To Everyone...but mostly Woody.
Isn’t it rich?
Ain’t we some six?
Dreaming and scheming to share
This joint in the Sticks
Send in the frowns
Isn’t it bliss?
Can all agree?
How best to lay it all out
With three rooms to pee
Where are the frowns?
Send in the frowns.
Just when our nests were empty once more
We go and fill it right up
with an onerous chore
Spending our savings hard earned
as if without care
Dreaming away
Anyone there?
Ellen loves Springs
Brundra is in
Karen and Woody have Maine
Marty-- the gym
Where are the frowns?
Quick, send in the frowns
My bad, they’re right here.
Isn’t it swell?
Isn’t it sweet?
Just when we all were so close
To getting back on our feet
There ought to be frowns
I’m betting next year.
Friday, September 30, 2011
E-Mails Flying today: Questions abound.
Gas Dryer or Electric?
Buried electric lines or overground?
Front Door. With glass or solid?
Is Contractor adding costs for assumed covered items?
3 Zone heating (for a one zone house) necessary?
Gas connected to BBQ grill?
Vaulted ceilings?
My fellow drifters are busy beavers and far more plugged in to all the details regarding all the above and more.
Been putting my two cents in wherever I think it might do some good without causing unnecessary bottleneck.
Woody and Karen are still more than a little pre-occupied with family and parent care/health issues, so I tip my hat to them (once again) for their ability to juggle so many wobbling plates. Forgot again to download pix, so maybe next post if I remember. Work still chugging along with multiple big projects in orbit and in danger of colliding...but been there before and somehow it will all get done without the world ending.
Skip the following if you have anything better to do than read about what I'm thinking about what I'm reading...
Been reading Freud's Civilization and its Discontents on the train and reminded of how he was a pretty imaginative writer with a poet's capacity for apt metaphor despite the obligation he must have felt to remain clinical and precise. But then every once in a while he goes off on tangents that remind you that he had some serious issues of his own...
In one section he talks about key events and stages in development of civilization.
"If we go back far enough, we find that the first acts of civilization were the use of tools, the gaining of power over fire, and the construction of dwellings. Among these the acquisition of power over fire stands out as a quite exceptional achievement, without a prototype."
This is his footnote to the above:
Psycho-analytic material, as yet incomplete and not capable of unequivocal interpretation, nevertheless admits of a surmise——which sounds fantastic enough—— about the origin of this human feat. It is as if primitive man had had the impulse, when he came in contact with fire, to gratify an infantile pleasure in respect of it and put it out with a stream of urine. The legends that we possess leave no doubt that flames shooting upwards like tongues were originally felt to have a phallic sense. Putting out fire by urinating—— which is also introduced in the later fables of Gulliver in Lilliput and Rabelais’’s Gargantua——therefore represented a sexual act with a man, an enjoyment of masculine potency in homosexual rivalry. Whoever was the first to deny himself this pleasure and spare the fire was able to take it with him and break it in to his own service. By curbing the fire of his own sexual passion, he was able to tame fire as a force of nature. This great cultural victory was thus a reward for re framing from gratification of an instinct. Further, it is as if man had placed woman by the hearth as the guardian of the fire he had taken captive, because her anatomy makes it impossible for her to yield to such a temptation. It is remarkable how regularly analytic findings testify to the close connection between the ideas of ambition, fire, and urethral erotism.
Wow. Puts the pyromania of my youth in a whole new light...and next time I hear a gay guy exclaim " Ooh, that guy is hot!",
I'll be able to explain to him what he really means.
Gas Dryer or Electric?
Buried electric lines or overground?
Front Door. With glass or solid?
Is Contractor adding costs for assumed covered items?
3 Zone heating (for a one zone house) necessary?
Gas connected to BBQ grill?
Vaulted ceilings?
My fellow drifters are busy beavers and far more plugged in to all the details regarding all the above and more.
Been putting my two cents in wherever I think it might do some good without causing unnecessary bottleneck.
Woody and Karen are still more than a little pre-occupied with family and parent care/health issues, so I tip my hat to them (once again) for their ability to juggle so many wobbling plates. Forgot again to download pix, so maybe next post if I remember. Work still chugging along with multiple big projects in orbit and in danger of colliding...but been there before and somehow it will all get done without the world ending.
Skip the following if you have anything better to do than read about what I'm thinking about what I'm reading...
Been reading Freud's Civilization and its Discontents on the train and reminded of how he was a pretty imaginative writer with a poet's capacity for apt metaphor despite the obligation he must have felt to remain clinical and precise. But then every once in a while he goes off on tangents that remind you that he had some serious issues of his own...
In one section he talks about key events and stages in development of civilization.
"If we go back far enough, we find that the first acts of civilization were the use of tools, the gaining of power over fire, and the construction of dwellings. Among these the acquisition of power over fire stands out as a quite exceptional achievement, without a prototype."
This is his footnote to the above:
Psycho-analytic material, as yet incomplete and not capable of unequivocal interpretation, nevertheless admits of a surmise——which sounds fantastic enough—— about the origin of this human feat. It is as if primitive man had had the impulse, when he came in contact with fire, to gratify an infantile pleasure in respect of it and put it out with a stream of urine. The legends that we possess leave no doubt that flames shooting upwards like tongues were originally felt to have a phallic sense. Putting out fire by urinating—— which is also introduced in the later fables of Gulliver in Lilliput and Rabelais’’s Gargantua——therefore represented a sexual act with a man, an enjoyment of masculine potency in homosexual rivalry. Whoever was the first to deny himself this pleasure and spare the fire was able to take it with him and break it in to his own service. By curbing the fire of his own sexual passion, he was able to tame fire as a force of nature. This great cultural victory was thus a reward for re framing from gratification of an instinct. Further, it is as if man had placed woman by the hearth as the guardian of the fire he had taken captive, because her anatomy makes it impossible for her to yield to such a temptation. It is remarkable how regularly analytic findings testify to the close connection between the ideas of ambition, fire, and urethral erotism.
Wow. Puts the pyromania of my youth in a whole new light...and next time I hear a gay guy exclaim " Ooh, that guy is hot!",
I'll be able to explain to him what he really means.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Ellen, Renee and Marty drove out to the Springs today and checked out the progress of the work. Came back with a positive report and some pictures (which I'll post soon) and best of all...a contract from the contractor. Seems all is proceeding according to plan.
File under: The Party After You Left.
Sittin with my son channel surfing last night and after seeing Tampa Bay down 7 runs to the "nothing to gain" Yanks and the "everything to lose" Red Sox up one (but looking like they were gonna get rained out in Baltimore), there was little reason to stay tuned --specially when I had the final chapter of my thriller novel waiting for me by my bedside. Woke up this morning to discover that all I missed was the greatest season ending drama in the history of the game. And the ending of my book stunk.
