tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76084244316002104512024-03-05T13:08:54.473-08:00Flotsam & JetsamThe cure for everything is salt water--sweat, tears, or the sea.Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.comBlogger49125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608424431600210451.post-11868383164018886592014-06-03T11:01:00.000-07:002014-06-03T11:01:24.019-07:00Home Sweet HomeWhen I do get around to adding to this blog, I'm usually writing about and posting photographs of places to which I've traveled. In truth, I'm seldom more content than I am right at home in our 1848 antique four-poster. We recently added an awning on the sunroom deck to give us a shady respite from the summer sun.<br />
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Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608424431600210451.post-85425044235046975802013-09-27T15:43:00.002-07:002013-09-27T15:45:47.225-07:00Lunenburg Venues: the Main StageAll of the evening performances and the Sunday morning "Gospel" were given in a commodious (2000 capacity) tent up on Blockhouse Hill. The entry corridor was lined with food and souvenir stalls, and a merch tent. We soon discovered that we could to help Lunenburg celebrate its German heritage by purchasing and devouring huge weinerschitzel sandwiches befrore the 7 PM performances.<br />
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The Friday night performances were hosted by Juno winner Rose Cousins, who also performed a guest duet with fellow Juno winner David Myles and his sidemen.<br />
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Killing time between acts, Rose challenged the audience to a high-kicking contest. Her challenge was answered by a tall, surprisingly limber gray-haired woman, and my shorter, somewhat less limber younger brother.<br />
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The contestants were supposed to kick on the count of three, but John, trying to counter the greater height and leg length of the competitors, went at two, causing Rose to foul and awarding victory to the woman in the middle.<br />
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None of the Sunday morning performers actually knew any Gospel music, but Berklee grad and sometime Session Americana member Laura Cortese gave a performance that left us all feeling spiritually enlightened.<br />
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We were able to take close-up photographs because, despite nightly sellouts, we never sat further away than the fifth row. Canadians, with their innate politeness, are no match for Americans when it comes to open seating.<br />
<br />Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608424431600210451.post-44908163646370061332013-08-29T08:44:00.001-07:002013-08-29T08:44:26.369-07:00Lunenburg Venues: The WharfA stage and risers for the audience were arranged on a broad commercial wharf where a large scalloper sounded its horn to applaud performers. Sailboats and tour boats breezed past during the shows. Overlooking the quay, many small cafes and bistros offered cold beverages and small plates on their shaded porches and decks.<br />
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Lennie Gallant with his fiddler and two nephews</div>
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Laura Cortese (r) had some trouble with the wind</div>
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David Myles played solo in his white suit</div>
Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608424431600210451.post-80933572484060824892013-08-27T12:21:00.001-07:002013-08-29T08:26:14.618-07:00Lunenburg Venues: The BandstandDuring the afternoon, the Lunenburg Festival offers simultaneous concerts and workshops at numerous venues (including several churches), all within easy walking distance as long as you don't mind a few hills. Our favorites daytime venues were located on either end of King Street, the bandstand up on the hillside and the wharf down along the quay. All of the evening performances took place in the main tent, located in a park overlooking the town and its twin harbors.<br />
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<b>The Bandstand</b></div>
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The crowd gets comfortable on the hillside in front of the bandstand</div>
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The Once, a band from Newfoundland </div>
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whom we had seen previously at Celtic Colours<br />
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Looking down King Street from the park to the wharf</div>
Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608424431600210451.post-57414965873995739592013-08-15T19:55:00.001-07:002013-08-16T05:45:07.443-07:00Lunenburg<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Lunenburg is an historic Canadian fishing center originally founded by German settlers. Many of the older buildings, including our inn above, have an architectural detail known as the "Lunenburg bump": the three-story hallway-dormer-gable affair in the front.<br />
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Another example of the Lunenburg bump</div>
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Many of the buildings close to the harbor are painted in vibrant colors. suggesting that the town has evolved from its stoic Germanic roots into more of an island consciousness.</div>
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Lunenburg is quite hilly--a walk from the center of town to the waterfront and back will quicken your heart rate.<br />
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The harbor hosts championship dory races. The two young women approaching the finish here will represent Canada in international competition.<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">My brother, on the other hand, doesn't have both oars in the water.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> In fact, he lacks oars. And water.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Lunenburg waterfront from across the harbor</span></div>
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<br />Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608424431600210451.post-17865436231240533972013-08-14T10:24:00.000-07:002013-08-14T10:24:02.253-07:00Peggy's Cove, Nova ScotiaPeggy's Cove, a small fishing village on the south coast near Halifax, is a favored location for tourists and, especially, photographers. A quaint fishing village, a picturesque lighthouse, and an ocean-smoothed granite shoreline seem to embody all that is fabled about the Cabot Trail.<br />
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The lighthouse is the biggest draw, so I was lucky to be able to get a shot without tourists.</div>
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Of course, that didn't mean <b><i>I </i></b>couldn't be in a shot. </div>
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A young piper wearing the Nova Scotia tartan was busking among the boulders. </div>
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The lighthouse taken from the memorial site for the crew and passengers </div>
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of a Swissair flight that went down off the coast.</div>
<a name='more'></a><br />Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608424431600210451.post-84641077132831591442012-10-25T09:13:00.000-07:002012-10-25T09:19:01.563-07:00Hardnose the Highway<br />
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Back across the Canso Causeway</div>
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We left Sydney early Sunday morning and determined to do the trip in one day. We took the Trans-Canada through New Brunswick this time, crossing back into the States at Houlton, Maine and ignoring David Myles's admonition not to "Drive Right Through".<br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E6zoXjHNCi0">Drive Right Through</a><br />
