Bonjourno:
“The place you are right now, God circled on a map for you” …………………………………………..Hafiz
“The butterfly counts not months but moments……and has time enough” ………………………Rabindranath Tagore
“Even Richard Nixon has got SOUL” …………………………………………………………………………………..Neil Young
Well, it’s been a thing here on The Mount for the last week, filed with wonder, discovery, and the long slow coming of autumn. The Greens are turning to a lesser green daily (de-greening?), but not much color, which may be the result of our extended drought (oh, the poor POND) or in general protest of the effect that Herr Trumpster is still on the loose.
And, what a couple of g-daughter weeks, not only did Sloanie-Baloney start pre-school, but our oldest, the grand Quin-Lily traipsed off to kindergarten, starting her journey towards adolescence, when we will find her temporarily psychotic for 6-7 years. Time flies, NO?
Monday we made the trek to Albany in almost 100-degree heat- it’s a lot hotter down there than up here- to get Sister Jane off and back to Cow-Town and wandered home with stops at the Grand Wally world and the classic Diner drive through (ostensibly for lunch, but mostly for the Greek rice pudding to die for) on way home and got back to the contemplative life (well, not The Queen, who got busy with Monarchy duties).
I made my fourth trip to try and find a primary care doc in either Vermont or Ohio since my beloved doc of 42 years had the audacity to retire….it appears one has to find a 20-year-old kinder-doc to be assured they won’t die or retire before you…. I am just about done answering questions about my bowel movements (regular)and use of recreational drugs (never-how dare you).
Thursday, we made the long awaited trip down to the bowels of Connecticut to check off one from my bucket list and see Van the Man in Bridgeport. The trip down I-91 is a breeze until you hit the crazed Northeast corridor once south of Springfield, Mass. And then it is suicide bomber central- but we made it to the fair Grand Marriott and then had a gorgeous night in cosmopolitan B-port…where we saw more people of color in five minutes than in the last three months in The Greens. Wandered around the late urban afternoon sunlight and found a Jamaican food dive where we had best Rasta food outside of Caribbean (for less than the cost of one beer inside the amphitheater). The Hartford Health amphitheater is a beauty- around 2K seats with a dome cover for rain and wonderful acoustics and they even let me go back to the car (despite a hundred NO-REENTRY signs) to get my glasses.
What’s there to say about Van the Man? He is a legend in our time (and clearly in his own mind). Two hours of musical magic with an over the top down and dirty 11-piece band –and a surprise visit-from Irish R&B legend (and Van protégé) James Hunter. That is way upside for The Man who has released 56 monumental studio albums since 1966. Downside? He is one the worlds’ great curmudgeons, never smiling or having any contact with the audience (not even a nod) and barking at the terrified musicians who must never last more than one tour…a genuine a-hole of a human, but-oh-the vibe-……Van played a gutful of harmonica and sax, which is unusual these days, and closed with a rousing Gloria from his 1966 album The Them. After he rooster-strutted off stage with nary a nod, the band kept at it for a full 20 minutes- clearly, freed from tyranny, and gleefully soloing, even working in an extended Moondance riff.
Checked off the bucket box-one and one- love the musician, can do without the man.
Morning after had the GRAND buffet breakfast at the hotel along with all the band members, who clearly stayed and traveled separately on a tour bus, while Van was at some penthouse and being chauffeured to the next gig.
Got back Friday afternoon, having had as much time away as we could stand from our third, Ms. Lucy- Lu; we get melancholia leaving her behind when she generally goes everywhere with us. And since out weekend guests, had postponed arriving for a day, we went down to Okemo for the annual visit of the Beatles Wannabes at the free mountain concerts. They still have the same two brothers leading the outfit for years (John and George) but the new Paul was around 90 and the new Ringo around 14, and it was definitely a downhill trend. My late, great friend, Steve (the Jewish Fish Monger) was rolling over in his grave at the dishonor to his beloved Fab Four I’m sure…………………but a gorgeous night on the mountain with picnic and frolicking mutts everywhere.
Late Saturday, my young friend and former Yard boy (all time 1st ballot YB hall of famer) Marcus arrived with wife Sara and little 2 y/o Maddie–and we spent a delightful weekend traipsing around. Headed into Rutland on Friday for Ramuntos pizza pick up and dining al fresco at my chiro’s office by the lovely pond and then in search of Creamees before closing which we scored at the West Rutland snack bar. Sunday we coaxed Maddie for a walk on the Appalachian Trail-and lasted as far as the magic swinging bridge and rock throwing in the dwindling river, then home for nap. Spent the afternoon at the annual Blues/Folk fest at the Calvin Coolidge historical site, which could not have been more perfect- with classic fall day and the mountains surrounding in the background.
The Queen did her toddler-whispering with lil’ Maddie and won her over, though she seemed to regard Papi as potential Cookie Monster right up until leaving time this morning, but she was transfixed by the kitty Kats. And we got to visit with our old friend, big Lucy, who is in decline, but was our Lucy’s first mentor when she was a pup. They took off this am for the Vermont Country Store for tchotchke heaven -and the trek back to Philly -and we are now trying to settle back in after all the excitement- and it’s a perfect rainy day for it.
Was sitting at a stop sign coming back from the Fest yesterday, when some guy in a badass pickup (foreshadowing?)- turned right, going by me and putting head and hand out to shoot me the bird-out of nowhere- which made me reflect on the level of unprovoked hate we live with these days. Tell me baby, why you been gone so long?
It’ be a long time comin’…gonna be a long time gone……
Buenos notches, Estuardo