File under: The Party After You Left.
Sittin with my son channel surfing last night and after seeing Tampa Bay down 7 runs to the "nothing to gain" Yanks and the "everything to lose" Red Sox up one (but looking like they were gonna get rained out in Baltimore), there was little reason to stay tuned --specially when I had the final chapter of my thriller novel waiting for me by my bedside. Woke up this morning to discover that all I missed was the greatest season ending drama in the history of the game. And the ending of my book stunk.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Monday, September 26, 2011
Latest is that though work has begun on the house, we still don't have a contract with our contractor. A bit of a concern considering the costs involved and the fact that to some of us, this should be one of the no-brainer parts of this process. There are too many intangibles and unforeseen possibilities in undertaking something of this magnitude to justify neglecting this basic and standard requirement. But I've been informed that the ink is being put to paper as we speak and will be dry and ready for review by Wednesday. Hope so.
Nothing else to share today except that speech is no longer just a speech, but a narration for a video as well, so it's me and the midnight oil tonite at work...and my drifting will have to take a back seat to earning a living.
Nothing else to share today except that speech is no longer just a speech, but a narration for a video as well, so it's me and the midnight oil tonite at work...and my drifting will have to take a back seat to earning a living.
Was planning on again posting something this morning about how quiet things were here at AOD, then suddenly I discovered (to my delight) that a few fellow drifters ( and a drifter daughter) had checked in (thanks to Ellen) to give me a few pats on the back.
Thanks all, I no longer feel like the John Kennedy Toole of the blogosphere. (Go look it up Marty.)
Hope by end of day to post something of greater interest, but first gotta write a speech for an industry event where opportunities for playful punning and good natured needling are as frequent as location markers for septic systems.
Thanks all, I no longer feel like the John Kennedy Toole of the blogosphere. (Go look it up Marty.)
Hope by end of day to post something of greater interest, but first gotta write a speech for an industry event where opportunities for playful punning and good natured needling are as frequent as location markers for septic systems.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
We got tile picked out! We got tile picked out!
And a kitchen table! And a bedside cabinet! And …oh yeah, I think they just started the initial phase of demolition of the house which means that we’ll be able to put in that tile, and table, and cabinet… oh, sometime around the middle of Rick Perry’s first term.
Blogging my way into oblivion here as I’ve checked my stats and aside from me, I’ve had no visitors since Obama was still getting some love for catching Osama. No biggie though, I always thought this would be a monkish endeavor, and at least my sister likes it and I got some props from my brother too. Nobody knows the trouble....
And a kitchen table! And a bedside cabinet! And …oh yeah, I think they just started the initial phase of demolition of the house which means that we’ll be able to put in that tile, and table, and cabinet… oh, sometime around the middle of Rick Perry’s first term.
Blogging my way into oblivion here as I’ve checked my stats and aside from me, I’ve had no visitors since Obama was still getting some love for catching Osama. No biggie though, I always thought this would be a monkish endeavor, and at least my sister likes it and I got some props from my brother too. Nobody knows the trouble....
Home Construction Glossary continued...
Stud: What you were before you started caring about kitchen cabinet door handles
Shutters: A bodily response after seeing the difference between the estimate and the actual bill.
Pressure Relief Valve: One of any number of things, Golf is one, Tequila another.
Lien: A descriptor for the times you’ll be living in once the house is completed.
Flue: It’s what happened to your time and money.
Joint tenancy: Getting high and then agreeing to share a house with your friends.
Weep hole- A room of one’s own.
Stud: What you were before you started caring about kitchen cabinet door handles
Shutters: A bodily response after seeing the difference between the estimate and the actual bill.
Pressure Relief Valve: One of any number of things, Golf is one, Tequila another.
Lien: A descriptor for the times you’ll be living in once the house is completed.
Flue: It’s what happened to your time and money.
Joint tenancy: Getting high and then agreeing to share a house with your friends.
Weep hole- A room of one’s own.
BTW: I have reset comment settings. If you wish to post a comment, simply click on COMMENTS below the post and in pop up window choose Name/URL to enter whatever name you wish to be posting under....or anonymous if you wish to remain so. That should do it...no registration required.
As per the subtitle of this blog...
...we are three couples buying/building/sharing a vacation house. Three couples is misleading though, we are actually six individuals. And each of us has our own separate and distinct ideas and preferences about...everything. What that means of course is that pure participatory democracy may not be the most effective means of government if we intend to get anything done in a reasonable time frame and certainly not if we want to avoid complicating and burdening our already complicated and burdensome lives. That said, to date “majority rule” has pretty much worked for us without too much partisan bickering. Adding a pool received a vote of 5 to 1 in favor with me being the only dissenter, and I deferred graciously.
In general, I’m taking a back seat on this Streetcar named Hampton Desire where I expect I’ll continue to know my place (perhaps I should say I’m taking Rosa Parks’ former seat) particularly when it comes to design, furniture, color, appliances, fixtures and the like. What matters most to me is that the place is energy efficient, simple to maintain and doesn't leak when it rains. Otherwise, I'm either at the beach, on the water, or in the backyard hanging with the wild turkeys, raccoons and other foraging critters who seem to feel right at home...anywhere
As per the subtitle of this blog...
...we are three couples buying/building/sharing a vacation house. Three couples is misleading though, we are actually six individuals. And each of us has our own separate and distinct ideas and preferences about...everything. What that means of course is that pure participatory democracy may not be the most effective means of government if we intend to get anything done in a reasonable time frame and certainly not if we want to avoid complicating and burdening our already complicated and burdensome lives. That said, to date “majority rule” has pretty much worked for us without too much partisan bickering. Adding a pool received a vote of 5 to 1 in favor with me being the only dissenter, and I deferred graciously.
In general, I’m taking a back seat on this Streetcar named Hampton Desire where I expect I’ll continue to know my place (perhaps I should say I’m taking Rosa Parks’ former seat) particularly when it comes to design, furniture, color, appliances, fixtures and the like. What matters most to me is that the place is energy efficient, simple to maintain and doesn't leak when it rains. Otherwise, I'm either at the beach, on the water, or in the backyard hanging with the wild turkeys, raccoons and other foraging critters who seem to feel right at home...anywhere
check it out:
http://biyee.net/color-science/color-vision-test/integrated_test_v4.html
I just took a color blindness test at the site above and failed. Miserably. I knew I was somewhat challenged, but according to this test I might actually be a dog. Now I know why I'm writing this blog while everyone else is picking out tile patterns and debating paint colors.
And this test must be a joke, cause I found the hard one easy.