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We arrived back in Beverly at about 9:00 PM. Quite a trip.Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608424431600210451.post-2569844609955137262012-10-23T19:51:00.000-07:002012-10-26T05:28:42.961-07:00Farewell Tour and The ChieftainsSince Saturday was our last full day on Cape Breton, we decided to revisit some of our favorite places on the island. We grabbed a quick coffee at the Quality Inn and headed south. Unfortunately, John bypassed the gas station just before the Seal Island Bridge, and there wouldn't be another until we reached Baddeck...if then.<br />
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Big Baddeck John</div>
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We passed a sign reading "Baddeck 20K" just as the range indicator dipped below 10 miles. John did a lot of coasting and very little braking, and we sputtered into Baddeck Esso with the range indicator readout at 0. That's zero. Nada. Nil.</div>
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Having averted the gas crisis, we made a return trip to <i>Bean There</i> for more Irish creme coffee (Paul), more pumpkin spice latte (John) and more blueberry scones (both).</div>
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Our next destination was Mabou, where we had stopped on Tuesday to visit the <i>Red Shoe Pub</i>. It was a bit of a ride, and after the stress of the gas episode we were able to conjure up some more appetite. This was my favorite spot on the trip, and not just for the big chunks of andouille sausage in the chili. John had the special, which was puttenesca alla spaghetti--not quite up to Hanover Street standards, but not bad.<br />
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The route back to Sydney includes the Seal Island Bridge</div>
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Thus fortified, we headed back to Sydney to rest up for the final concert, "50 Years of Celtic Charm", to be held at <i>Center 200</i>, a casino and hockey arena.<br />
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A number of opening acts preceded the Chieftains. John dismissed fiddler/trumpeter Daniel Lapp for playing "new age crap". Wendy MacIsaac and Mary Jane Lamond were great again, but we had seen them Friday night. Glasgow's iconic<i> Battlefield Band</i> was a bit of a disappointment to me, although the fervor among the Scots in the audience was palpable when the two bagpipers commenced together. It was a night for the Chieftains, celebrating 50 years with Paddy Moloney at the helm.<br />
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Moloney's genius is not just his music, most of which is performed on a tin whistle (with a more serious turn on the uilllean pipes). His diminutive stature belies a huge and gracious personality, and his generosity and willingness to share the stage with band members and guests is legendary. Long time member Matt Molloy was up front with his flute, and stalwart bodhran player Kevin Conneff came forward to sing <i>a capella</i> in his remarkable tenor. <br />
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The guests were treated with equal deference. Guest musicians on keyboards, harp, guitar, and fiddle were all given a chance to shine and receive Molloy's benediction. A wild clog dancer dazzled the crowd during "Ottawa Valley Dance" and then was joined by his brother, who had been playing fiddle. Energetic step-dancer Cara Butler led a stepping cadre of local girls onto the stage and then through the audience, where they recruited an Irish-dancing conga line for the grand finale.<br />
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Through it all, Paddy Moloney kept up a litany of quips. After Kevin Conneff's solo, he declared, "When Kevin sings, we just hope for the best." Introducing singer Alyth MacCormack, he noted, "She's from the Isle of Lewis, where they speak Scots Gaelic and make Scotch whisky...I wouldn't mind a drop right about now." When the <i>Battlefield Band</i> charged back on stage for the finale, he feigned fright, then recovered, quipping, "For a moment I thought you were English."<br />
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And when the appreciative crowd called <i>The Chieftains</i> back for an encore, Paddy scolded us, "Pathetic. Don't you people have homes to go to?"</div>
Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608424431600210451.post-9387224946924565122012-10-23T15:07:00.000-07:002012-10-25T11:18:36.405-07:00Louisburg and "Celtic Women"Friday morning. We scouted around the port city of Sydney a bit, locating the Cruise Ship Terminal and its giant fiddle, a promising pub, and good place for breakfast, the Maple Leaf Restaurant. Then we decided to go to Louisburg to visit the re-creation of a French colonial fort. This involved a 20-minute drive southeast along the Louisburg highway.<br />
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The world's largest fiddle</div>
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One might expect that the area's most well-known tourist attraction would remain open during the area's biggest annual event, but one would be wrong--the fort had closed for the season. We did some exploring of the area and drove out to the Louisburg lighthouse, the oldest lighthouse in Canada, now automated and supported by a trust and volunteers.</div>
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Louisburg Light</div>
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With no fort to explore, we decided to take the long way back and pass through Glace Bay, the site of that evening's concert. Along the way we passed Pensioner's Point, and as pensioners we felt obliged to preserve the moment for posterity.<br />
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My new friend doesn't talk much, but he dresses for the weather</div>
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It's good to be a pensioner</div>
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We had tickets for another local group dinner, this time at nearby Donkin, but the idea of another meal of overcooked meat, frozen vegetables, and instant mashed potatoes didn't appeal. We headed back to Sydney to the pub we'd located in the morning, The Governor's Pub and Eatery. John had fish and chips, while I tried the special, pizza with pulled pork, which I washed down with a pint.</div>
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We had high expectations for the Friday concert at the Savoy Theatre in Glace Bay. The concert featured a formidable cast of female musicians from Cape Breton and from Ireland (Nuala Kennedy), Newfoundland (The Once), and Scotland. Local women Mary Jane Lamond (vocalist) and Wendy MacIsaac (fiddle, bouzouki, mandocello) are neighbors who record together. It was fun to watch the ultra-feminine Kennedy interacting with the outdoorsy MacIsaac and the gender-neutral Sylvia LeLievre.<br />
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Rita MacNeil is the grand matriarch of Cape Breton music. She carries more than 300 pounds these days, and confided to the full house that she had fallen in the dressing room, "and even worse, I took the curtains down with me." Nevertheless, she limped onto the stage, a legendary songstress and raconteur.</div>
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The high point of the evening came from two groups with successful recording careers. Madison Violet features two women from Cape Breton Island who blend their voices and guitars beautifully.</div>
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4n2MhGsJ0os&feature=relmfu">Madison Violet--"No Fool for Trying" </a></div>
