Author: stumberry

Oh Brother, How Art Thou?

“The sparrow is sorry for the peacock at the burden of his tail” ……………… Rabindranath Tagore

“All is one, one is none, none is ALL” ……………………………………………. ZEN

“I got you Babe” ……………………………………………………………………Sonny Bono

Feelin’ the RAMBLE this morning, after a week of sturm and drang…so going with the abstract form……. the swelling is in the telling….

Sunday last was trekkin’ day, per custom, and off we went to the high country between Rutland and Danby in search of the museum of dirt roads; finding a beauty, complete with miles of matrices of hanging maple lines crisscrossed with raging streams, water wheels and vistas………  eventually leading us back to the draw of the two slice of special at Ramuntos…….  Just in time for roving alarms signaling the rare occurrence of tornadoes in the mountains……….  No climate change here……

The day the music died…………  Reminded this past Monday that weekly Folk Club at The Mount is not quite pulling into Bunty Station……………  Circles and song sheets are a poor replacement for soulful inspiration……….  Where are the men that I used the sport with?

Tuesday sauna workout at the Springhouse at Okemo Mt………….  Upside: the building and the facilities are all mine ….and what a view…….  Downside: broken air conditioning and working out in 89° heat…….  Must not be any free lunch……

Check out the photo of the new Library Maven’…………  my new volunteering gig at the Mount…….  Consisting of a two-hour weekly shift shooting the breeze with various local visitors and waiting for a train……….  My own library romper room…….

Has anyone checked out the HBO documentary on the history of Stax/Volt music? …………Otis, Sam and Dave, the Fabulous Bar-Kays, Isaac………… This may be the real American music………. the role of soul…….

Mid-week role into town to visit in Rutland Co-op……….  To acquire various seeds, stems, and bin potions for The Queens’ concoctions……………  I had to fight my way in, wielding a large organic carrot, due to my failure to own, wear or display a pair of Birkenstocks………….

Our new ambition to rid our barn (and souls) of 40 years of unwanted crap has resulted in a personal mandate to haul a minimum of five items per week to the dump……….  This week we made a special trip on Wednesday night with a whopping 10 plus items, of dubious distinction, loading down our trunk………  who knew that The Dumpmaster convenes his entire court mid-week…………  Clearly this is the place to see, be seen and conduct all forms of nefarious business………….  Much of our junk did not even make it to the bins, before being swallowed up by the hordes of shark like mountain folk…. …..

TQ is currently on the project rampage…….  Yard barely recognizable………….  Secret items arriving daily to the neighbors mailbox (she thinks I don’t know) ………..  This week she banished me to the basement to clean 10 years of dust and debris, requiring the double N-95 masking……… …while upstairs a new window appeared in my bathroom and plans were made for multiple construction projects……………  The coming week will apparently herald the initiation have a multiyear house painting project, led by the brand new assistant Dumpmaster……

I returned for the first time in some years to the table of the Masseuse in Da Trailer for hot rocks, suction and a full assessment of my spiritual wellbeing while she manhandled my ancient bones…

Friday we made our way down the iconic Taconic…….  filled with memories of my long ago childhood treks with my long gone father to West Point…. reasons unknown……  but always including a stop at the beloved Chief Martindale Diner (the real deal) ……still in business….and hosting our visits almost 70 years later….

This led us to our usual 24-hour annual whirlwind trip to visit my Cousins in the Big Apple surroundings…………  Five meals, 60,000 carbs and too much wine later we made our way home last night……….  Family- finding has become a mission of mine in my waning years….  And we were able to gather eight Cousins together for the traditional meal meeting at one of a dozen Italian Restaurants in the affluent Burb of Tuckahoe….

We stayed with my closest cousin in her high-rise apartment in the last bastion of Jewishness left in the five Boroughs………….  In a building self-contained to survive the next nuclear war and containing somewhere in the neighborhood the 10,000 scurrying souls……….  All of which proves to be a startling delights to Lucy, who must have been a very urban dog in a previous life……  who knew that she knew from elevators, noisy apartment neighbors and pissing on concrete? …  Bonus was a Saturday morning jog to a classic bagel emporium during the height of the rush hour to the massive Riverdale Shul…………  Bobbing and weaving through the hustling, suited and yarmulke bearing, murmuring observers of the faith………  leaving them a bit startled as I whizzed uttering “Good Shabas”, from what must have appeared to be a lunatic fifth Goy with a dog and a bag of bagels….

Not to mention stopping every 20 yards to snap photos of the quaint little Hobbit houses that probably sell for four million dollars….to Jews and Goys alike……….  there is some ancient, primeval attraction to these places I’ve spent years trying to leave behind, yet which emerges the moment I hit NYC traffic and my inner taxi driver returns from hiatus….

And is there a more alluring sight than the mighty Hudson River making its way from THE great city to the mountains and beyond….