And whoever posted it may see colors...but sure can't spell.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
The recent news regarding Woody’s mom and Karen’s dad has put me in a reflective mood. Thinking about what they are all going through right now and what is in the cards for the days, weeks, months and years to come. The road ahead for them is bound to be bumpy and unpredictable regardless of day-to-day medical improvements and spiritual reliefs. That’s simply where all lives are headed sooner or later. Our life stories have beginnings, middles and ends and the ends are always the most difficult to endure and comprehend. Everything it seems is just a matter of time, and how we perceive that time seems to be the key to how we deal with it and understand it. I previously mentioned that I will consider myself lucky if at the end of my time I should have my children around me like Karen and Woody are there for his mom and her dad. Maybe that’s because I wasn’t there for my dad (and couldn’t be under the circumstances which are too complicated to get into here) and wasn’t really there for my mom who was 3000 miles away but thankfully had the daily benefits and blessings bestowed upon her by my sister Debby’s dedicated and undivided care and attention. Or maybe it’s just that mortality is in and of itself a disturbing and distressing issue for me. Denial is a powerful mechanism and it has served me well over the years insofar as I can only imagine the pain I might have felt had I not been able to put certain things out of sight and out of mind. But denial is also the enemy of experience and growth and resolution, so I’m ever mindful of what is lost in the process of avoiding the reality of suffering and sadness. So I guess what I’m saying is that what Woody and Karen are going through is serving as a lesson to me in many ways. They are setting an example for a way of engaging in and coping with a situation that not all of us are equipped to handle with such strength and grace. I’ve learned much from them and others like them (like my sister Debby and her husband Bill, my wife Ellen and many others in her family) who I consider strong in ways that I am not…and yet aspire to be.
This “Intimations of mortality” mood of mine also has me thinking about how and why we three couples embarked on this house sharing trip together. It’s not just about sand and sea and the pleasures of country living and relaxation. It’s also about the importance of social connectedness. It’s about how in our contemplation of the years ahead we want to be with and around others to share in the inevitable pains and precious pleasures that only become more precious with the passing of time. It’s about how you come to realize that it's not what you have in common with others that matters most, but having others with whom you can be yourself and enjoy their pleasure in doing likewise. Woody loves Sondheim and I’m allergic to him. Marty has ideas about human psychology that make me wonder what planet I’m living on, Karen loves things so neat and tidy and organized that I feel like Oscar Madison in her presence, Renee thinks I’m a snob when everyone knows I’m an inclusive and vulgar populist, and Ellen mostly agrees with the four of them regarding all the above. But we don’t love our friends because they’re just like us, it’s our differences that provide the attraction (providing that the differences aren’t too great to drive you apart—and you cultivate an open mind and heart while protecting your privacy). I don’t love my wife despite her faults, I love her because of them. Cause they’re not my faults (and if she did have my faults, she wouldn’t be my wife) and I can only hope she feels the same.
Anyway…I’m rambling here and didn’t intend to wander off like this, guess the only point I really wanted to make is that I’m happy to have the friends and family I have and happy to be able to argue with them and put down their taste in music and literature, and tell them they don’t know the right way to cut a pineapple, and that the way they laugh, drive, sneeze, and answer the phone bothers me and that their preference for chicken breasts over legs and thighs is incomprehensible, and that $30 entrees that come without a side dish is highway robbery, and that having a pool when a placid sea is just 100 yards away is the pinnacle of indulgent hedonism…and knowing that they feel likewise makes me confident that we’ll continue enjoying ourselves this way till our stories end. And that’s why I’m happy we’re building this house together.
Hope Woody’s mom and Karen’s Dad will be there to join us.
This “Intimations of mortality” mood of mine also has me thinking about how and why we three couples embarked on this house sharing trip together. It’s not just about sand and sea and the pleasures of country living and relaxation. It’s also about the importance of social connectedness. It’s about how in our contemplation of the years ahead we want to be with and around others to share in the inevitable pains and precious pleasures that only become more precious with the passing of time. It’s about how you come to realize that it's not what you have in common with others that matters most, but having others with whom you can be yourself and enjoy their pleasure in doing likewise. Woody loves Sondheim and I’m allergic to him. Marty has ideas about human psychology that make me wonder what planet I’m living on, Karen loves things so neat and tidy and organized that I feel like Oscar Madison in her presence, Renee thinks I’m a snob when everyone knows I’m an inclusive and vulgar populist, and Ellen mostly agrees with the four of them regarding all the above. But we don’t love our friends because they’re just like us, it’s our differences that provide the attraction (providing that the differences aren’t too great to drive you apart—and you cultivate an open mind and heart while protecting your privacy). I don’t love my wife despite her faults, I love her because of them. Cause they’re not my faults (and if she did have my faults, she wouldn’t be my wife) and I can only hope she feels the same.
Anyway…I’m rambling here and didn’t intend to wander off like this, guess the only point I really wanted to make is that I’m happy to have the friends and family I have and happy to be able to argue with them and put down their taste in music and literature, and tell them they don’t know the right way to cut a pineapple, and that the way they laugh, drive, sneeze, and answer the phone bothers me and that their preference for chicken breasts over legs and thighs is incomprehensible, and that $30 entrees that come without a side dish is highway robbery, and that having a pool when a placid sea is just 100 yards away is the pinnacle of indulgent hedonism…and knowing that they feel likewise makes me confident that we’ll continue enjoying ourselves this way till our stories end. And that’s why I’m happy we’re building this house together.
Hope Woody’s mom and Karen’s Dad will be there to join us.
More bad news. Woody's mom is not healing as well as was hoped and will need a skin graft for her chest burns which are third degree and not second degree as originally thought. And just heard that Karen's dad has been hospitalized for treatment of an infection. Karen and Woody both have demanding high level jobs and their plates are pretty full even under normal circumstances, and all our house related issues are going to take a back seat for a while. If my kids are there for me someday like Woody and Karen have been for their folks, I'll be a very lucky man. What a drag it is getting old.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
New Home Construction Glossary:
Walk-Through- The lowest cost sheet-rock you can buy.
Bedrock- Is this mattress too hard for you honey?
Cantilever- What you suddenly realize when your wife tells you she wants to buy a house in the Hamptons.
Crawl space- The place to look for after realizing she’s serious.
Ducts- What one does to get in that crawl space.
Frieze- What to do when you hear her calling “ Honey where are you?”
Gable- Any husband to wife response that roughly translates as: “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn."
Molding- What every basement will be doing no matter how much money you spend fixing it up.
Post-and-beam- What a blogger does when he comes up with something really clever.
Railroad tie- The last thing you put on before hopping on the commuter train to work.
Septic system- Everyone knows what this is. But no one knows where it is.
Shingles- What you get when you hear how much the roof is going to cost.
Spec home- The place you build on your teeny tiny piece of land.
AND NEWLY MINTED TERM NOT FOUND IN GENERAL CONSTRUCTION TERMINOLOGY
Cashtration -The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent.
Walk-Through- The lowest cost sheet-rock you can buy.