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The Once is composed of two young men who play a variety of instruments and a young woman who sings. All hail from Newfoundland.</div>
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VPe1RObAim0&feature=relmfu">The Once--"Anthem"</a> </div>
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As it turned out, our high expectations were not high <i>enough</i>.</div>
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Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608424431600210451.post-91456331052294705452012-10-23T08:43:00.000-07:002012-10-23T08:43:08.122-07:00Apple-glazed Pork Dinners and "Island Neighbours"After a breakfast of Eggs Florentine and more bacon, we left the Maven Gypsy Inn and headed south toward Baddeck. We decided to take the long way around St. Ann's Harbor to drop in at the Gaelic College, the site of the nightly Festival Club where musicians go to meet and jam after the concerts. Along the way we ran into some road repair and were stopped by a flagman, so we rolled down the window to chat. I hadn't said three words before she said, "Oh, you're from Boston." She asked if we'd visited Sew Inclined, and when we said we'd found the owner, Barbara, quite entertaining, she told us,"Well, that's my sister. She loves her job."<br />
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John at the Gaelic College in St. Ann's</div>
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The Gaelic College is a small, attractive campus with a thriving museum. The museum gift store feature some beautiful musical instruments, especially fiddles, Scottish bagpipes, uilleann pipes, and bodhrans. Also offered are kilts and tams for the many Scots and Scottish descendants who frequent the store.<b> </b></div>
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Baddeck Light House</div>
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We soon reached the village of Baddeck, an inland port on the Bras D'Or salt water lakes. After we'd walked around a bit despite some high winds, the sky darkened and threatened an imminent cloudburst. We made a hasty retreat into the <i>Bean There</i> coffee shop, and had coffee and delicious blueberry scones while a fast-moving storm pelted the village.</div>
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After the rain had subsided, we walked up to the "wee church on the hill", where CBC radio was spending the week interviewing performers. We sat in on an interview with Irish harpist Loise Kelly, who would answer the interviews questions with both words and melodies on her harp.<br />
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After the rain: Paul and Baddeck Light </div>
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After the interview, we drove back to Sydney and registered at the Quality Inn. We then went out in search of the Sydney River United Protestant Church and the evening's supper and concert. After a short delay, during which we turned around in the church parking lot without realizing we were there, we sat down to the apple-glazed pork dinner we had reserved. We'd thought it would be fun to eat among the natives, and it was--we became instant celebrities. The local people were welcoming and intensely curious about these brothers from "away". I had to answer so many questions that it was difficult to eat my dinner. The food was mediocre, but the company was superb.<br />
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We found our seats upstairs for the<i> Island</i> <i>Neighbours</i> concert. The opening act was Monica MacNeil playing traditional music on soprano saxophone. She was accompanied by her husband Sheumas of the Barra MacNeils. They were followed by fiery local fiddler Dwayne Cote. After intermission, Vishten, featuring two young woman from PEI and a fiddler from the Madeleine Islands, performed some wonderful Acadian music, some of it sung in French, or at least in Acadian patois.<br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6fO_pPUNvKI&feature=related">Vishten at Festival Club</a><br />
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Everyone was back on stage for the finale, reacting to the spirited crowd, All the women who had performed did some step dancing. Not to be outdone, Dwayne Cote, with his bow in one hand and fiddle in the other, leaped forward and almost danced right out of his pants.</div>
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Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608424431600210451.post-9717177213994672292012-10-20T13:22:00.000-07:002013-03-12T05:50:13.325-07:00Cape North: Whale Watch and "Strings and Things"Our hosts at that Maven Gypsy Inn turned out to be a (presumably) gay couple, Cody and Shane. They served us a breakfast sandwiches with sides of bacon, the first of a series of bacon-inclusive meals. We then drove 2k south to the nearest gas station at a general store. The attendant suggested we visit "Sew Inclined", a hat shop where the proprietor had made hats for Elton John and his son. Since John's wife Kathy collects hats, we stopped by, and had a riotous time with Barbara. the owner and a real character.<br />
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On our drive up the coast to Cape North, we stopped in at the Inn at Celtic, one of Cape Breton's finer establishments, in Ingonish. Farther North, we still had some time before the scheduled whale watch, so we took a little side trip to Dingwall and had lunch at a little place called the Celtic Touch. John had the homemade carrot soup, while I continued the bacon theme with a blt on their homemade bread. Our server, Ruby, seemed dour and moody when we arrived, but by the time we left she was laughing, smiling, and even dancing a little jig. <br />
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Oshan's Whale Watch--Leaving North Bay </div>
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We headed to North Bay and boarded Oshan's whalewatch boat, a 35 foot trawler with benches for about 20 people. The Captain headed northeast along the cliffs, following a winding course among rock formations. He soon reached a spot along the cliffs where waterfall cascades down the iron-stained walls.<br />
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The boat then headed out to deeper water, and soon we were among a pod of pilot whales, probably averaging about 20 feet in length. They were soon joined by numerous dolphins. We had started back when suddenly the tail of a large humpback slapped the surface about 30 feet off the starboard side. We saw the whale breech twice more before he disappeared and we returned to port.<br />
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A large pilot whale swims beside the boat</div>
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For dinner we stopped at the Chowder House next to the lighthouse in Neil's Harbor. We both had fried seafood, haddock for me, seafood platter for John. He also sampled a local dish, poutine, which consists of French fries smothered in cheese and brown gravy--not for the faint of heart.<br />
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Lighthouse, Neil's Harbor</div>
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Our first concert was at the North Highlands Elementary School in Aspy Bay. The Fionia String Band from Denmark started the show. I thought they were pretty good until the second act, two local fiddlers, blew them out of the water. After an intermission, the featured performers were <i>The Outside Track</i>, with members from Scotland (on accordian), Ireland (on guitar), British Columbia (on lead vocals), no fixed address (on harp), and Rankin cousin Mairi on fiddle, harmonies and step-dancing. They were terrific, although Mairi Rankin may have to take out a restraining order--my brother was that enthralled. He's sending her some photographs he took of her band at Lunenburg.</blockquote>
