around-the-house spouses. That is until we sat down and the room systematically emptied in about 74 seconds as NHRS staff emerged like cuckoo clock anime beckoning everyone but us.

“Was it something I said” drew a spontaneous chuckle from the receptionist in her can-I-take-your-order cubicle.

The next beckoner emerged but seemed hesitant as we assumed it must be our turn.

“Are you here for the Spring Fling?” was her attempt at evoking the secret password from us. Our eventual nodding and spirited “Yes” was backgrounded by my thought that we must look so young we must be here at the wrong time and the wrong place.

“Duggan” brought a quick check of the potential beckonee checklist and a smile. Hoping we were not being led to the Group W bench we followed. Obviously NHRS had heard about the fact that during my eighth grade parties’ Lady’s Choices no one would ask me to dance. Eventually my female classmates conspired to enact one of the beatitudes from the Sermon on the Mount and dutifully appointed someone to dance with me whenever the situation arose henceforth. NHRS, in its compassion, invited us to sit in the buzzing room with the six tables in a “C” bursting with NHRS staff and individuals/couples reveling in retirement pubescence.

We could sit at the table with everyone else but we would have to pretend we belonged since staff were still unavailable at this time. This allowed observation of notary stamps (My god we could have had it done here!); overheard instructions on how to fill out the forms and what the form was about and just general brouhaha.

Then it was over.

Our documents were filled out less one social security number. Easily complemented. Our documents were already notarized. Our questions were noted and answered…and we were done.

As we left Woodstock I blurted something about getting a Bloody Mary. This was again met with a spontaneous chuckle. This time from a couple who had been sprung and flung in stereo as they were both leaving the teaching profession. Resident districts and mutual acquaintances were exchanged and then TTFN.

It was 10:10.

Gini was always good for an agenda. We could shop, pay bills, shop, consume, shop or buy things. Buying gas won with a coffee chaser at a café on Main Street. Ah - $3.29.9 a gallon – what a bargain. Ah - $8.20 for cappuccini and cake. Ah – we only have five dollar bills and change. Let’s renegotiate for the cappuccini. Okay, so we waited a half hour. I am sure that we were eventually viewed as paying customers.

Meanwhile we could not shake the feeling that we were recovering something-or-others from our bureaucratic experience. Had an era ended? Was this Kahoutek-like and the glitzy comet tail was just a rumor? I am not even 60 yet and the acts of retirement have already ruined my life.

GA (Gini’s Agenda) led us to a parking lot near downtown and a movie theater that we had web-investigated during our mature phase from yesterday. Having recently enamored myself with John McDonald’s Travis McGee I could crinkle up in the front seat, open the windows to enjoy the summery day and wait for Gini to find an antique spoon/cup for her college roommate’s newly born grandchild.

Now I have been writing this like someone would be reading it. So let me tell you briefly about our college roommates. My college roommate married Gini’s college roommate. Isn’t that just wonderful? Luckily they are still married so it is wonderful. We are godparents to their daughter and we are all part of an extended family called the Von D’Lucci family. So what do you think? Should we continue with our lunch in Concord, NH or do the Rorschach babel boogie?

Well….

Lunch was uneventful save for the spew of children that flooded the area where we would place our order. We made the mistake of looking at the menu before ordering, allowing this confluence to erupt.

The mothers all ordered draft beer along with pizza and sodas. Modern motherhood prescribes reason and tolerance. Gini was in one thousand percent agreement.

Sequestering ourselves at a street side window allowed us to view the anomalies that bespeak humanity in Concord. Some were sitting on the curb as others attended; others haberdashed on their lunch hour and still more begged the imagination. Thankfully the ham, roasted pepper, artichoke heart pesto medley on six grain bread went down well with Sam Adams on tap. Gini continues to espouse her love for white pizza especially when it was this good.

GA had noblesse obliged to view Shine a Light, Martin Scorsese’s Rolling Stones concert film showing at the new theater in town. It was a private showing in stadium seating with plush seats that leaned back and a sound system that rivaled the world imagined by Aldous Huxley. And could it be more empathetic than to be regaled by geriatric rockers as a Doppler effect for our retirement entente? Giving full credence to Einstein’s relativity we contexted that the Beacon Theater in NYC (site of the concert) was a mind blowing experience and just because we knew the words from forty five years of mimicry could not dim our enthusiasm for this cinematic experience. Long live rock and roll!