Bedrock- Is this mattress too hard for you honey?
Cantilever- What you suddenly realize when your wife tells you she wants to buy a house in the Hamptons.
Crawl space- The place to look for after realizing she’s serious.
Ducts- What one does to get in that crawl space.
Frieze- What to do when you hear her calling “ Honey where are you?”
Gable- Any husband to wife response that roughly translates as: “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn."
Molding- What every basement will be doing no matter how much money you spend fixing it up.
Post-and-beam- What a blogger does when he comes up with something really clever.
Railroad tie- The last thing you put on before hopping on the commuter train to work.
Septic system- Everyone knows what this is. But no one knows where it is.
Shingles- What you get when you hear how much the roof is going to cost.
Spec home- The place you build on your teeny tiny piece of land.
AND NEWLY MINTED TERM NOT FOUND IN GENERAL CONSTRUCTION TERMINOLOGY
Cashtration -The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent.
WOOD. WOOD. WOOD.
Yes Water is wonderful. But so are trees.
For many years Ellen and I have been blessed to have been able to spend many a summer week's vacation at Woody and Karen's country house in Maine. It's a veritable paradise of natural beauty and splendor on the banks of the Penobscot Estuary and the house, guest cottage, dock,(plus tennis court!) and surrounding woods is a sumptuous feast for the senses. My memories of the days and nights spent there are filled with countless moments of family fun and shared friendship. During a more recent trip there I came across a book in their library. It's called Reverence for Wood and was written by noted Landscape Painter (Hudson River School style) and Americana history scholar Eric Sloane. The book was a revelation to me. Here's the text of the inner flap:
The special knowledge of which wood is suited to which task, the ready identification of native trees, the reverence for wood, the instinctive knowledge that wood can warm the soul as well as the body -- these virtues of a bygone age are revived in Eric Sloane's remarkable work. Heavily illustrated, with a section on identification of nearly sixty native trees, A REVERENCE FOR WOOD provides an illuminating view of the resource that made possible so much of the early settlement of North America.
http://www.amazon.com/Reverence-Wood-Eric-Sloane/dp/0486433943
For anyone interested in the astonishing saga of how an immigrant population landed in a wild and endless forest and by their own hands developed the skills and knowledge to harness nature's bounty to create their homes...and ultimately their entire communities and cities...this is the book to read. It's short and beautifully illustrated and it sparked a flame in me that continues to this day as I dabble away on weekends attempting to tame wood into forms for the most modest of uses.
In other words...Trees are the shiznit.
Yes Water is wonderful. But so are trees.
For many years Ellen and I have been blessed to have been able to spend many a summer week's vacation at Woody and Karen's country house in Maine. It's a veritable paradise of natural beauty and splendor on the banks of the Penobscot Estuary and the house, guest cottage, dock,(plus tennis court!) and surrounding woods is a sumptuous feast for the senses. My memories of the days and nights spent there are filled with countless moments of family fun and shared friendship. During a more recent trip there I came across a book in their library. It's called Reverence for Wood and was written by noted Landscape Painter (Hudson River School style) and Americana history scholar Eric Sloane. The book was a revelation to me. Here's the text of the inner flap:
The special knowledge of which wood is suited to which task, the ready identification of native trees, the reverence for wood, the instinctive knowledge that wood can warm the soul as well as the body -- these virtues of a bygone age are revived in Eric Sloane's remarkable work. Heavily illustrated, with a section on identification of nearly sixty native trees, A REVERENCE FOR WOOD provides an illuminating view of the resource that made possible so much of the early settlement of North America.
http://www.amazon.com/Reverence-Wood-Eric-Sloane/dp/0486433943
For anyone interested in the astonishing saga of how an immigrant population landed in a wild and endless forest and by their own hands developed the skills and knowledge to harness nature's bounty to create their homes...and ultimately their entire communities and cities...this is the book to read. It's short and beautifully illustrated and it sparked a flame in me that continues to this day as I dabble away on weekends attempting to tame wood into forms for the most modest of uses.
In other words...Trees are the shiznit.
WATER. WATER. WATER.
Did I mention that our house is a stone’s throw from Gardiner’s Bay?
Yes, I know I did, but opening sentences are always tricky for me. And this proximity to the bay is the primary reason we chose this house. And for me it was practically the only defensible reason. So what is it about water that we (humans) are so drawn to?
Sure, it’s cool and refreshing to swim in on a hot summer day, it’s soothing, restful, and in the case of big surf, thrilling. The sound of surf or even the soft ripple of a lapping bay provides a repetitive kind of heartbeat that is also pleasing to ear and mind.But there’s more to it than that. We are evolutionarily wired to love water.
Neuroscientist Michael Crawford of the University of North London has proposed that our ancient ancestors were devotees of the sea, and that their devotion paid off by allowing the human species to develop large and complex brains.
Crawford claims that when humans separated from apes and emerged from the forests of Africa, they stuck close to rivers and beaches and started feasting on fish, clams and crabs. That marine diet was packed with omega-3 fatty acids, essential fatty acids that promote brain cell growth. It's no coincidence, Crawford claims, that human brain growth began to increase exponentially once we left the woods and headed for the beach.
Psychiatrist and lipid biochemist Joseph Hibbelin of the National Institutes of Health has shown that across cultures there is a direct correlation between ounces of fish eaten each week and reduced rates of depression.
If you watch video taken from the orbital space stations and satellites (some of which are sped up so within 60 seconds you can circumnavigate the globe—amazing stuff) you can clearly see that the bulk of humanity today lives near water. We live along coastlines, around the rims of bays, up the course of rivers and streams, and on islands. We also vacation at the beach and find solace fishing on a lake. As children we thrill at every opportunity to splash in the tub, walk through a puddle, run through a sprinkler and jump into anything wet and deep.
But aside from evolutionary explanations and the essential fact that the sea is a source of nutrition (not to mention that at birth our bodies are over 75% water) and advantageous for transportation and commercial growth—there is a spiritual element that plays a role as well. The sea has mesmerizing power. There is the sheer magnitude of it all, and even on a lake or a river where you can see clearly to land just a few hundred feet away, there is a still a sense of enormous volume and an awareness of all the life within it. And being on the coast by the ocean, the effect is heightened to a degree that is (for me) breathtaking. For years I have tried to read on the beach but to no avail. The distraction of the water is too great. I can sit for hours looking at it even on the calmest of days--just realized that I can do that with fire as well—which raises the issue of the primacy of that element in our wiring too. Which also makes me realize why a bonfire on a beach has become a kind of universal and stereotypical setting in the depiction of ultimate relaxation and contentment.
All of which is just a long and round about way of saying…water is the shiznit.
Did I mention that our house is a stone’s throw from Gardiner’s Bay?