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Joke told by local fiddler Brenda Stubbert:<i></i></blockquote>
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<i> Old Mrs. MacIsaac loved to speed around her nursing home as fast as she could in her wheelchair. To humor her, the staff would periodically pull her over and pretend to write a speeding ticket, handing her a piece of tissue or other paper. One day, after such a "traffic stop", she sped off again, only to encounter old Mr. MacKenzie, holding his robe open with all his equipment hanging out. "Oh, no! Mrs. MacIsaac cries. "It's the breathalizer!"</i></blockquote>
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Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608424431600210451.post-91987035930296930732012-10-20T09:44:00.000-07:002012-10-23T05:11:34.277-07:00The Ceilidh Trail<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Patty's Place: The Traveler's Special for me, the BIG Breakfast for John</div>
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After a sumptuous breakfast at Patty's Place Restaurant in Hillsborough, my brother and I continued southeast and crossed into Nova Scotia at about noon. We followed the trans-Canada highway and reached the Canso Causeway, crossing into Cape Breton and taking the longer, more scenic Ceilidh Trail along the island's north/west coast.<br />
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The Canso Causeway</div>
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The Ceilidh Trail is a part of the Cabot Trail named for the numerous Celtic singers, dancers, fiddlers, pipers, and other musicians who live along its length. Ranking high among them is the Rankin family. Five of the Twelve Rankin children formed a highly successful musical group that recorded and performed together for ten years, Unfortunately, tragedy struck the family: Elder brother John was killed in a traffic accident several years ago, and middle sister Raylene recently succumbed to cancer.<br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pnc29VMiynE">The Rankins sing, dance, and play at Neil's Cove</a><br />
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Four of the Rankin sisters opened a pub, the Red Shoe, in their home village of Mabou. My brother and I stopped there at about 3:00 for a late lunch. John had local mussels and a glass of wine, while I opted for chili with andouille sausage and the locally brewed Red Shoe ale. We enjoyed our food immensely, but found ourself wishing it was later in the day when the ceilidh begins.<br />
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In front of the Red Shoe Pub in Mabou</div>
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Leaving the pub, we continued along past majestic coastal scenery and the promise of a spectacular sunset.<br />
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Looking back along the Cabot Trail</div>
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We passed the quaint village of Cheticamp, the site of John's previous Cape Breton whale watching expedition. The Cabot Trail provides frequent overlook areas for photographers, so we stopped at one as the sun was getting low in the sky.</div>
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We had turned northeastward into Cape Breton National Park by the time the sun had set. We reached our lodging, the Maven Gypsy Inn, well after dark and with 19 miles of range left in the gas tank. The range readout would continue to be a matter of concern for the remainder of the week, as my brother likes to gamble--especially when it's my turn to pay.</div>
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Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608424431600210451.post-51611148757396655192012-10-20T09:15:00.002-07:002013-02-09T06:04:00.156-08:00Bay of Fundy, New BrunswickMy brother John proposed a road trip to Cape Breton Island, which constitutes the northernmost section of Nova Scotia, to attend the Celtic Colours Music and Cultural Festival. We left Beverly on Monday, October 7th, headed north through Maine to Calais, and crossed into New Brunswick, following the Fundy Trail along the coast to Fundy National Park.<br />
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The Bay of Fundy has the highest tides in the world, and the tide ebbs
and flows at twenty miles per hour. The continual surge of fast water
erodes the rocky shores and leaves freestanding "flowerpots" with
full-sized trees growing and the top.<br />
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For a few a hours surrounding low tide, you can walk on the sea floor. People pile stones into cairns here to mark their presence. I've seen similar cairns at the Sedona vortexes, at the Block Island labyrynth, and at Thoreau's cabin site at Walden Pond.<br />
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This block of concrete, probably an old mooring block, is covered with cairns.</div>
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The Hopewell Rocks, referred to locally as "flowerpots" because of the flora on top, look to me like muffins when exposed by the ebbtide.<br />
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My brother is dwarfed by the bases of the Hopewell Rocks.</div>
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We stayed in a chalet in the National Park after a supper of seafood chowder in the nearby village of Alma.Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608424431600210451.post-79903745597994899872012-05-02T11:27:00.001-07:002012-05-02T12:45:29.696-07:00Walker'sIn March, I met up with some of my old college friends to attend the Big East Tournament at Madison Square Garden. Our team was eliminated early, but we did see some excellent games involving UConn, Syracuse, Georgetown, and Cincinnati. I also enjoyed MSG's $16 corned beef sandwich, complete with 4 inches of meat. We stayed at a hotel on 50th street, just off Broadway.<br />
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Despite the tournament, the high point for me was visiting <i>Walker's</i>, a pub in TriBeCa owned by my former college roommate Jerry. He also owns <i>Girello's</i>, an Italian eaterie next door.<br />
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Walker's is an extremely popular (check out the reviews!) old-school pub with hammered tin ceilings and ancient mahogany woodwork. There are two dining rooms in the back. The food is wonderful, and Jerry kept the freebie appetizers coming. His bartenders and servers did, however, benefit from his largesse.<br />
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<a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img align="middle" alt="Posted by Picasa" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" style="-moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; border: 0px none; padding: 0px;" /></a></div>Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608424431600210451.post-65835786098025583262012-02-03T18:25:00.002-08:002012-10-23T18:55:37.301-07:00Heavenly BodiesLiving on the Gulf of Mexico means celebrating the sunset every single night. People gather on the beaches, in beachside restaurants, and at local sites such as Pier 60 to share the spectacular, ever-changing phenomenon.<br />
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The Clearwater Pirate ship, photographed from Shephard's<br />
Tiki Bar, takes a Sunset Cruise every evening.</div>
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Clearwater Beach sunset at the end of a stormy day</div>
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Dusk on Siesta Key</div>
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The Wolf Moon rises over the Intracoastal Waterway<br />