Well, much as there is many more ramble to tell….that must wait for another time as we have to go see a man about a guitar…….  Don’t ask

So, until we meet again, may the sun warm your shoulders, and may you find a real slice of pizza regardless of your location……

Estuardo

Bonosera, Bonosera“White dew over the potato field…. the Milky Way” ………………….Shiki

“What a caterpillar calls the end of the world, we call a butterfly” …………………………..Eckhart Tolle

“Be THE Ball” ………………………………………………………………………………………..Caddyshack Zen

The Hot Tamale Heat Wave hit The Greens this week; pumping out near 100° heat for several days.  The Queen went haywire with temperature control……. opening and closing every window in the house, multiple times a day, for four or five days- ostensibly either keeping the heat out or containing the cool in.  Regardless of our interior state, midweek resembled a blast furnace outside- a rare occurrence in our mountain idyll.  We even resurrected the ancient window air conditioner to assist with sleep in the upper sauna.  Then, lo and behold, thunderstorms hit, and within hours we were huddled in blankets against the night chill-very Mountainesque.

We started the week last Sunday in search of a Father’s Day dinner; the dining out experience now akin to searching for the lost city of Atlantis.  After finding two advertised- as- open places closed and boarded, and sitting around a third totally chaotic waiting area, we bit the bullet and settled for Applebee’s………really Applebee’s (though, I am ashamed to admit that the 2 fer 25 is alluring-not quite free lunch- but alluring nonetheless). 

Filled with plentiful, if unspectacular, dinner fare, we sought a short grocery run- continuing our experiment with doing our shopping at the low rent Price Chopper; after weeks of disgust with Hannaford’s skyrocketing prices and failure to stock what we want.  The Chopper clearly appeals to a different clientele……. who apparently are now us.  The highlight of our trips there is often the assistance we require, and receive, at the barely functioning self-checkout; delivered in adventurous style by an extremely cross-eyed young man who is clearly on the spectrum and probably with Asperger’s; our interactions often involving something approaching pantomime.

Can anyone tell me what exactly a Webinar is, anyway?

In the highlight of the week, we returned on Tuesday to the splendor of the lovely Hub at Weston dining room for the monthly community lunch gathering.  We were amongst a small group in the very upscale, faux –rustic-mountain cottage dining room and clearly the youngest people there by a decade or more.  Not only did we enjoy a spectacular gourmet luncheon (almost Downton- Abbey-esque) but we were sent packing with multiple take out portions for friends in need back at The Mount.  Sadly, we were unable to deliver these in a timely fashion, and ate them instead.  I am reassured in my belief, that there is indeed Free Lunch. (ya feelin’ me, Feel?)

Lucy and I have resumed weekly dirt road walks with the Erstwhile Russian Spy; often resulting in long and in winding remembrances of life on The Mount; most of which are clearly fabricated, but fascinating nonetheless; and who am I to take issue with fabrication?  This week the walk started right outside our door in sprinkles, and up the hill to the home of the displaced Southies thru a roaring thunderstorm, returning Le Spy to our house drenched…just in time for dinner date.

After the heat, the chill and the downpours, Friday was nice enough for a day trip out to the Middlebury area.  We decided to take a long-cut, heading west over to Castleton and then up Route 30, a remarkably lovely drive, through the verdant Champlain valley; miles and miles of rich green farmland surrounded by The Greens to the west and the Adirondacks to the east.  Our reward was lunch from never-changing Momma Corleone, at the eccentric Costello’s Italian deli, nestled covertly in the fascinating old Marble Works section of Middlebury.  In between rain drops, we settled for dinner on the ground next to the raging river, with the old Marble factories looming in the background.

Saturday, after a belabored visit to the Dumpmaster, and his new protégé, we had a fine beat-the –rain walk on a nearby dirt road before settling in for rainy afternoon nap.  We are expecting severe storms this afternoon, likely to preempt our planned outing to an outdoor Weston playhouse performance up by Ascutney, which we may alternately catch in Grafton, later this week.  The show is really directed at children under 12, but there is free lunch, so what the hey?

Planning to hit The Trailer for massage this week from the elusive Masseuse, and make the trek down to The Apple later in the week to see the aging Cousins, of which I might add, I am the youngest; you go boy……….

Time to go and inspect the weed growth for this week.  Be brave, Be kind, Be curious.  Till then……

Papi-San

Bonjour mes Belles Personnes:

Happy Father’ Day to all whom the shoe fits……or foo shits…….

“Coming or going, always at home” …………………………………………………………..Zen

“The cool breeze takes up its abode……even in a single blade of grass” …………….…Issa

“Yes, I’m workin’ my way back to you, babe…with a burnin’ love inside” ……………….Bob Gaudio

Father’s day Sunday morning sunshine abounds, but I wake from hazy sleep with questions on my mind.

