The Wonder Years

“Well, Gin, are these the Wonder Years?”
“Ah yes, Chris, I think of something and then I wonder what it was.”

**********************************************************
This beautiful view is the backyard of the ‘Old House’ on the Wolfson property in South Wellfleet, MA. And we are talking old. The house is centuries old. However its magnificent charm is really the yard.

It is dutifully maintained by actor/painter/sculptor/bus, taxi and Wonder Bread truck driver/husband/father/Marshall inventory manager/teacher/licensed to carry arms/friend Thomas Wolfson (www.thomaswolfson.com). The man is either amazing or victim of a career attention disorder or has disguised one with the other.

Here he is in action:

Can you believe this man just turned 60? Such vitality, such joi de vivre, such John Deere!

We were fortunate to be there last weekend when many friends and family celebrated the occasion. Wellfleet oysters, fresh bass and martinis. Tom, being of pure spirit, is clean and sober. He graciously allowed our consumption to go unnoticed until he Tourrettingly let “you’ll burn in hell from demon alcohol” casually escape his lips.

Besides celebrating our friendship with Tom the reason for the thematic inclusion has to do with retirement choices.

Many of us have worked long and hard to create a comfortable environment; taking advantage of serendipitous opportunities blended with strategy and goal setting. In the case of Tom and Michele their lot has been affected by a decision by Tom’s father around the start of the Big Depression to buy this land for a few hundred dollars (over 25 acres). Victor, Tom’s father, was also an artist and there has been an infusion of artifact with flora and fauna:





In the case of Gini and myself we have been fortunate to resurrect a chicken coop among the grandeur of the region around Newfound Lake:



There are many such examples of residential accomplishment among us.

The existential struggle to make one’s way through life with career and family becomes attuned to this home environment. What requires great energy is fed by a sympathy and empathy with the surroundings. So the energy, at times, knows no bounds in its harmony and reinforcement. Children remain in a virtual womb of a construct whose nature they do not, at first, understand. Adolescent haze crystallizes into fond memories of Home.

Friends, perhaps temporarily out of sync with their own milieu, drive great distances to share your hearth (or in our case, a Russian fireplace). Upon such a visit, Peace is possible, digesting seems inevitable.

Then comes retirement. The winter seems harsher. The wood is getting heavier. There are too many rooms – too much Stuff. Downsizing becomes a theme (though I don’t take it personally). Somehow feng shui intends departure and not domestic nirvana.

I love our home. It breathes us and we breathe it. When it comes time to say goodbye I will be sad. However, do not weep for me Von D’LucciLand – the Karma Express is still movin’ along – I just don’t really have a clue as to the next stop!

Chip Off The Old Block?

Chip off the old block? I don’t think so. Who is this adventurer? Latest reports have it that he has traveled 400 miles on the Appalachian Trail wending his way among planetary anomalies and existential vectors. Three or four hundred more miles await his vision quest. At least he does not have to kill a lion before coming back to the village.


For those few of you who do not know who Chip is, Exhibit A is in the photograph. He was born March 18, 1985 to parents ensconced in a chicken coop in Alexandria, NH. Somewhere along the way he evolved into this hiking phenomenon that carries from 30 to 50 pounds on his back with items that pass for his room and board.

Once Gini is outside range of her own home or room service then the rest of us are focusing on her creature comforts. Oh alright, I am focusing on other things too but can you blame me?

Maybe I could be talked into a week of tenting in the White Mountains at one time but this guy does it clean and sober and with fervor. Where did he get all this?

Now this is when he looks like a product of Gini and myself:

Cruisin’ around Rome, diggin’ the scene.

But somewhere he cut the feeder tube and made a decision to not be flotsam and jetsam. He declared himself an artist! The very idea!

This was not your here today, I’ll be a doctor tomorrow, announcement. There was this explosion of artifacts that made it very difficult to casually ignore. The charcoal supply seriously dipped within a ten mile radius of Keene, NH for about two years. Angst, self discovery and creativity proclaimed itself:








So what is it in this universe of ours that fosters this development?