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The sunrise at Clearwater Marina</div>
Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608424431600210451.post-42828499910422863012012-01-31T07:01:00.000-08:002012-01-31T07:01:10.465-08:00Avian Visitors<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWZ9z-VlNHliHzRbYB7LdwQkAlzRzGBleSGdMS0MH7RG-SjCOGmqbq36puZWIoQ1tbLBwHNyFmLaeAeDrxdwCYefr3e5Ty7zB5dBj3K-y0oiOU9IW2OBmcD_FStMDYRocsaT2AKNldgpU/s1600/408085_2994039258813_1497120841_2923455_1220974088_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWZ9z-VlNHliHzRbYB7LdwQkAlzRzGBleSGdMS0MH7RG-SjCOGmqbq36puZWIoQ1tbLBwHNyFmLaeAeDrxdwCYefr3e5Ty7zB5dBj3K-y0oiOU9IW2OBmcD_FStMDYRocsaT2AKNldgpU/s400/408085_2994039258813_1497120841_2923455_1220974088_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> I lived near a rookery of great blue herons when I lived on Peggoty Beach in Scituate. The birds were always skittish and difficult to approach, but in Clearwater they are as tame as gulls. This one was hanging around Pier 60.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG6RR0Ax7wIUyDxgGHgrqi28_VnQSP3pOcR01myE4WzDxvKlhe0xQpkoOwhFwpcyLqP0UNci2VwS2dm9NvRHOVgQeuvXAMew81Ec8ehR63lkeOgVn8eDY7VR3LE7uWT4HNLIkRF-aFII4/s1600/DSCN1427.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG6RR0Ax7wIUyDxgGHgrqi28_VnQSP3pOcR01myE4WzDxvKlhe0xQpkoOwhFwpcyLqP0UNci2VwS2dm9NvRHOVgQeuvXAMew81Ec8ehR63lkeOgVn8eDY7VR3LE7uWT4HNLIkRF-aFII4/s400/DSCN1427.JPG" width="341" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> This osprey liked to use our balcony as a fish-spotting platform.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQCCjfkH_fZDg9klvKC4wuVYRznkVqxVZ7YIIKAVpjAlqwtH9TbDAPWlnUN_erz0SlD14NEEUB8GemUi_qQ0sGMZgpMbhcm7aPJbOzuQyElCslGXMZTuEiMuxlYPPahDKfVzHz8UoqJ8/s1600/DSCN1429.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQCCjfkH_fZDg9klvKC4wuVYRznkVqxVZ7YIIKAVpjAlqwtH9TbDAPWlnUN_erz0SlD14NEEUB8GemUi_qQ0sGMZgpMbhcm7aPJbOzuQyElCslGXMZTuEiMuxlYPPahDKfVzHz8UoqJ8/s400/DSCN1429.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> An anhinga (water turkey, snakebird) dries his feathers on the dock after diving for fish.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijMjtBlBjw6Z-R1LrwydW-AkeU5GW0sXCIQidP3p7Wfg0JRzcaOOOaF1lAeYSTbHjSVn0L6XR0VWozuky-6Vx27GZAIUDfT-TigyWPa0RYlOTSnNKEcu38H9UmXNR2rwS0IW_NuV8C38I/s1600/DSCN1445.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijMjtBlBjw6Z-R1LrwydW-AkeU5GW0sXCIQidP3p7Wfg0JRzcaOOOaF1lAeYSTbHjSVn0L6XR0VWozuky-6Vx27GZAIUDfT-TigyWPa0RYlOTSnNKEcu38H9UmXNR2rwS0IW_NuV8C38I/s400/DSCN1445.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">An egret landed on our railing and stared at us through the slider.</div><div style="text-align: center;"> I finally relented and hand-fed him a piece of ham.</div>Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608424431600210451.post-45260444182417560692012-01-23T08:28:00.000-08:002012-01-23T14:07:21.481-08:00The CondoWe liked everything about the condo: the location, the layout, the space, the furnishings, the view. The living room and each of the three bedrooms were equipped with LCD televisions and I-homes for our Ipods.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjELcQBU0Q4J3kSCKqMNUdv8DJpbPfohyDAF90nx8ataTHBiMIgZ1YYTy44eQLu-8j5AIV9KK3z7Vz7KE9hByRqBhX81PrhJU-iXP-AyVgVjc8mgZTCa8DxWj33KNzZpyXNnNujVyH_6sA/s1600/4ee64b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjELcQBU0Q4J3kSCKqMNUdv8DJpbPfohyDAF90nx8ataTHBiMIgZ1YYTy44eQLu-8j5AIV9KK3z7Vz7KE9hByRqBhX81PrhJU-iXP-AyVgVjc8mgZTCa8DxWj33KNzZpyXNnNujVyH_6sA/s400/4ee64b.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Taken from the slider to the balcony, this picture show the living and dining areas and the kitchen.</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvun13oqPCxGeIPqpZcSZqVufsN0M9PO-Fg7a5_2TP7vKeXXZGNlHiacMI__LtxYOFPdl1MNILwVH3jD8gnH3u7_ch-zC-O9QewU5Ds1JOve2MXHgFmPH6eBT5AgpsI7KRWFBnv6rVqpg/s1600/331053.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvun13oqPCxGeIPqpZcSZqVufsN0M9PO-Fg7a5_2TP7vKeXXZGNlHiacMI__LtxYOFPdl1MNILwVH3jD8gnH3u7_ch-zC-O9QewU5Ds1JOve2MXHgFmPH6eBT5AgpsI7KRWFBnv6rVqpg/s400/331053.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The master bedroom</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"> The Harborview Grande faces northeast, overlooking a lagoon that opens to the intracoastal waterway. The view always included pelicans, and frequently dolphins and ospreys.The beach is across the street.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs-MDe6FlshRQrMIesfYHLR0VSSy-J_sAllARGdgRVUxaQQPPNtwEKLNCf8SmN2P8WVDTfP8v0vq97nCGnKpf4EimRLa9uUsN1ynhyphenhyphenYvx94ULucfxp2tCXssB6VkUfmnqbBfv_fnnzZqY/s1600/DSCN1388.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs-MDe6FlshRQrMIesfYHLR0VSSy-J_sAllARGdgRVUxaQQPPNtwEKLNCf8SmN2P8WVDTfP8v0vq97nCGnKpf4EimRLa9uUsN1ynhyphenhyphenYvx94ULucfxp2tCXssB6VkUfmnqbBfv_fnnzZqY/s400/DSCN1388.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">View from the balcony, looking right</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh63hOe6mJh7Il1wGI72kcge9ctisfyi4ANaECae9fv9_d576paPWjH1mfK7WUZgSq9WvBQR9gylsY1qwd_hBvzQJULLzJoRPyUT63iTUeEGMJDO0LKbV8Zj8paJW3WqbZwcRrEvuyGlxY/s1600/DSCN1389.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh63hOe6mJh7Il1wGI72kcge9ctisfyi4ANaECae9fv9_d576paPWjH1mfK7WUZgSq9WvBQR9gylsY1qwd_hBvzQJULLzJoRPyUT63iTUeEGMJDO0LKbV8Zj8paJW3WqbZwcRrEvuyGlxY/s400/DSCN1389.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">View from the balcony, looking left</div>Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608424431600210451.post-65929325224606649842012-01-14T15:15:00.000-08:002012-02-09T08:19:07.076-08:00Clearwater Beach: The Trip DownInstead of our usual brief junket to the Caribbean, Kathleen and I opted to take advantage of our mutual status as retirees by spending two full months in Clearwater Beach. Last winter's unprecedented snowfall made a compelling argument.<br />
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Kathy's propensity for motion sickness convinced us that I would take the Xterra southward while she battened down the hatches and then followed me via the air. I made the trip in short easy hops, relying on relatives for overnight stays: on the first night, I stopped in Greenwich where Joan and Don treated me to filet mignon; on the second night I stayed with Kathy and John in Silver Spring, where they treated me to an Afghan meal at <i>Faryab</i> in Bethesda. From their home it was a short ride to the Autotrain in Lorton, Virginia.<br />
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On the overnight trip I made the acquaintance of John Daly, author of several crime novels. After discussing books for a while, he good-naturedly declared me a literary snob, which I guess I am. Dinner and breakfast were served on the train. I didn't get a lot of sleep during the 17 hour trip, but all in all it wasn't a bad experience. I arrived in Sanford, Florida, and drove to the Orlando airport to pick up Kathy. Our transportation plan had worked to perfection.<br />
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It was about a 90 mile drive to Clearwater Beach. We arrived at our condo just as the sun was setting over the Gulf of Mexico.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Our home for January and February: the Harborview Grande</div>Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608424431600210451.post-15341606747937294022011-10-25T08:22:00.000-07:002012-10-07T07:52:54.310-07:00Old Cape Cod<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In September, we were the guests of Bonnie and Peter Rollins at his family's beach house, a large, comfortable, purposefully unmodernized home on its own peninsula in Orleans.<br />