***************

So Which Dwarf Am I?

2009-08-20T10:07:00.001-07:00

Oh no, I couldn’t have done that!

What time do they do the pick up?

Alright so I just mailed my grocery list. It was an accident! This could have happened to anyone …at any time… at any age. It just seems that my capacity for actions in life during my Retroment are beginning to seem more ‘Monte Carlo’ and almost miraculous when there is the desired outcome. I feel like I am a monkey with a typewriter and am desperately trying to rally boomers to begin typing madly on their ‘senior’ typewriters so that we can gestaltingly produce The Electric Kool-Aid Proctology Test.

So is there a portion of our brain that we have disciplined through our youth and maturity that somehow cries havoc and lets slip the dwarfs of ‘yore’? You know, our new retroment buddies/attributes such as Sleepy, Grumpy, Dopey, Sneezy and Doc. Happy is babysitting Bashful but is having a blast eating popcorn and watching our new paradigm. Should any of them wake Snow White, she may need a minute to remember who Prince Charming is.

I seem to remember something about the Seven Dwarfs …let me see…Oh yeah! Sherman, set the Wayback Machine to the beginning of the ‘80s (yes, the 1980s). We are going to visit the University of Lowell in that textile Valhalla in Massachusetts. Our hero was gainfully employed as an adjunct instructor. ‘Adjunct instructor’ was edu-speak for ‘we can pay him cheap and not have to call him Doctor’.

The job had started as a transition from the Nuclear/Energy Engineering Dept to the Mathematics Dept upon the completion of a master’s program. There were not enough jobs in alternative energies (there still aren’t) and running a nuclear reactor seemed a bit tricky. So I headed back to the department where I was a rumor during my Bachelor of Science years when the place was called Lowell Technological Institute. I was warmly received as the return of the prodigal.

What started out as a slate of Calculus classes for the first two years soon changed. Computer programming had become a requirement for the engineering students and many others on campus. Since I had taken a two credit computer course back in 1970, I felt qualified to teach the course. I was again warmly received. This time because nobody else from that squadron of Math PhDs wanted to do it. Besides, it seemed so - adjunct.

So before you could hit "ESC" , I had 500 students who were just dying to learn FORTRAN. Tech support from the department consisted of two double sided blackboards on wheels that could be coolly flipped over when one side was filled with hypnotizing code. Meanwhile I thanked goodness that there was so much drug momentum from the 60s and 70s because I could read the material and stay a full week ahead of them as preparation and basis of authority.

Well this approach seemed to be lacking something – like computers. So in one fell swoop I bumped into a state grant encouraging corporations, like Digital Equipment Corporation, to donate equipment to state colleges and universities; designed and built the lab with the help of Rich Beaubien and John Tucker, his brother-in-law; wrote a course that consisted of thirteen complete lessons containing samples, lab assignments and explanatory text; made it 24/7 available to every terminal on campus; was given a lecture hall complete with fifteen foot screen and microphone (used it once); acquired a staff of eight graduate assistants to help with the lab; and one PhD math professor to help with the lectures. I be adjunct – hear me roar!

The dwarf nostalgia is now crystallizing. One of the fun components of having a staff of mostly foreign graduate students was having a weekly staff meeting at a local Lowell bar called The Old Worthen. Kerouac and Poe both threw up there.

During these meetings, the curriculum did get discussed. An important feature of FORTRAN programming was its ability to print in columns. To impart this skill to our students I wanted the assistants to demonstrate how to make a chart. This chart would list the Seven Dwarfs, favorite drug of that dwarf and how many days of work during the year was missed due to that drug.

Grumpy was on bourbon and missed 10 days of work per year.

Bashful was on Valium and missed 40 days.

Sneezy, of course, was on Cocaine. He missed 20 days.

Dopey loved marijuana and, in trying to relate to the students, I assigned him 8 missed days.

Sleepy was into barbiturates – 125 days out.

Happy loved his nitrous oxide but the restaurant supply house was only open during the week so he had to miss 1 day of work per year.

Doc, well he’s on LSD and missed 365 days of the work year.

Pride may not be the appropriate description for the demeanor of the assistants as they did this lab with their students. But I have to admit there were some twisted smiles on my graduate helpers when they were espied during a tour of the ‘first in New England, computer lab’ by visiting dignitaries of other universities. They dutifully lectured with gusto and joi de dwarf and loved recounting it during our meetings at the Old Worthen.