One could write various guesses on pieces of paper and pull them from a hat:

family
love
stubborn refusal to quit
maybe he was switched at birth
desire
serendipitous confluence of synaptic chaos
a ripple in the force
being alert during the talent distribution phase of gestation

Well, as a parent I can only say I am proud of this young man. Long may he run…er walk…uh, fast…with poles…

Hi Ho Chip.

We Be Back

Greetings and aggiornamento:

After a great weekend with some friends who would not want to be categorized as “very old” friends but are very retromental to me, it was decided that the blog must go on. Retroment is just not the pure escape engendered by our January/February hiatus but all facets of this new phase of life. Besides there is so much scurrying going on to define Boomer retirement we might as well stay in the running.

When we last left our heroes they were listening to Sam Cooke on the porch of the Richard bayou estate in Port Barre, LA recovering from Mardi Gras in Lafayette. Much has transpired since then and, in keeping with the current economic climate, the financial component has been turned on its head.

Each year our one week in Miami was wonderfully anticipated and enjoined with gusto. The two of us would return to the frigid Northeast with resolve and fortitude to tough it out until the spring weather could take hold and we were in paradise once again. This year's sojourn of three weeks was lethal.

A few days before journeying to Louisiana we had conscripted a real estate agent to help us scour the South Beach multiple listings for a condo. It had to cost about what Peter Minuit paid for Manhattan and be designed for celebration on HGTV. Our real estate agent hailed from Vladivostok but did not even feign hilarity when I quipped, “You can see Alaska from there!” Thankfully Gini and Paul were within earshot and at least covered their burgeoning smiles in a loyal effort.

Whether it was her lack of appreciation of my humor or her walking by the properties she had scheduled for our visitation, we soon moved on to another agent who was a friend of Greg and Paul. Before you could say “no short sales please!” we were the proud owners of an Island Ave condo off the Venetian Causeway on Belle Isle; the same island where our friends reside.


Such a Kitchen!



From the balcony.




Cocktails anyone?

We also have made a small altar to what once was our portfolio. It’s a tasteful tableau with a profile/snapshot of a what some might wistfully refer to as a more….lucrative time in our life; perhaps an even wealthier time but, ah, we have our memories.

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

So perhaps these extensions of the Retroment might gestate weekly and regularly appear. One never knows now does one?

Mardi Gras

Greetings and E’Toi!

The Baroness and the Baron after seven weeks of retroment.

Well it’s Fat Tuesday and you better be ready to party. Now granted the expensive floats are in New Orleans but Lafayette says ‘Hey cher’ to Lent as well as anybody. There are three parades from 10AM to late in the afternoon. The streets are lined with partyers the whole length of the route as they cheer and wave for the necklaces and favors thrown from the floats. Every once in a while there appears a magical person whose spirit has now enlivened a welcoming body:


Taco Sisters decided not to offer their regular menu in lieu of a burger/chile dog/sausage po’boy selection along with cold drinks. There be a lot of shoutin’ to all de folk so dey can buy dis stuff! COLD BEER! HAMBUHGA! CHILLAY DAWG! VITA – MIN WAH – TAH! And if you think you gonna jez sit dare an watch de parade you betta tink o’ sumptin else:

However there was the prospect of rollin’ with some Cajun Queens:

Or even the King (of Parade #1):


Or perhaps a pharaoh:

And other dignitaries:



The Royal Pair from Parade #2:


I’ll bet you did not know what happened to the Magi after their Epiphany:


And need we say more about the anticipation for some the world wide (Venice, Key West, Rio) who await the joie de joie of Carnival:



So now Gini and Chris are relaxing on the bayou in Port Barre listening to Sam Cooke on the porch bracing for the sight of snow. Maybe if we get so’ mo’ boudin and cracklin’ we gonna be okay.

Down on the Bayou

Greetings:

What a long strange trip it’s been! Dundalk, Ireland in January and Mardi Gras in Lafayette, Louisiana are the slices of bread for a Miami Italian sandwich and can we have a martini with that please?

Paul sadly brought us to the Miami airport. His playmates were flying away. Three weeks of walking SoBe (South Beach), seeing movies (Milk, The Wrestler, The Reader, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, The International, Slumdog Millionaire, Gran Torino and Taken) and emptying bottles of Bombay Gin were combined with visits from Tom and Michele, Chris Link and his parents: Nadine and Frank, Jan and Cliff and dinners and drinks with Rick and adventures with Paul and Greg.