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The chairs in the yard face Frostfish Cove, which connects to the Namequoit River, which leads to Little Pleasant Bay, which opens up to Pleasant Bay. Peter and I took the Boston Whaler all the way down to Chatham Light and back, passing the Wequassett Resort, the Chatham Fish Pier, and the Chatham Bars Inn along the way.<br />
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The porch has water views on three sides and is a great place to have breakfast on a late summer morning. <br />
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The living room is livable, not fancy, with the original dark knotty pine walls and beamed ceiling. The new television set is really the only accommodation to modernity that is apparent. The house is full of books, inviting the visitor to pour a drink, find a seat, and relax.<br />
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Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608424431600210451.post-77942451536793645902011-10-11T15:14:00.000-07:002012-01-02T11:33:49.288-08:00Greenwich, ConnecticutIn August we spent a week in Greenwich to help with Joan's recovery from chemotherapy. We had time to stop by several of Kathy's favorite places, and even went for pizza at the legendary Bruce Park Grill.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmzGTkputfuVQ9Hi40tMXoFJ-RrW4ElNLnvC_kU8ZfZtuTVT1aNozoPoKNGeKZXQk3OakcMqhU-8ecVCPvwWtJQnuydW_kw46E3LhoGQ7SRJPXPoc-Mw7yRZzSCzhtPzYpLF-Vnd_zWgY/s1600/DSCN1364.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmzGTkputfuVQ9Hi40tMXoFJ-RrW4ElNLnvC_kU8ZfZtuTVT1aNozoPoKNGeKZXQk3OakcMqhU-8ecVCPvwWtJQnuydW_kw46E3LhoGQ7SRJPXPoc-Mw7yRZzSCzhtPzYpLF-Vnd_zWgY/s400/DSCN1364.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The beach at Tod's Point, Old Greenwich</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM2L_U-U9Umm5wbP8a9e7JxgAToDBWscba030H28ShZWZ-FD-2TMDYiFyZ5dPSxZupyOjcCS_3YbT6EL-92XelJ-maAfSwr0Edn2rNVH5sUOtA8cpGo2i2OAuBpn-wlwnjYijAuOsku7E/s1600/DSCN1365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM2L_U-U9Umm5wbP8a9e7JxgAToDBWscba030H28ShZWZ-FD-2TMDYiFyZ5dPSxZupyOjcCS_3YbT6EL-92XelJ-maAfSwr0Edn2rNVH5sUOtA8cpGo2i2OAuBpn-wlwnjYijAuOsku7E/s400/DSCN1365.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Cos Cob harbor scene, reminiscent of the Cos Cob Art Colony</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Rq-w93o6JB864pkEfJIkXlsthkhmBgp9H3gPsY3zTjc17fCHfZ0HRPzM0dYMsa7KTxzRmPbzfL2UdEay8a8f_9f1FrGLYR8zfYhfTNdd67kxc34gHNALb4R4z0Rg65LeBHCWyBNgyq8/s1600/DSCN1370.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Rq-w93o6JB864pkEfJIkXlsthkhmBgp9H3gPsY3zTjc17fCHfZ0HRPzM0dYMsa7KTxzRmPbzfL2UdEay8a8f_9f1FrGLYR8zfYhfTNdd67kxc34gHNALb4R4z0Rg65LeBHCWyBNgyq8/s400/DSCN1370.JPG" width="318" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> Richard's wicked cool store in Old Greenwich</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivNAgJafn1YONnvfA3ctMojN6njteKMXcS7oY-VgPVL_Rfa-TIdcKatyvpzNiFToRLugSr3xOiL_DC2CSjs-W9uPJRT2j49Yn-jLgwmlR6LhWVQs-OA3plbgXWXPI7FIgO0LLjcoTHFvg/s1600/DSCN1371.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivNAgJafn1YONnvfA3ctMojN6njteKMXcS7oY-VgPVL_Rfa-TIdcKatyvpzNiFToRLugSr3xOiL_DC2CSjs-W9uPJRT2j49Yn-jLgwmlR6LhWVQs-OA3plbgXWXPI7FIgO0LLjcoTHFvg/s400/DSCN1371.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Greenwich Harbor from the bow of the Island Beach ferry<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1AHXKCVbzU1sQzLoJoLE09N7z1XKdDxxvaJyjpJlFsDEoB306Ww2CnEQWFYC_b8JnZ62k9kms8J8ylLeR-vIqT1m6dCI4lBzZynMQrUgCJpXeEjJHSZz92wUQ6FYlfJjFYl2vK051s0k/s1600/DSCN1374.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1AHXKCVbzU1sQzLoJoLE09N7z1XKdDxxvaJyjpJlFsDEoB306Ww2CnEQWFYC_b8JnZ62k9kms8J8ylLeR-vIqT1m6dCI4lBzZynMQrUgCJpXeEjJHSZz92wUQ6FYlfJjFYl2vK051s0k/s400/DSCN1374.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Indian River Yacht Club</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicVuWc5gywB3bCSOp1MEhJFXSHEVgr5jMO50fJLN9MZYFxAVN9ZZHgJO3MmtBcvwZudKHvJOQ62VDdaWiqW-zNW0lAvqRkXOZjqvJcktNkJZWhz2cVbJOSUsjv6a5rdKdGREVsJFkjtBQ/s1600/DSCN1375.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicVuWc5gywB3bCSOp1MEhJFXSHEVgr5jMO50fJLN9MZYFxAVN9ZZHgJO3MmtBcvwZudKHvJOQ62VDdaWiqW-zNW0lAvqRkXOZjqvJcktNkJZWhz2cVbJOSUsjv6a5rdKdGREVsJFkjtBQ/s400/DSCN1375.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
The ferry approaches Island Beach, just before a deluge;<br />
we enjoyed lunch from the cantina under a tin roof.<br />
<br />
</div>Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608424431600210451.post-60284287135380497472011-03-11T08:24:00.000-08:002011-03-19T21:04:12.335-07:00The Running of the Bu--er, Beds at Pamp--er, Puerto Plata<div style="text-align: left;">Along with our "deluxe" accommodations came the use of the "exclusive" section of the beach. This turned out to be a hundred yard expanse of beach equipped with mahogany canopy beds, numerous hot tubs, and two full-service bars. We first observed this phenomenon when we ate lunch at the sushi bar just above it. Our initial reaction was to mock the torpid guests who spent the entire day lolling on the mattresses while being served food and drink, interrupting their lethargy for an occasional dunk in the tubs or dip the ocean. I believe "walruses on an ice floe" might have been one of our dismissive terms.</div><br />
<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic6fkpy3MVvThrvWc6UB6r2_OhDLv-GQmnvQdcSWLD7JjOWZRsSyXT5Y7wFh_RFW_CLTMV2B8bY4Gyvq5Wizx0t48mTbnAJ2o8291wQzApgglrOLfkxi1SCGbsQWTNWGCrcjLyGJi2ZLk/s1600/DSCN1209.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic6fkpy3MVvThrvWc6UB6r2_OhDLv-GQmnvQdcSWLD7JjOWZRsSyXT5Y7wFh_RFW_CLTMV2B8bY4Gyvq5Wizx0t48mTbnAJ2o8291wQzApgglrOLfkxi1SCGbsQWTNWGCrcjLyGJi2ZLk/s400/DSCN1209.jpg" /></a> </div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">Nevertheless, the four of us agreed that we had to experience this level of dissipation at least once, so on our last full day--a Friday, and our first anniversary--I joined the 7 AM line of revelers waiting to stake out a claim. It soon became apparent that I was the only person in line who didn't know exactly which territory he'd be attempting to mark. The guest in front of me warned, "When the door opens, it's like the Oklahoma land rush."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I looked behind me, and was relieved to see a short, fat Englishman. "No competition there," I thought, "and he might even be useful to impede swifter competitors further back in line."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">At 8:00, the door was opened, and the guests hit the beach running. I attempted to retain a modicum of dignity by maintaining a fast walk until I saw the rotund Brit, legs churning like pistons, surge by me. I veered to the left toward the ocean and found two undisturbed king-size beach beds, which I claimed with two blue towels. Any article--a hat, a towel, a flip-flop--was enough to claim a bed. I had to warn away an interloper who had approached almost simultaneously from a different direction.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Relaxing, I began to survey my claim. I had staked out two king-size beds, all right, but there were problems. Of all the canopy beds, these two alone had no sheeting threaded through the canopies, and they were the only beds set up as gliders rather than on platforms. These conditions might be problematic when your wife of one year is blond, fair-skinned, and prone to motion sickness.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">I looked around and saw the beds I<i> should</i> have claimed: two abutting, fully sheeted, platform kings. But alas, a single green baseball cap marked them as belonging to another. As I gazed wistfully, a young woman suddenly removed the hat.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">"Are you leaving these?" I asked.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">"Yeah, I grabbed these on the way by, just in case. They're all yours."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I quickly peeled off my shirt and hurled it onto the beds, just ahead of a flip-flop that came from 30 feet away. The mother ship was ours!</div><br />