Yes, I know I did, but opening sentences are always tricky for me. And this proximity to the bay is the primary reason we chose this house. And for me it was practically the only defensible reason. So what is it about water that we (humans) are so drawn to?
Sure, it’s cool and refreshing to swim in on a hot summer day, it’s soothing, restful, and in the case of big surf, thrilling. The sound of surf or even the soft ripple of a lapping bay provides a repetitive kind of heartbeat that is also pleasing to ear and mind.But there’s more to it than that. We are evolutionarily wired to love water.
Neuroscientist Michael Crawford of the University of North London has proposed that our ancient ancestors were devotees of the sea, and that their devotion paid off by allowing the human species to develop large and complex brains.
Crawford claims that when humans separated from apes and emerged from the forests of Africa, they stuck close to rivers and beaches and started feasting on fish, clams and crabs. That marine diet was packed with omega-3 fatty acids, essential fatty acids that promote brain cell growth. It's no coincidence, Crawford claims, that human brain growth began to increase exponentially once we left the woods and headed for the beach.
Psychiatrist and lipid biochemist Joseph Hibbelin of the National Institutes of Health has shown that across cultures there is a direct correlation between ounces of fish eaten each week and reduced rates of depression.
If you watch video taken from the orbital space stations and satellites (some of which are sped up so within 60 seconds you can circumnavigate the globe—amazing stuff) you can clearly see that the bulk of humanity today lives near water. We live along coastlines, around the rims of bays, up the course of rivers and streams, and on islands. We also vacation at the beach and find solace fishing on a lake. As children we thrill at every opportunity to splash in the tub, walk through a puddle, run through a sprinkler and jump into anything wet and deep.
But aside from evolutionary explanations and the essential fact that the sea is a source of nutrition (not to mention that at birth our bodies are over 75% water) and advantageous for transportation and commercial growth—there is a spiritual element that plays a role as well. The sea has mesmerizing power. There is the sheer magnitude of it all, and even on a lake or a river where you can see clearly to land just a few hundred feet away, there is a still a sense of enormous volume and an awareness of all the life within it. And being on the coast by the ocean, the effect is heightened to a degree that is (for me) breathtaking. For years I have tried to read on the beach but to no avail. The distraction of the water is too great. I can sit for hours looking at it even on the calmest of days--just realized that I can do that with fire as well—which raises the issue of the primacy of that element in our wiring too. Which also makes me realize why a bonfire on a beach has become a kind of universal and stereotypical setting in the depiction of ultimate relaxation and contentment.
All of which is just a long and round about way of saying…water is the shiznit.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Something to remember if (or when) our contractor falls behind schedule
The depression following the stock market crash of October 1929 is apparently still fogging up the heads of some Sag Harbor and East Hampton businessmen. In March of 1931 they proposed a $45 million dollar bond issue be floated to build bridges from North Haven to Shelter Island and from Shelter Island to East Marion (on the North Fork) to "help the unemployment situation." The East Hampton Town Board favored the proposal by a vote of 4-2. Guess the construction crew is still tied up in traffic on the LIE.
The depression following the stock market crash of October 1929 is apparently still fogging up the heads of some Sag Harbor and East Hampton businessmen. In March of 1931 they proposed a $45 million dollar bond issue be floated to build bridges from North Haven to Shelter Island and from Shelter Island to East Marion (on the North Fork) to "help the unemployment situation." The East Hampton Town Board favored the proposal by a vote of 4-2. Guess the construction crew is still tied up in traffic on the LIE.
thought I might start posting some historical arcana about our new neighborhood. Here are a few to get started.
Aaron Burr Wins Measles Court Case
Ebenezer Dayton, a peddler from Connecticut came to East Hampton in 1798. He was ordered to stay at The Ordinary, an inn, for several days, but instead went to church the next day and sat in the first pew. Guess what? He had the measles, a highly contagious disease in 1798. He was ordered to leave town immediately, but was overtaken by 4 young men, brought back to town ridden on a rail, had his hair cut off, and finally was dunked in Town Pond. 100 people in the town contracted the measles. What did Mr. Dayton do? In keeping with East Hampton tradition, he sued and was awarded damages of $1000. His lawyer was Aaron Burr who in 1800 was elected Vice-President to Thomas Jefferson; and who; a few years later killed Alexander Hamilton in a duel.
Travelin Man's Daddy: Early in the 1930's, Clean Dodge, who was a swimming instructor at Fireplace Lodge Camp in Springs, swam from Fireplace Point to Gardiner's island in two hours. He was accompanied by Richard Newcomb and Jack McGreevy in a small boat. The first person of the Fireplace Lodge staff to accomplish this feat was another swimming instructor named Ozzie Nelson who later became a radio star and orchestra leader and who appeared on the hit 1950's television show Ozzie & Harriet. Cleon Dodge beat Ozzie Nelson's record by 30 minutes.
Ellen, Renee and Karen...you might want to check this out...but I think you'd be the youngest members by far.
The Ramblers, a woman's organization, developed out of a small reading group that began at the home of Mrs. Florence Osborne in East Hampton on January 22 1901. The club was to study literature, in particular that which treated travel in our own and foreign countries. As they would be "rambling", through various countries of the globe in search of knowledge and amusement the group decide to name itself The Ramblers. This group of women continues to meet today.
Aaron Burr Wins Measles Court Case
Ebenezer Dayton, a peddler from Connecticut came to East Hampton in 1798. He was ordered to stay at The Ordinary, an inn, for several days, but instead went to church the next day and sat in the first pew. Guess what? He had the measles, a highly contagious disease in 1798. He was ordered to leave town immediately, but was overtaken by 4 young men, brought back to town ridden on a rail, had his hair cut off, and finally was dunked in Town Pond. 100 people in the town contracted the measles. What did Mr. Dayton do? In keeping with East Hampton tradition, he sued and was awarded damages of $1000. His lawyer was Aaron Burr who in 1800 was elected Vice-President to Thomas Jefferson; and who; a few years later killed Alexander Hamilton in a duel.
Travelin Man's Daddy: Early in the 1930's, Clean Dodge, who was a swimming instructor at Fireplace Lodge Camp in Springs, swam from Fireplace Point to Gardiner's island in two hours. He was accompanied by Richard Newcomb and Jack McGreevy in a small boat. The first person of the Fireplace Lodge staff to accomplish this feat was another swimming instructor named Ozzie Nelson who later became a radio star and orchestra leader and who appeared on the hit 1950's television show Ozzie & Harriet. Cleon Dodge beat Ozzie Nelson's record by 30 minutes.
Ellen, Renee and Karen...you might want to check this out...but I think you'd be the youngest members by far.
The Ramblers, a woman's organization, developed out of a small reading group that began at the home of Mrs. Florence Osborne in East Hampton on January 22 1901. The club was to study literature, in particular that which treated travel in our own and foreign countries. As they would be "rambling", through various countries of the globe in search of knowledge and amusement the group decide to name itself The Ramblers. This group of women continues to meet today.