Needless to say we are deep in negotiations to buy up all of South Beach and do a Von D’Lucci redistribution.

We arrived safely in New Orleans and, after three tries, obtained our rental car and headed for Port Barre, Louisiana, the new home of Katy Richard, Chris and Zach Hinchliffe. That would be the edge of the Atchafalaya Basin on the Mississippi Delta. Chris and Katy had moved into the camp cottage that they had bought from a family friend who passed away and wanted to keep it all in the ‘family’. The portable toilet outside is for heavy duty waste while the indoor bathroom can handle the light stuff and provide a good shower and sink (the room is heated too!). There are two bedrooms (Zach surrendered his and is staying with friends) a great living/dining/kitchen area and a wrap around porch.

There is still some green here even in February:


There is a boardwalk out to the dock on the bayou. Looking back from there is a good view of the house and most of the property:

And here is the Bayou Courtableau as seen from their dock (nice lunch today sitting out there):

Pretty soon it is going to look like this:


The big excitement has been the opening of the Taco Sisters in nearby Lafayette, where Katy and Kevin Richard (her brother, our tenant) grew up. Katy and her sister Molly have brainstormed a smoked fish taco signature sandwich from consulting a similar business in California. They are already a big hit among the business people and the university students. We can attest to the quality of the offering and its ‘secret sauce’.


And right here ….on our stage….let’s have a big hand for….the Taco Sisters!

This has now become the wallpaper on Chris’ computer desktop.

Chris H gave us a great tour of Lafayette and then we proceeded to spend three hours in the laundromat. We finally escaped with our much-needed-to-be-washed clothes and picked up Katy to go check out some of Mother Nature’s offerings.

It was not long before we were gazing at acres of cypress trees in the swamp and our first live ‘gator. The birds are wonderful and some of the species are similar to those in the Everglades in Florida. Private donations and volunteers have helped preserve significant amounts of land here in the Basin.

Of course one must libate here among the waters of the Mighty Mississippi. McGee’s was our destination, just across the levee on the Basin:


We were joined in Happy Hour by some of the local residents:


During our drive we were reminded about the festivities the next day when we came upon a float for the upcoming parade:

Not only did it remind us of Mardi Gras but also that some boiled crawfish would taste awful good for dinner. And it did!

Gini and Paul Take a Walk

Greetings:

This will be brief. We realize dazzling everyone with Quixotic adventures in Europe can be quaint and quirky. However repeated pictures of South Beach and related environs could be cause for a class action suit resulting in a violent visit from a Sicilian messenger.

It took thirty hours to reach Miami from Milano but Paul and Greg (and Mishu) welcomed us fabulously. The next day Chris decided he would get some work done for the district…and Gini and Paul decided…..to take a walk….

Chris spent most of the day on the computer and getting to chat with people in the district. Definitely not all work since it was great to be on the phone with friends of long standing. He had just finished up when the apartment door leaped open and a party flooded in. This party consisted of Paul and Gini. They were buzzing and swooping, schmoozing and smiling. Chris was directed to not give Gini a hard time and that she was the most wonderful person in the world and a great lunch companion.

Eventually through universal hand signals and articulate body language it became clear that there had been a strong liquid component to lunch. They had managed to accomplish the aerobic portion of their walk by making it to Ocean Drive from the Venetian Island where the apartment is. To reward themselves they had stopped for lunch and run in to a 2 for 1 special that reproduced like rabbits.

Here is a happy customer.

Let this be a warning that you should not drink anything bigger than your head!

As a result Greg and I had a quiet evening sipping martinis discussing our temporarily resting companions.

The next day life was a little less exuberant as we had tea on the balcony:


This apartment has been a wonderful haven for over ten years thanks to Paul’s generosity. It is situated on one of the Venetian Islands that lie between Miami and Miami Beach connected by causeways. If you are coming from Miami Beach to Miami it is the first island. It is a high rise and the apartment is on the 22nd floor. It is a short walk from an 18 screen cinema, Chris’ paradise. So far he has seen Milk, The Wrestler and The Reader. Hopefully today is Benjamin Button, Taken or some other good choice.

To close here are some of the views from the balcony.