<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAWAkwmYBF7XxjaFjXXuE_b688yBFY-7LVV0RfDjxQ-2quCe_ZSuiSLIDJ6wnVtkAK6cHVw0vjk6MT5wms8sENpQV06Az3-cbwTcUsKi5CAO-_olpH_bSZnuv_p03ULAk1Wap9JFGLEac/s1600/DSCN1209.jpg"></a><br />
<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2obwXBDyohwoOM3WN3dnDzcyDlV48R0kdonqb_UsO7-jg737-siDxY0cEW_StLmckuSDDVd8LwvAmpRl9JVT4sQ_CpWa5MkJ0oBh9DOOHlsCi820nP3axOz0v_ZTmdtDmJhEa5w0lzOM/s1600/DSCN1259.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2obwXBDyohwoOM3WN3dnDzcyDlV48R0kdonqb_UsO7-jg737-siDxY0cEW_StLmckuSDDVd8LwvAmpRl9JVT4sQ_CpWa5MkJ0oBh9DOOHlsCi820nP3axOz0v_ZTmdtDmJhEa5w0lzOM/s400/DSCN1259.JPG" /></a> </div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div>Having marked the territory, I was free to join Kathy, Joan, and Boss for breakfast. We arrived back at the beach at about 9:30 and started our day with a round of Bloody Mary's. Over the next seven hours, we consumed champagne, beer, beach drinks, salsa and chips, sushi, and fried chicken, moving off the mattresses only to swim and use the facilities.<br />
<br />
Except for Joan, that is. She did the entire seven hours without once leaving the mother ship, not even for a bathroom break.Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608424431600210451.post-64115946112361858732011-03-08T09:29:00.000-08:002011-03-08T09:30:34.148-08:00Puerto Plata 2010This year's trip to the Dominican Republic brought relief from an unusually cold and snowy winter. We made excursions to the city for shopping and to the Cascada, and Boss and I went on a fishing trip, but most days we split between the beach and the pools.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidgkRU_BKysCQaBikJI6d8Id4F80w0R9mtitWjysQrpqYCXQRqCJo_a7fTNGJZOuNyQLONnJcwugK2hqy3Vn_QeeOxQbUUip4ONvo-IK61ti_YvMhVQZ1dVHZDbDKbc99czhT6SjqXfX4/s1600/Time+for+a+Presidente.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidgkRU_BKysCQaBikJI6d8Id4F80w0R9mtitWjysQrpqYCXQRqCJo_a7fTNGJZOuNyQLONnJcwugK2hqy3Vn_QeeOxQbUUip4ONvo-IK61ti_YvMhVQZ1dVHZDbDKbc99czhT6SjqXfX4/s400/Time+for+a+Presidente.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We paused for a cold one before attempting the long hike along (and through) the river to the waterfalls.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHrSEwpQyJk_UJtoADPwAUVVb7pMVguchAV-k5Tr3Wn5vOvGWUlQ2KxOVtsLRj92zEh03lW2O8GsKCgVFjJTWALBVj6VmIP8Nbamk2IfWDNaUkibeO0gvCRa1iZpfvYnYNspNh8R1qmgY/s1600/DSCN1211.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHrSEwpQyJk_UJtoADPwAUVVb7pMVguchAV-k5Tr3Wn5vOvGWUlQ2KxOVtsLRj92zEh03lW2O8GsKCgVFjJTWALBVj6VmIP8Nbamk2IfWDNaUkibeO0gvCRa1iZpfvYnYNspNh8R1qmgY/s400/DSCN1211.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Joan and Kathy settle in for lunch at the blue Lagoon.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyw4UZs3ZjO7RqBpEoQ6nDoew0kBj27PBxDGf46JvwPrGELAayfvGs1RKhA-CH130k1XOvKtsrVDzme0mXA0xpjqyEy_v4MXWzGQlFabTtdR63MH7oaaZXbp9eLcoBdt7n8kWhJZH71mo/s1600/DSCN1242.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="347" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyw4UZs3ZjO7RqBpEoQ6nDoew0kBj27PBxDGf46JvwPrGELAayfvGs1RKhA-CH130k1XOvKtsrVDzme0mXA0xpjqyEy_v4MXWzGQlFabTtdR63MH7oaaZXbp9eLcoBdt7n8kWhJZH71mo/s400/DSCN1242.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>The crew poses in front of the Puerto Plata city hall.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPTgbLMSymp53jl7mMBvU2xmaimcoqffgk4lZxfMo12dCO7VxEFkyLXMwDeT7mPPxdJ74Tdc4wOR4xrbJ70mf0mll_8kVJgCTb-OAcfaSrwCyz5-z32eq1l0GeEy6O9kOKz5BJUNFdubI/s1600/DSCN1210.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPTgbLMSymp53jl7mMBvU2xmaimcoqffgk4lZxfMo12dCO7VxEFkyLXMwDeT7mPPxdJ74Tdc4wOR4xrbJ70mf0mll_8kVJgCTb-OAcfaSrwCyz5-z32eq1l0GeEy6O9kOKz5BJUNFdubI/s400/DSCN1210.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>An amenity that seems to be a bit over the top: beds on the beach. More on this phenomenon later.</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608424431600210451.post-38652514574723094012010-11-23T08:38:00.000-08:002014-11-25T09:03:59.699-08:00A Blast from the Past<h2 class="date-header">
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7608424431600210451" name="113234863242224103"></a> <br />
<h3 class="post-title entry-title">
<a href="http://waterboywriting.blogspot.com/2005/11/thanksgiving-2002.html">Thanksgiving, 2002</a> </h3>
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<div class="post-body entry-content">
<strong>Dramatis personae</strong><br />
<br />
The Narrator<br />
Paula, my Godchild, three days a mother and Thanksgiving Day hostess<br />
Marc, her husband<br />
Megan, the newborn<br />
Nancy, my sister, Paula's mother<br />
Paul, her husband<br />
Susan, their daughter and my niece<br />
Erin Kate, my daughter<br />
The Visiting Nurse<br />
Maushop, the yellow Lab<br />
The Grammy, mother to Nancy and me, grandmother to Paula, Susan, and Erin Kate<br />
<br />
<strong>Praeludium</strong><br />
Monday<br />
Paula gives birth to her first child, Megan, a few weeks ahead of schedule. She insists that she will host her first Thanksgiving dinner in her new house, regardless.<br />
<br />
Wednesday<br />
Baby Megan develops a mild case of jaundice. She will need to spend time in a glowing bilirubin blanket when she goes home from the hospital. Paula continues to insist upon hosting the family gathering in her Hanover home.<br />
<br />
Wednesday Evening<br />
Susan drops off a brand new Thanksgiving outfit for the Grammy at River Bay Club, the Assisted Living facility in Quincy. Heavy snow begins.<br />
<br />
<strong>Thanksgiving Day—The Voyage</strong><br />
Quincy, 10 AM<br />
Eight inches of snow has fallen overnight. I attend the Quincy v. N. Quincy football game. My team loses. It is a foreboding sign.<br />
<br />
Quincy, 11 AM<br />
Two River Bay attendants manage to get the rather immobile Grammy into her new outfit.<br />
<br />
Hanover, 12 PM<br />
Family members begin to arrive at Paula’s house. Nancy and Susan have taken over much of the meal preparation duties.<br />
<br />
Quincy, 12 PM<br />
I arrive at River Bay Club. It has fallen to me to transport the considerably immobile Grammy to Hanover, approximately 12 miles. The Grammy is sitting in a chair wearing her new outfit. She announces that she has waited too long to pee, and if she moves, she will wet herself. I summon the attendants, who help her from the chair. The Grammy has predicted correctly.<br />
<br />
Hanover, 12:30 PM<br />
A Visiting Nurse arrives to demonstrate the use of the bilirubin blanket.<br />
<br />
Quincy, 12:30 PM<br />
The attendants have washed and changed the Grammy. I maneuver her downstairs via wheelchair and into the car. As I heft her into the passenger seat, the protective plastic is pushed aside by her rump.<br />
<br />
Quincy, 12:34 PM<br />
The Grammy announces that she has to pee again. We have driven one mile. She will continue to make this announcement every thirty seconds for the entire 12-mile trip. She has refused to wear a Depends, because they are for old people. She is 80.<br />
<br />
Hanover, 12:45 PM (Inside)<br />
The visiting nurse begins the bilirubin blanket demonstration. All present are in rapt concentration.<br />
<br />
Hanover, 1:05 PM (Outside)<br />
I pull into the driveway, confident that relatives will come streaming from the house to help maneuver the heavy and almost immobile Grammy into the house. No one comes out. As I try to shuck the Grammy from the shell of the car, she announces that she is "leaking". The brick walk is dappled with patches of snow. The chill factor is 0 degrees. I walk backwards, supporting the Grammy as we slowly totter toward the door, a grotesque slow-motion tango on the treacherous walk.<br />