You Say It's Your Birthday!

2009-08-11T17:54:00.000-07:00

Greetings!

So far Chicken Little is wrong. The sky is not falling because of my licentious declaration of ever-after-hood in the previous blog. It’s a good thing since we now enter the August portal where the existence of prayer may have to be a bit more concrete than say…happiness.

Gini and I were born three days apart (Aug 8 and 11. 1950 – the exercise is left to the reader). Integral to our relationship is Gini’s gleeful claim that I am older. To further densify matters we also married on Aug 11, 1973. It also happens to be my father’s birthday though the year is druidically etched in Roman numbers somewhere in Limerick, Ireland.

Now historically speaking during the first couple of weeks in August there is a delicate locus to occupy here. Atomic bombs, Manson murders, the death of Marilyn Monroe and the Watts riots teeter tantalizingly opposed to Woodstock nation and (my favorite) the resignation of Richard Nixon on my birthday.

As for Tricky Dick’s decision “to allow the nation to move forward”, we had decided to travel cross-country and see some friends in California. We thought that the family’s Rambler station wagon was too precious and delicate to take the trip so we bought our friend’s ’63 Chrysler for $35. It was dented and the panels were filled with ‘Bondo’ and consistently drew fellow drivers’ admiration as they yelled, “Where did you get that car?”. It had the push button transmission on the dash and got 20 miles to the gallon.

Our mission was to promote social utopia and, since we did not even have a radio, we decided we would scrupulously pick up hitchhikers who were looking for America. So on August 8, 1974 we picked up a young man in the Badlands of South Dakota. He immediately announced that the president had decided to resign and would make the formal announcement that evening. His immediate reward was a can of Coors and a tetra hydro cannabinol chaser. We, of course, would not be able to listen to the radio broadcast that evening but it does eternally play in the background on the car radio as Brad and Janet seek shelter at the Frank-N-Furter mansion.

Ah the Badlands, if only Bruce Springsteen had been with us and could have reduced the wait for when “…these badlands start treating us good”. Maybe he would have melded with us as
“…the ones who had a notion, a notion deep inside
That it aint no sin to be glad you’re alive.”

As for August 11 when Gini arrived and 23 years later wound up in Gilford, NH there is not too much to be said other than our wedding may have been the greatest party of my life. As usual a few details escaped us during preparation. When her parents, Anne and Charles Landry, were informed of our marital intentions her dad “..could not quite place me”. Thoroughly incensed I prepared a folder similar to the one that was used each week to open the TV series Mission Impossible.

I placed my ID from freshman year at Lowell Technological Institute on top (I looked about 12). Directly underneath was a paragraph declaring that the mission would involve tampering with Gini’s allegiance to the small but prosperous country of Landria. I submitted for his perusal (wait, that’s the Twilight Zone) an application for the “Why I Like Gini Contest”. Now, one needs to know that there was some cohabitation occurring on his dime without anyone really admitting the population of the apartment they were financing. So the opening lines of the application included:

Name – Chris Duggan
Address – Embarrassing
Phone – See Address
Goals - None
Assists – Twenty Seven

This was followed by a romantic narrative and a poem that should have been rendered on a black velvet wall hanging. Sad to say this really happened and one can only imagine the fear, nay, the trepidation permeating the Landry household at the time.

Gini of course came to the rescue. She designed and made her gown as any graduate of The Boston School of Fashion Design would. She made my dinner jacket and convinced the sisters to make their gowns. Oh, and since we did not attend the local church in Arlington, Mass., where would this marriage take place? No problem since the population of Gini’s apartment also included Dennis Kline, a Roman Catholic priest. He would gladly conclelebrate a mass at Our Lady of the Lakes Church in Gilford, NH. (Where was that? Only 20 miles from our, then, future and current home).

It would be a lobster bake. Ceremoniously, 125 net bags were steamed with each containing a quarter chicken, a dozen clams, corn on the cob and a lobster. Chowder would also be served.

Trying to contribute to the crescendo of planning that was enrapturing me I announced that I would also walk down the aisle and be ‘given away’ by my parents. Somehow I will never be able to fully describe the look on everyone’s face upon that declaration but it being 1973 allowed a lot of strangeness and ‘creativity’.
Also one of my fraternity brothers, a security guard, would meet us at the back of the church at the end of the ceremony and place us in handcuffs. Logical, no? Well, Gini was a good sport and we were ‘led away’ to our new bonded existence.