1600’s. The early settlers.
Before the settlement of East Hampton by Europeans, Native Americans inhabited the beautiful woodlands and coastlands here. Many of the place names in East Hampton are of Indian origin. The Montaukett Tribe of the Algonquin Indians, gave their name to what is now called Montauk. “Paumanok” celebrated by the poet Walt Whitman, was the original Indian name for Long Island.
Sea-beauty! stretch'd and basking!
One side thy inland ocean laving, broad, with copious commerce, steamers, sails,
And one the Atlantic's wind caressing, fierce or gentle--mighty hulls dark-
gliding in the distance. Isle of sweet brooks of drinking-water--
healthy air and soil! Isle of the salty shore and breeze and brine!
From “Paumanok” by Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
The official date of the European settlement of East Hampton is 1648, when 34 Puritan families (who had originally migrated from England to Massachusetts to Southampton) continued to migrate onward, settling in what is now known as East Hampton. These early settlers purchased shares of land from the governors of the New Haven and Connecticut Colonies, who themselves had purchased 31,000 acres of land from the Montaukett tribe.
These ties to New England were to prove enduring: In 1653, East Hampton adopted the laws of Connecticut Colony; in 1657 it united with Connecticut Colony. In 1664, when the Dutch settlers in New York surrendered their colony of New York to the English, the Duke of York claimed jurisdiction over the whole of Long Island, and the residents of East Hampton and Southampton eventually accepted that jurisdiction (but not without protest.) Even today, the town, especially the village, retains some of the look and feel of its New England roots. The original layout of the 34 settler homes was typical of Puritan New England towns: a broad common about a mile in length flanked by home lots of eight to twelve acres each. In East Hampton, this “common” was the land north of Town Pond.
Originally, the name these early settlers gave their new home was Maidstone, after a town in Kent England, from which many of them originally hailed. Today, the echo of that name is still heard here in establishments such as the Maidstone Arms hotel and the Maidstone Club, and in public spaces such as Maidstone Park.
However, even before this official settlement date of 1648, an Englishman, Lion Gardiner, had entered into agreement with Chief Wyandanch of the Montaukett Tribe to purchase the island that would eventually bear his name: Gardiner’s Island. The purchase was made in 1639, reputedly for a few blankets, a “large black dog,” and some gunpowder. In time, after the Revolutionary War, Gardiner’s Island was to become part of East Hampton.
Most the above text was lifted from various web sites including East Hampton Historical Society.
Before the settlement of East Hampton by Europeans, Native Americans inhabited the beautiful woodlands and coastlands here. Many of the place names in East Hampton are of Indian origin. The Montaukett Tribe of the Algonquin Indians, gave their name to what is now called Montauk. “Paumanok” celebrated by the poet Walt Whitman, was the original Indian name for Long Island.
Sea-beauty! stretch'd and basking!
One side thy inland ocean laving, broad, with copious commerce, steamers, sails,
And one the Atlantic's wind caressing, fierce or gentle--mighty hulls dark-
gliding in the distance. Isle of sweet brooks of drinking-water--
healthy air and soil! Isle of the salty shore and breeze and brine!
From “Paumanok” by Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
The official date of the European settlement of East Hampton is 1648, when 34 Puritan families (who had originally migrated from England to Massachusetts to Southampton) continued to migrate onward, settling in what is now known as East Hampton. These early settlers purchased shares of land from the governors of the New Haven and Connecticut Colonies, who themselves had purchased 31,000 acres of land from the Montaukett tribe.
These ties to New England were to prove enduring: In 1653, East Hampton adopted the laws of Connecticut Colony; in 1657 it united with Connecticut Colony. In 1664, when the Dutch settlers in New York surrendered their colony of New York to the English, the Duke of York claimed jurisdiction over the whole of Long Island, and the residents of East Hampton and Southampton eventually accepted that jurisdiction (but not without protest.) Even today, the town, especially the village, retains some of the look and feel of its New England roots. The original layout of the 34 settler homes was typical of Puritan New England towns: a broad common about a mile in length flanked by home lots of eight to twelve acres each. In East Hampton, this “common” was the land north of Town Pond.
Originally, the name these early settlers gave their new home was Maidstone, after a town in Kent England, from which many of them originally hailed. Today, the echo of that name is still heard here in establishments such as the Maidstone Arms hotel and the Maidstone Club, and in public spaces such as Maidstone Park.
However, even before this official settlement date of 1648, an Englishman, Lion Gardiner, had entered into agreement with Chief Wyandanch of the Montaukett Tribe to purchase the island that would eventually bear his name: Gardiner’s Island. The purchase was made in 1639, reputedly for a few blankets, a “large black dog,” and some gunpowder. In time, after the Revolutionary War, Gardiner’s Island was to become part of East Hampton.
Most the above text was lifted from various web sites including East Hampton Historical Society.
This would be funny if it wasn't so absurd. Why would you bury anything important like a septic tank and then not mark the spot for future reference? All it would take is a stone, or a bird feeder, or a simple stake in the ground or something...anything! Is this a septic tank industry conspiracy to add another cost to service? Imagine how profitable this could be if adopted in the Cemetery business.
Bad news. Woody's mom suffered second degree burns in an accident at home. We all spent weekend worrying and hoping for the best and apparently her condition has stabilized to the point where she is now on the mend and Ellen spoke with her briefly and reported that she sounded ok, all things considered. We're all relieved, but nevertheless shaken. Woody has been a busy son over the last few years spending considerable amount of time with both his parents who are at the age where each new day is both a blessing and a challenge. I went through it with my mom, but from 3000 miles away and relied on my sister to provide the weekly, and often daily care. My mom died four years ago (my dad died in 1969) and it's been a while since I had to deal with the issue of a needy and aging parent, but I remember how taxing and draining it was from both a practical and psychological standpoint. Am hoping to hear more good news in the days ahead. Love to all.
Friday, September 16, 2011
The Springs: Statistically Speaking as of 2000 census.
CDP stands for Census Designated Place
4,950 people, 1,924 households, and 1,252 families-- actual population may be closer to 10,000.
population density 584.8 per square mile
3,878 housing units at an average density of 458.2/sq mi
89.82% White, 1.47% African American, 0.20% Native American, 1.45% Asian, 0.02% Pacific Islander, 3.86% from other races, and 3.17% from two or more races. Hispanic or Latino of any race are 16.24% of the population.
29.7% of households have children under the age of 18
51.2% married couples living together
8.9% had a female householder with no husband present
34.9% were non-families.
26.1% of all households were made up of individuals
and 9.6% had someone living alone who is 65 years of age or older.
The average household size is 2.57 and the average family size is 3.08.