<br />
Hanover, 1:10 PM (Inside)<br />
Everyone is absorbed in the visiting nurse’s demonstration. The doorbell begins to ring wildly and continuously. Susan wonders, "Who the h--- is that?"<br />
<br />
Hanover, 1:10 PM (Outside)<br />
I am holding up the collapsing, tinkling Grammy with one hand and frantically ringing the doorbell with the other. I wonder, "Where the f--- are they all?"<br />
<br />
Hanover, 1:11 PM<br />
The door opens. All becomes clear. Maushop begins barking ecstatically, doing his Happy Dance of Greeting, blocking the doorway.<br />
<br />
<strong>Thanksgiving Day—the Dinner</strong><br />
<br />
1:15 PM<br />
Susan and Erin Kate maneuver the Grammy into the bathroom for salvage operations. She emerges 15 minutes later in her emergency outfit, her third change of clothes in less than two hours. "When do we eat?" she asks.<br />
<br />
2:00 PM<br />
The family sits down to a sumptuous meal. The Grammy, as has become her habit, begins to load her plate with food and to eat before others are even seated.<br />
<br />
2:02 PM<br />
Marc, deeply affected by his first Thanksgiving as a father, begins to say Grace. He is unfazed by the loud bovine munching sounds in the background. His first heartfelt sentence is punctuated by the Grammy, announcing, "Gravy! I need gravy!" After his second sentence, his usually demure bride blurts out, "That’s enough! I’m hormonal! I just wanna eat!"<br />
<br />
2:45 PM<br />
The main course is complete. Susan and Erin Kate take the Grammy on a pre-emptive bathroom run. We are out of Grammy outfits.<br />
<br />
3:00 PM<br />
The Grammy enters the kitchen on the arms of Susan and Erin Kate. She announces, "I think I may throw up." And she does, in projectile fashion, her entire Thanksgiving dinner. Susan is a victim of the sidestream. Nancy catches most of the outflow in the empty mashed potato pot. I catch the second wave in a plastic pie-plate cover.<br />
<br />
3:15 PM<br />
The Grammy announces that she now has lots of room for dessert. She eats three pieces of pie—lemon meringue, pecan, and squash, all "slivers".<br />
<br />
3:40 PM<br />
John, younger brother to Nancy and me, calls from Washington, DC. The Grammy tells us that it’s nice that at least one of her children is thoughtful. She then tells her favorite Thanksgiving story, about how I ruined Thanksgiving dinner when I was eight. She tells it every year. My crime? I was sent to the store to buy cranberry sauce, and I came home with whole berry instead of jellied.<br />
<br />
4:00 PM<br />
The Grammy is exhausted and wants to go home. This time, she is escorted to the car by something resembling a rugby scrum. We discover that the RAV4’s passenger door lock is frozen from being open so long duringthe unloading. We have to tie the door closed with rope.<br />
<br />
4:00-4:30 PM<br />
I drive the Grammy home. With every left turn, the door opens about an inch, and she yells, "I’m falling out of the car!"<br />
<br />
4:45 PM<br />
The Grammy is safely ensconced back in River Bay Club. "Who’s doing Christmas dinner?" she asks. </div>
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</div>
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Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608424431600210451.post-62059197923403569442010-11-23T08:30:00.000-08:002010-11-23T08:32:04.476-08:00Welcome, Ryan<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFeoPjlL88j9ztUYhAYXq3aIkc74lrxW2UOZQonUwIglXzydDWOS1FmnL8pGMyvifNx38JZlc_6DMRlEWhMmO7ZRiBhc79u-xSUwECc6QfoSy3KSl9ergdFy3SMqK59BJDEC-a4JDjs1k/s1600/DSCN1189.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFeoPjlL88j9ztUYhAYXq3aIkc74lrxW2UOZQonUwIglXzydDWOS1FmnL8pGMyvifNx38JZlc_6DMRlEWhMmO7ZRiBhc79u-xSUwECc6QfoSy3KSl9ergdFy3SMqK59BJDEC-a4JDjs1k/s320/DSCN1189.JPG" style="clear: both; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There are few better feelings in the world than holding a new<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">grandchild. Ryan Thomas McShane arrived on his due date.</div></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeHZ9zTIMy5bI66fBYgRMLWbJMgg4f_P4bXKp_TpP0BBTv62GaJUY-gQabsHIJb_vfvC1XxCJpp7Hep0a0HwMm1DxjjXX298J35RR4nmhC29N3x-kwC97Sc3TsCimzf6V9vq1PNgerrD8/s1600/DSCN1191.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeHZ9zTIMy5bI66fBYgRMLWbJMgg4f_P4bXKp_TpP0BBTv62GaJUY-gQabsHIJb_vfvC1XxCJpp7Hep0a0HwMm1DxjjXX298J35RR4nmhC29N3x-kwC97Sc3TsCimzf6V9vq1PNgerrD8/s320/DSCN1191.JPG" style="clear: both; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The proud parents, Matt and Christine</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzZzldEghXZJMEONdlaAYngzUH5z3faYNJFthb1CzL01Sw7jE3NhwQDtflpB6x3eo7vpJ-sxfQ3xS_Y-x5kDFPN0m_OARPxgK-wLJVJPFWFJjREkFY1z5roBSyVSpJFcyhjjshDhoocQE/s1600/2010Oct27_Ryan_Evan_4754c2-1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzZzldEghXZJMEONdlaAYngzUH5z3faYNJFthb1CzL01Sw7jE3NhwQDtflpB6x3eo7vpJ-sxfQ3xS_Y-x5kDFPN0m_OARPxgK-wLJVJPFWFJjREkFY1z5roBSyVSpJFcyhjjshDhoocQE/s320/2010Oct27_Ryan_Evan_4754c2-1.jpg" style="clear: both; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Evan is just loving his new role as a big brother.</td></tr>
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<a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img align="middle" alt="Posted by Picasa" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 50% transparent; border: 0px none; padding: 0px;" /></a></div>Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7608424431600210451.post-40211045506017303312010-08-24T14:53:00.000-07:002011-10-11T19:59:15.475-07:00Gratuitous Vacation Photographs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhpA-yhyphenhyphenFkgRR6rb4mpiFklY9jdeIe5KYmG9dsp6D_141LuXD44t_Uq0iRSmvon9CV1dhPg_OFFmIr2L-k4L5ZsIaE_iwSXrF990P4DXy9rnYTbnNEC2wGFixBUZoCoiJSe34NvbEHcOE/s1600/DSCN1165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhpA-yhyphenhyphenFkgRR6rb4mpiFklY9jdeIe5KYmG9dsp6D_141LuXD44t_Uq0iRSmvon9CV1dhPg_OFFmIr2L-k4L5ZsIaE_iwSXrF990P4DXy9rnYTbnNEC2wGFixBUZoCoiJSe34NvbEHcOE/s400/DSCN1165.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Waquoit Bay jetties, with Martha's Vineyard on the horizon</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_a2zyIehtjQu-tbFE4FMcc6Tb4l68qf5uiTi4LcOGQxhp1hq6kwLKLhvUMzOtk4QvFCMQ6SIhVWtaAtPnRDFaq2wFq39vK88XbXquQ9c7LxBPKBseshBMoNb726jxxULQ0mzjYcoN3_8/s1600/DSCN0814.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_a2zyIehtjQu-tbFE4FMcc6Tb4l68qf5uiTi4LcOGQxhp1hq6kwLKLhvUMzOtk4QvFCMQ6SIhVWtaAtPnRDFaq2wFq39vK88XbXquQ9c7LxBPKBseshBMoNb726jxxULQ0mzjYcoN3_8/s400/DSCN0814.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Oak Bluffs, Martha's Vineyard<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5rLPqnq0SnK54P84ARVcgac8u0_FVse39OO-KLQc8YWwqSXwtv_hH-g58xD5EyZoq-sDNO5pgXA3Z47v_jHfJsXPt71zIC_9D6VlMWBIEHLf01tZIOgfdMuRmOebozkwpYovLwq-9dIQ/s1600/DSCN1160.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5rLPqnq0SnK54P84ARVcgac8u0_FVse39OO-KLQc8YWwqSXwtv_hH-g58xD5EyZoq-sDNO5pgXA3Z47v_jHfJsXPt71zIC_9D6VlMWBIEHLf01tZIOgfdMuRmOebozkwpYovLwq-9dIQ/s400/DSCN1160.JPG" width="400" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;">Rose hips, rosa rugosa, South Cape Beach Reservation</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim-K5wPT4JhSX975V7inTXQ3RklShs6eTq5o83AtEHqSndGqS7bzqBkpSktmPs20kUP5FiZSZs8gm6IGBLjKIv4sDVD7uWkbFofUtJQefOrGD1V0JB0YgnGnBypDmDh9jqofOzeNfXIiE/s1600/DSCN1152.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim-K5wPT4JhSX975V7inTXQ3RklShs6eTq5o83AtEHqSndGqS7bzqBkpSktmPs20kUP5FiZSZs8gm6IGBLjKIv4sDVD7uWkbFofUtJQefOrGD1V0JB0YgnGnBypDmDh9jqofOzeNfXIiE/s400/DSCN1152.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Merlot grapes, Cape Cod Winery, Falmouth<br />
. </div>Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05566267303671253480noreply@blogger.com