The energy that day was incredible. Some of it is still unexplained. For example, how did this picture come about? We are supposed to be inside the church but it sure looks like a hilltop sunrise/sunset to most:

Now the photographer was also a fraternity brother and developed the film himself and to this day claims complete bafflement to its occurrence. Did I also mention that about 20 wedding goers, the photographer included, took Timothy Leary’s advice for the day?

The party eventually moved to the fraternity house in Lowell, 90 miles away. It was there we realized that our planning had been a little short sighted and that we had not booked a honeymoon suite anywhere. Oh well, that’s another story for another day.
Thirty six years later she still knocks me out like I was kicked by the whole chorus line at Minsky’s.

Owed To A Fairy Tale

2009-07-29T13:53:00.000-07:00

During retirement there is a crucial responsibility concerning free time. If you start watching movies that end with Hollywood’s optimistic crescendo of affirming life and love, you may need to affix a veil of Kleenex so as to keep your hands free to change the channel for the next one. Then there are these thoughts…

What is wrong with living happily ever after? Culturally the romantic blush wilts as we ‘mature’. Such idealistic notions are fine for adolescents, horny college students, aspiring poets and for the initial onslaught of love. It seems that in order for love to survive long term we must constrain hyperbole with realistic expectations. There must be a reason for contempt being the issue of familiarity, right? Marilyn Monroe died for our inevitable sinning itch of seven years so that we could maintain our tragic imperfection and still give roses on the eighth anniversary.

So which diminishes first? Depth? Breadth? Height? If only Elizabeth Barrett Browning were still with us to give us a clue. There must be some prescription for the kaleidoscope eyes needed to view our partner in a splendiferous eternal fashion that soporifically deludes while preserving harmony and longevity.

Maybe it is true that no one or no thing is perfect and that the blindness of love evolves into an efficient myopia. You know, sort of a cross between Pollyanna and Mr. Magoo. Maybe the truth and beauty of love are a factoid not to be confused with the constancy of 186,000 miles per second. After all we know the speed of light works relative to any speed. How can love compete with that? Its measurement is an oxymoron when penned by Byron or Keats and statistically betrayed by divorce rates.

So perhaps you will have to forgive my eternally nascent adolescent attitude that I aspire to the grail of Cinderella and Quasimodo (wrap your head around that!). Living happily ever after is not a goal. It is, at worst, a delusional condition but at best it is how we serendipitously are. For cripe’s sake, somebody’s gotta live happily after, might as well be me!

Before Von D'Lucci Was Rienzo

2009-07-28T13:57:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday my Aunt Fran succumbed to an illness. So this week’s blog is dedicated to her memory. I have been working on chapters to a book called Cosmic Flux or Boomer Retirement. This particular chapter was written last summer after a family visit to New York when Aunt Fran was still alive and struttin’.

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Well before Von D’Lucci was Rienzo. Marie Josepina to be exact. East 138th street in the Bronx was her milieu. Her mother, Angelina, played the immigrant game. A child of Angelina’s would be born here in the United States to obtain citizenship and then she would pack up and go back to the Neopolitan part of Italy. When it became Marie’s turn they either forgot to go back or had disembarked to Plan B.

471 East 138th street would have to suffice as place d’etre as well as point of origin.

My own raison d’etre arose when Marie enjoined Christy Doo-gan for a lifelong safari wending from that concrete jungle. He was an Irish lad dressed in plus-fours whose saga with Marie led to ’I do’, me and my siblings.

Family and entourage soon became quickly interchangeable. Somehow my father had arrived from Limerick as an only child and stayed that way. Thereafter he traveled in an ethnic bubble with Italians in abundance.

Angelina’s brood of nine had suffered early attrition to six. Marie grew up with a sister (my godmother) who was the oldest and four brothers (my uncles) whose families would shape my world view in a most Skinnerian fashion. My cousins are still lifelong friends and fellow travelers with each decade a series of oar strokes along Siddhartha’s river.

Mom’s brothers left us first even before Angelina made her exit. Aunt Mickey and Mom too eventually shuffled off this mortal coil. Only one brother is left and he is a bit of a stranger. This is seemingly impossible in all the comings and goings. The wives of the brothers have had to reinvent their future. Each has done this in their own way. They are very dear to me and for them I am not comfortable with their loneliness when it emerges.