In the CDP 22.3% under the age of 18
6.3% from 18 to 24
31.0% from 25 to 44
26.9% from 45 to 64
and 13.5% who were 65 years of age or older.
The median age was 40 years.
For every 100 females there were 102.1 males.
For every 100 females age 18 and over, there were 100.8 males.
The median income for a household in the CDP is $57,038,
and the median income for a family was $66,607.
Males had a median income of $42,500 versus $32,107 for females. The per capita income for the CDP was $29,910.
About 6.7% of families and 8.7% of the population were below the poverty line, including 10.9% of those under age 18 and 4.7% of those age 65 or over.
As previously noted... the house is a hop, skip and a few Kangaroo jumps from private bay beach. Been daydreaming for months about getting a sunfish and heading out toward Gardiner's Island and catching the bigger breezes out in the open waters. I caught the sunfish bug back in my late teens during a few weeks living on Martha's Vineyard with a troupe of Modern Dancers (courtesy of my sister who was a member of the troupe) and while they were busy cultivating their terpsichorean skills I was out on the water testing my ability to read the wind and see how much of it I could catch before keeling over. I loved it. And always imagined I'd return to it someday and now it seems I will. And at my age, it seems the perfect way to catch a maximum thrill with minimum risk.
For the uninitiated, here's a look at how it's done...by someone who's pretty good at it.
For the uninitiated, here's a look at how it's done...by someone who's pretty good at it.
Some character assignations (or is that assassinations?) and a verbatim e-mail thread on an unseasonably cool Friday.
Thought today I’d more formally introduce myself, and my cohabitees. I yawn at the prospect of providing little summary bios, and if my fellow drifters want to jump in here themselves and provide me with their own self-portraits, I'd be happy to post...in meantime here are short character descriptions along the lines of something you might see on a play's Cast of character page.
Woody: Earnest and serious and virtually vice-free (unless you consider a taste for Sondheim sinful—which I do) But basically an all-around good guy with a big heart despite its tendency toward the sentimental.
Karen: Very earnest and serious (nice match with hubby Woody) and a super organized perfectionist who some might call borderline OCD, but I won’t cause I’ve known worse. But she’s also real smart, generous, wise, caring and thoughtful.
Renee: A true and pure artistic spirit. Imaginative, intuitive, inspired, sensitive, aesthetically sophisticated and therefore pretty much out of touch with reality. And I mostly say that cause I think it’ll make her laugh.
Marty: Marty is a shrink, ergo, nuts. However smart, capable and accomplished he must know he is, and we all know he is, he’s nevertheless chronically convinced that his glass is always half empty and that total doom is forever imminent.
Ellen: Has held the title of Ms. Gullible for over half a century cause she’s so trusting and big hearted that it never occurs to her that others may not be. But she can be tough too when it comes to getting what she wants, though her concern for those she loves always takes precedence. Also a world class worrier. I could add something snarky, but she’s my wife so I’ll leave it alone.
Ricky (Me): Essentially a melancholic but with just enough false optimism to get through most days without too much angst. Mostly lives in his head where there’s music always playing and has few material desires or ambitions which in some ways makes him the wild card in this “let’s build a house” undertaking.
I submit the following as perhaps a better way to understand some of the personality dynamics:
Yesterday Marty sent e-mail:
I thought we should price what a central vac and sprinkler system would cost us
To which Ellen replied:
i don't esp like central vacs. when u open those connections, the noise and sucking scares me.sprinkler?? ok. it'll be alot- i've had it, but might as well.
To which I replied after misunderstanding initial note:
My bad…I thought by central vac you meant central air…if you mean those holes of suctioned air for vacuuming, I would say it's unnecessary considering size of house but unlike Ellen, I do not fear it.
To which Marty replied:
central vac out is fine with me, just remember buying a good vacuum could cost up to 500 dollars.
To which I replied:
…vacuum discussion has me starting to worry about Marty…sounds to me like he's morphing into Adrian Monk.
I suggest that if a reasonably priced vacuum cleaner is not sufficient to meet his high standards, I will personally get down on my hands and knees and finish the job with the aid of a 2 dollar toothbrush.
To which Marty replied:
thank you for your support and I will hold you to the toothbrush idea, you know there is a sale on them in costco.
Don’t know what Woody, Renee and Karen thought during this exchange, but I take their silence as an indication that they probably had far more important things to think about.
Till next time…this one’s for Woody.
Don’t know what Woody, Renee and Karen thought during this exchange, but I take their silence as an indication that they probably had far more important things to think about.
Till next time…this one’s for Woody.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Was telling someone about the house and she happened to know where it is because she's an artist and once went out to the area to check out the former home of the infamous bad boy paint splasher Jackson Pollack. I haven't been to the place but apparently it's something of a tourist draw and I'm happy to note that it appears to be somewhat smaller (at least width-wise) than our digs.
Also thought I'd feature a short clip from the Pollack BioPic which I never saw, but from what I can gather from this clip it depicts the abstracted (pun intended) hero attempting to apply his canvas painting technique to asphalt. Wonder if this was shot around actual location. Wonder too why I care, except for the fact that it's fun spotting places you know in movies.
and while I'm in this A/V mode and feeling too lazy to write...here's a shot of the ladies of the house.
Ellen complained about the last shot I posted, so I hope this makes up for it...though I suspect not. Wow, this blog is starting to become a mess...I have to settle into some kind of routine here instead of just posting something every time I get a spare 10 minutes. Not even bothering to spellcheck...or is that spell-check? Or Spell Check?
Woke up this morning wondering whether this blog idea is either a trite and self-defeating way to publicly channel my free-floating anxieties about this house endeavor or a very trite and self-defeating way to publicly channel my free-floating anxieties about this house endeavor. But it’s too early in the game to quit, so I’ll soldier on and check out the scoreboard further down the line and see if I can keep it under the mercy rule.
That's always the issue for me when writing in a personal and reflective vein--the ever-present sound of a voice whispering in my ear " So what?"
Speaking of which:
I remember listening to this as a kid—must have been 8 or 9 at the time and wondering what Miles was thinking when he titled it. At that age it’s something of a shock and thrill to encounter that degree of confident disdain, and though titling a piece of instrumental music is always something of an impressionistic exercise, to my mind this stood out as a particularly apt marriage of title and sound. Fifty years later I’ve come to the conclusion that Miles simply named it on the fly—and chose a phrase he probably uttered a dozen times in the course of day.
Now that I know how to embed a video, I'm beginning to think that the way to go with this blog is with a multi-media collage of words, images and video which could entail the use of personal photo files and home movies and borrowed text and imagery from a host of sources which could end up being a kind of new age scrapbook of our Driftwood tale. I'm psyched...but also out of time. Till next time.