First a panorama shot:

Now at sunset:


We are in good hands.

Aosta

Greetings:

Mary (Gini’s step-mom) was so excited as we disembarked from the train in Aosta. Memories of Giovanni, Vincenzo and all were still fresh but here we were – festival time. It is actually called a Fiera in Italian and Foire in French. St. Ours is the patron saint of the fair and according to all the posters this was the 1009th celebration! Talk about tradition!

Mary’s cousin, Maurice, had also come to the train station to help us. He had grown up in Aosta and his mother and brother still live here. Mary was staying with her Aunt Marie (Maurice’s mother) in a condo very close to the center of town.

We dragged our luggage to the Hotel Europe which was about 50 meters from the main piazza and all the excitement. It was Thursday evening and the fair would start tomorrow and continue through Saturday. The view from the hotel was ‘quite good’:


Aosta has strong Roman roots along with its French and Italian governance over the centuries.

Maurice had recommended a restaurant before he left. He and his wife Paula would meet us tomorrow when the fair started.

Ah – once again ‘Chiuso’ (closed). As we searched for a restaurant we were by one of the ancient Roman porte (gates). The next day this gate would be where Gini and Mary would get some shopping momentum:

As you can see the walls are quite thick. But this being Thursday night we ‘discovered’ a restaurant that had been built into the wall, long, long ago. Appropriately it was called Ristorante Vecchio Ristorato (Old Restored Restaurant).

It was a gourmet feast. Vincenzo had recommended a local dish called mocetta. We began the meal with that and in the next few days realized the way this was served was not the normal style. It is very thin slices of pork that had been elaborately treated and served with honey, chestnuts and lard (don’t freak!). Mary was served ratatouille in an elegantly shaped pastry cup. The half bottle of chianti went perfectly with the next course of beef and polenta and the freshly made desserts made a perfect end to the experience.

The next day we took a shot of the restaurant in the wall:


Mary demanded an early start so were out there at 9AM. It is essentially an arts fair during the day that concentrates on woodworking and a musical, dancing festival at night. This all takes place in a valley that is surrounded by such Alps as Mount Blanc, Cervino (the Matterhorn) and MonteRosa.

So as we entered the Roman gate we were given our first view of the crowds filling the streets (we are talking tens of thousands of people here):

As Gini says, this is really an arts fair and not crafts. Here are some examples of the incredible compositions among the hundreds of tables and displays:





It was all very creative and exquisite.

Our bought-for-the-trip camera has been very good but it uses batteries quickly. (Recharger mandatory next time no matter how much room it takes up in the luggage). A quick stop in a local music store to replenish our supply proved serendipitous:

The proprietor really enjoyed Chris’ story (in Italian, of course) of how, when he taught college, he would use the projector in the large lecture hall to display that this was the name of the course and not Fortran or Basic or Calculus.

Maurice and Paula met us at 11:00AM and explored many of the streets and exhibits with us. Maurice would later return but soon Paula had to work.

Mary had convinced her Aunt Marie that these Americans were not hostile and were low maintenance and we were invited for tea. Mary was very proud of her 87 year old aunt and her hospitality. However Mary was directed before our arrival to iron the tablecloth so that there were no creases or wrinkles. It was dutifully done.

The building does not have an elevator and Aunt Marie lives on the third floor. She last emerged in 1997. Gini says this is not true and to cut it out!

Mary and her aunt:

So after our tea and cake (panatone), Aunt Marie said, of course, it was time for Champagne! Well, alright Aunt Marie!

As we polished off the bottle Mary said that she was feeling tired from the four hours of walking around the exhibits and would not be joining us in the evening. However Maurice was more than glad to be our host and guide. He has never missed a festival (well maybe the first 900 or so) and made sure every year when the vacation schedules were made that he had the days available for the fiera.

So at 8PM Maurice arrived at the hotel. We headed for the main piazza which was afire with bright lights. A mixed group of young and old were in traditional dress and dancing to the rhythm of percussive sticks.


As you might see, the piazza was pretty bright. Maurice leaned over and said Mary is going to see us on television tonight. A tv crew had been capturing the dance and yes, the next day Mary was excited about our appearance on the late night news. She immediately recognized Gini’s green coat and soon saw Chris, also. The Italians are very discreet and Gini was grateful that we were not pestered for autographs the next day in the streets.