Not seeing any of them as often made us anxious that we might not get more chances. So retirement screamed for a road trip. Phone calls were becoming too infrequent and the annual Rienzo reunion was not really happening like before. We needed to go to Long Island to make this happen. Cousin Angela hosted us and arranged for her sisters, the oldest cousins and the aunts to come together at Aunt Ginny’s nursing home. We looked like a tour group as we eventually found the reserved lounge for our pizza party.

Aunt Fran could still pull off an entrance even in her eighties. Aunt Rose, the oldest of all of us, was bright eyed and cheery. The room buzzed for hours and we combined and recombined in an anecdotal waltz of relative activity. Some of it to be used later for gossip, depending on who was configured. Some of it to reach out and renew emotional bonds whose resilience was beyond question and to be marveled. Some of it to create hints at what each was doing since we didn’t really know all that our closeness assumed.

Later, the cousins retreated to Phil and Angela per mangiare (to eat!).

There is something very wonderful and very Italian about everyone having
dinner together. You get to vent, indulge epicurean urges, entertain and
sublimate at some point during the experience. A friend of ours is selling
small pillows with quotes on them. The one I had chosen was from Virginia
Woolf: "One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined
well." So true.

Not enough can be said about how Von D’Lucci has been informed by Rienzo. Food, family and friends are life’s 401k. This becomes more meaningful and delusional as the current economy evaporates around us. One can only hope that the food part stays intact along with our ability to digest it.

A personal highlight of our visit to Phil and Angela was a commiseration about education and retirement. The three of us have evolved differently. Phil and Angela each have over thirty years of elementary teaching experience. Phil is currently reinventing himself as a math tutor for slow learners and is full of juice. Angela feels the years and wishes she liked the kids more. Neither are retired but Angela could probably indulge a New York minute to do so. I am retired … as we all know.

Sooo…. this all led to some heartfelt discussion about retirement and education. My early struggle with ‘calling it quits’ has been misgivings that have included the fact that I do not deserve to be successfully retired especially since I did not change the world as originally advertised. Whether based in evidence or not this uneasiness is associated with a severe loss in momentum. Similar to a performer (inappropriately I think of Dirk Diggler in the mirror) there is an element of gearing up and being a proponent of passion, authority and largesse. A huge internal flywheel gets ‘practiced’. Retirement initially releases the clutch and after that I am not sure of the physics.

So in a ‘bread and butter’ email to Phil and Angela after our visit, I closed with:

“…I hope, Angela, that you find some joy in teaching. I struggled with it the last two years. However you decide to handle it I hope you feel that you have invested in many a child's future and that there is a nobility to the pursuit of being an educator.”

Perhaps I was trying to speak to myself at the same time. But let’s take that nobility testament on a shakedown strut.

After thirty five years in education I am totally convinced that the Pubertyometer needs invention. It would replace any metal detector currently screening for weapons at your local schoolhouse. Any onslaught of puberty would produce a loud ‘Ding!’. That student would then be removed from class and put to work. The work could be to ride shotgun on the local oil delivery truck. All billing slips would be handled by our young budding adult and added up at the end of the day, correctly by the way. Or they could show up at a local nursing association for myriad possible assignments. Any and all adults willing to employ these tyros would be eligible for some kind of tax benefit.

The kids themselves would have to report to some educational location a couple of times of week to report orally and literally as to their occupational endeavors. Parents would charge some form of room and board no matter how nominal. This would balance privilege and loss of critical adolescent items both virtual and material.

During their return to the educational location they would, of course, have to pass through the Pubertyometer. Another kind of ‘Ding!’ would signal closing phases of puberty. The young things could then decide if they would like to continue working at whatever trade they have frequented or whether they would suffer returning to Academia for full time pursuit.

In fact, while they were in school, their mission would be to inventory their community for BTUs, kilowatt hours and gallons of water. They should know what their house, community and region require for energy units and the sooner the better. This would be real data that would be curriculimated and then baked at 350.

This solution made for great ‘hangin’ around the kitchen in the mornin’’ conversation with my oldest friend (Angela). We have known each other all our lives.

So let the Von D’Lucci apostrophe ring and the echoes resonate with Rienzo.