That's always the issue for me when writing in a personal and reflective vein--the ever-present sound of a voice whispering in my ear " So what?"
Speaking of which:
I remember listening to this as a kid—must have been 8 or 9 at the time and wondering what Miles was thinking when he titled it. At that age it’s something of a shock and thrill to encounter that degree of confident disdain, and though titling a piece of instrumental music is always something of an impressionistic exercise, to my mind this stood out as a particularly apt marriage of title and sound. Fifty years later I’ve come to the conclusion that Miles simply named it on the fly—and chose a phrase he probably uttered a dozen times in the course of day.
Now that I know how to embed a video, I'm beginning to think that the way to go with this blog is with a multi-media collage of words, images and video which could entail the use of personal photo files and home movies and borrowed text and imagery from a host of sources which could end up being a kind of new age scrapbook of our Driftwood tale. I'm psyched...but also out of time. Till next time.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
One more thing (talking to Drifters here)...if comment area is insufficient to satisfy your desire to partake of this enterprise...you can also e-mail your submissions to me in the form of an attached word doc and I will upload it sight unseen to the main page...or if you prefer, you could just put it in an e-mail and I promise to cut and paste it without reading ahead of time.
Of course, you could also start a competing blog of your own--but I'd prefer that you didn't since I'm counting on you all to get this house built --and as you can see, my plate's already full.
Your dutiful and trustworthy Bard of The Beach
Starting to realize that this tale will have to shuttle back and forth between past and present if I’m to be able to keep a handle on it all. I was hoping I could continue to set the scene and provide more backstory in these early posts, but current events intrude and unless I keep some kind of record I’ll never be able to get them in fast enough to prevent them from receding into the past and becoming irretrievable.
But before I post the most recent update on the what's happening ..here's the where.
Our house in in East Hampton NY...That's out in the eastern (south fork) section of Long Island and more specifically in an area called The Springs. It's not the ocean beach area...that's pretty much fully occupied currently by the likes of Paul McCartney, Steven Spielberg and assorted others whose vacation home narrative would probably begin and end with " I bought it."
Look right above the umbrella at Albert's Landing on the map below and that's about it. Nice spot and the house is just a few hundred feet from a private beach looking out at Gardiner's Island four miles northeast.
And here's a very very flattering shot of our house. One of those Real Estate ad. shots that cover up the wear and tear and somehow suggest that there's more to the house on the left and right...although there's not. Fact is, it's pretty much of a run-down cottage...but location is all and that part we got right.
So right now here’s what’s happening. Seems we have an insurance glitch. It’s not bad enough that getting any insurance at all was a slog since in East Hampton-- you simply can’t get any major insurance company to cover you at all. As if just by having the poor judgement to go and buy something where hurricanes touch down periodically and tides tend to wash away beachfronts you've already identified yourself as a bad risk. But don't get me started on Insurance policies or I'll have to start an entirely new blog. And now that we’re doing renovations there’s the new problem of getting coverage for the rebuilding phase which is apparently a separate issue from “ Builder’s Risk and Liability” insurance. I guess I assumed that was something assumed by the builder…but what do I know...just recently I discovered that you have to pay to have someone come and locate your septic tank. That's right, I said "locate". Seems it's not unusual to not know where the damn thing is. They install it, cover it up with grass and forget about it. No marker, no record no map...so when you have to go back, you've got to find it all over again. The guy who came and did the work looked at me like I was asking a silly question when I tried to understand this mysterious practice. " Yeah, that's the way they do it..." Easy for him to accept, he gets paid to find it every time.
Anyway back to insurance...my fellow Drifters (the other five who do practical and productive things as opposed to writing blogs and whining) have been trying to sort this out today and it seems—as usual, we learned something new …when Ellen questioned the insurance broker as to the necessity of getting new coverage during reconstruction period she got this back in response:
I wish I could write like that. Must be fun not worrying about where to put your adverbs and let all the modifiers just dangle around and fend for themselves. And I love the 60 day vacant rule too. Maybe we could use it to justify dumping this place and moving into McCartney or Spielberg's place when they're off on tour or shooting a movie.
Hoping to have time tomorrow to get back to the back-story.
Ok. Gotta get the back story out of the way before the real action begins...
Dramatis Personae in this tale consists of me (Ricky) and Ellen...
Woody and Karen
and Renee and Marty
Sorry Woody, that's the best shot I got...non-related readers please note: Woody looks much better than that, in fact my wife thinks he's the cutest thing going--though she also maintains that her dad looked just like Gregory Peck and I've yet to find anyone who agrees with her. But anyway, what a lovely sextet don't you think? What beaming smiles. But these pictures were taken only a very short time after our decision to pool our resources (in unequal amounts--more on that later) and embark on the " let's find ourselves a vacation home that we can all share" journey that at the time of this post is well over a year old. Since that time our smiles have contracted a bit after many months of road trips to and from the chosen property (not to mention the long and intense search for said property--from which I abstained) plus all the subsequent paperwork, real estate and legal documents, LLC formation, inherited tenants, discussions and debates regarding restoration and design etc. But all that is standard fare and of little interest to the disinterested reader...and that may include some of us.
What is perhaps more compelling is the personal backstory. Ellen, Renee and Woody go way back. Way, way back. Back to the early 1950's where they came into this world around the same time and grew up in sequential side by side by side homes in the suburban Eden that was Great Neck Long Island back in the snoring 1950's. BTW: It is my hope that in the course of growing this blog, my fellow drifters will drift in and out with commentary to amend, correct, expand, contest, contradict, and most importantly elaborate on all that is tossed out here as I try and work my way into this story and establish some context within which this can become more than just a log of random events and activities. As I was saying...Renee, Ellen and Woody are the tripod on which all subsequent elements and events rest. Fast forward to adulthood and each of them finds their mates in Marty, Ricky and Karen respectively. Big jump, I know, but intervening events and details will reveal themselves over time. For now, I'm just happy to get this ball rolling, though I suspect I'm pushing it uphill right now. Gotta find a voice for this thing at some point, and the more I keep typing here the more I suspect it will shift into a more personal and subjective mode...but we'll see. In the meantime, I gotta get back to work and I'll see you all next time.
Let us begin...
Hello fellow Drifters. Thought I'd surprise you all with yet another thing to keep track of as our adventure continues. No pressure though, I'm happy to maintain this site and keep it flourishing for as long as I have the energy and inclination. You should however feel free to comment at your leisure and as any blog follower knows, the comment section is where the real action is and where all the fun can be found. As for anyone else out there who might stumble upon this site or choose to visit from time to time to see how we're all getting (or not getting) along, I'll only add that I hope you find some enjoyment here and perhaps even learn something. I also hope it will serve as a useful reference for anyone attempting to do what we're doing and find in the course of following the accumulated posts something of value in what may come to be either an inspirational saga or a cautionary tale.
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