The atmosphere defined the word ‘festive’:



Part of the offerings include native dishes served in large tents with group seating at long tables. Maurice brought us to one where he ordered a boiled dinner and Gini and Chris had some wonderful leek soup. The ambience was a blend of families, friends and a band playing traditional ‘country’ tunes:


Maurice treated us to a bottle of wine which we quickly enjoyed. The rest of the evening was a series of cups of hot spiced wine – excellent buffer against the alpine cold.

We worked our way back to the main piazza and the camera crews had left. However we were treated to a chorus of alpine horns. Here is a little video clip:



As we came in and out of the piazza we would always pass a certain bar/café that had musicians playing with accordions, bass, a local type of flute and an instrument that you constantly wound with a crank and fingered a keyboard around a body of wood. Maurice claimed they were the best musicians at the festival and would probably come out to one of the stages later. After two hours of wandering we finally decided to go in and join them. We were fortunate and inched our way through the solid mass of people and found ourselves in a room with the band. The density was drastically lower and we were able to get chairs about two feet from them. For the next hour we were treated to a repertoire of mountain music.

Eventually we left and made it to the main stage where some of the sons of these older musicians were playing. Think Pogues. They had the crowd jumping and dancing traditional dances to ‘punk’ versions of the mountain songs. The energy level was high and along with the aforementioned instruments they added a violin and bagpipes. The crowd was mixed; young and old alike – and they all knew the different dances:

Maurice and Gini were of course indulging in spiced wine. The session ended with two of the musicians from the café/bar joining the younger crew on stage.

At about one in the morning we thanked Maurice for his wonderful company and went back to the hotel.

Mary met us the next morning at 11 at the hotel. As previously mentioned she was excited about our appearance on national television. We told her we had already been out to the exhibits looking for one of the two foot tall, pointed hats we had seen to give Chip. We were unsuccessful in our quest.

People were coming from everywhere, trains, cars, buses, there was even a hot air balloon coming in for a landing. Our plans were a bit different.

Since we had seen most of the fiera on Friday we were heading to Pila, a major ski area here in Aosta. A brand new cable/gondola system had just been installed last year. We were all thrilled but Gini and Mary had the look:


As Mary said, the star of the day was Mont Blanc:


We had lunch along one of the porches there. You could see many of the major Alps including Cervino (Matterhorn) but Mt. Blanc was most prominent.

The ride back was even better. The initial descent was quite steep from the station where you boarded the gondola. I believe the phrase Gini screamed was “Ride ‘em cowboy!”:

Ah – how I have longed to hear that sound!

We finished with a wonderful dinner in another old section of town – Mary’s treat. Chris and Gini had now become addicted to Giovanni’s recommendation of a ‘digestif’ – Averna – mmmm.

Mary said her goodbyes Saturday night since we were off to Milano in the morning and Mary had to accompany Aunt Marie to church. Mary’s first winter visit to her lifelong summer vacation place had been everything she had hoped. C’est formidable!

The trip to Milano on Sunday was fairly uneventful. We managed to change trains correctly, find the Malpensa shuttle to the airport in Milano from the central train station and have the hotel pick us up with their shuttle. The Hilton Garden Hotel in Milano is wonderful. Their restaurant was first class. Gini enjoyed a delicious octopus carpaccio (wait until we tell Giovanni), Chris had risotto parmigiano and they both feasted on what was listed in the English portion of the menu as ‘Pork Chomp’. An excellent bottle of Barbera D’Asti complemented the experience. We finished with a stylized version of zabaglione and coffee. Somehow we wound up in the bar to drink some Averna. What a wonderful night (no pictures please).

Chris made it through three quarters of the Super Bowl which started at 12:30 AM Monday morning.

Remember how wonderful our flight over to Ireland was when we were upgraded? Well -our 7AM shuttle ride to the airport was met with the first appreciable snow in Milano since 1986! Everybody was freaked trying to drive in it. About an hour after we got there, they closed the airport for three hours. Currently we are finally wending our way to Atlanta with hopes of somehow making a connection to Miami. Paul and Greg are waiting with martinis and dinner even though, for us, it will be thirty four o’clock. Oh well.