Is there a connection between the price of milk and high percentage of people living off social programs in the state of Vermont?

How important as garnish?

Is it a traditional father’s day gift for the birds to tweet and the train to Choo Choo at 5:00 AM on the designated morning?

We started our week with the traditional Sunday night visit (clearly a Jewish thing) to the splendor of East for long awaited reunion with the roast duck with pine nuts.  Lovely setting on the road to Killington, white tablecloths, Asian elegance, prices that defy the cost of Chinese Food anywhere else.

On the way, we got in a walk with Lucy and discovered a major new dirt road opp; running off route 103 on the old, and currently closed, Airport road.  This is a Bermuda Triangle walk, in which one could disappear, and leads to an old gristmill and mid 1800s covered bridge being rebuilt.  No cars, no people, rear of the regional Airport security massive fence, hillside overkill- are there terrorists targeting the Rutland regional Airport?

It appears that are Belmont General store is getting close to reopening, after two years of closure and massive rehabilitation- which may foreshadow no longer having to make a road trip to pick up butter, or beer- though there is some question of whether the new owners have any sense of the local’s needs or are trying to create a tourist mecca destination in the middle of nowhere.

Have I mentioned how difficult it has been to locate new release library books here in The Mount; currently I have the Mount Holly and Ludlow libraries competing for my esteemed business- as in which one is able to locate any book released in the last millennium.

My weekly trip to Rutland for the comprehensive shopping day provided an opportunity to continue my search for a lunch less than $13.00; I scored the $6.00 high-quality breakfast sandwich at Olivia’s Market- which is the equivalent of free lunch.  See, there is free lunch.

Thursday night we made our first visit of the year to the Weston Playhouse to see the Vermont style production of Jersey Boys; more impressive then you might imagine from the oldest summer stock theater company in the country.  We met our favorite Southie (well, maybe co-favorite) from the castle at the top of Bowlsville road, for a wonderful dinner in the exclusive Hub at Weston, connected to the theater; supping on the terrace on a magnificent summer eve whilst being served by an array of extremely precise and well-coiffed young men- what a night!

At the Dump this week, I encountered the new sub Dumpmaster, who claims to be a skilled handyman which we have arranged to find out.  The true Dumpmaster apparently remains dubious.

Last night we attended a small birthday dinner cookout at the Masseuse in the Trailer’s place, for her partner, Metal Mike.  The Masseuse has been out of circulation for the past two years after a series of losses; so it was a big occasion and revolved around their new state of the art gas griddle (compared to the half assembled built one our barn that has mystifying Korean instructions and that we bought for $75.00 at Walmart).  Since COVID, Metal Mike has also become a mixology connoisseur, so we had giant fu-fu concoctions of unknown origin along with brilliantly griddled smash burgers.

It has been an interesting week all the way around, but the absolute highlight the week (maybe of the decade) was our trip midweek down to Manchester to pick up the print job for TQ’s Association for their annual mail stuffing solicitation.  We intended to dine as the Burmese hole in the wall we discovered last year run by the Soup Nazi and his lovely wife; who makes bearing the NAZI worthwhile.  Sadly, they were closed, which is unpredictable- so we settled for a New York style pushcart meal of hot dogs with mustard and sauerkraut in a parking lot, served by middle age lady claiming to have “the best buns in town”- which turned out to be true.

From there, we headed out of town on quaint route 7A to find the print shop, which was set in a small industrial park. While TQ went in to see to the printing, I went next door to what appeared to be a confectionery and chocolate haven. Entering, I realized it was more production then retail.  I was about to leave when the gentleman behind a glass partition in the vestibule asked if he could help me. As I turned to him he yelled out my name and came rushing out to greet and embrace me.  Ron, the owner of Mother Myricks’ deserts, and we had met at a wine and music dinner at the Manchester Inn seven years ago and he asked, at the time, to be added to the Blog mailing list.  Turns out, he is likely the number one follower to my blog (did not even know I had followers”), is an avid reader, waits each Sunday for the Blog release with baited breath; he and his wife Jackie had actually discussed coming to find us in The Mount so that they could meet the various characters that populate the weekly Sunday sermon.

To say that this freakishly chance meeting made the day for both of us, would be a gross understatement.  It was like finding a long lost treasure and allowed me to figure out who one of my subscriber email addresses actually belonged to.  Turns out we share a plethora of cultural interests, and that Ron is fond of quoting the blog to his long suffering wife and looking up various and sundry lyrical obscura references I include for my own amusement, and am never really sure anyone else or really cares.  Ron insisted we go back into town to visit his wife at the retail location; which resulted in quizzical looks and very fine desserts, before stopping back to see Ron and snap a photo, which he dressed up for and seemed to view as equivalent to being on the cover of Rolling Stone.

Ron, this BLOG’s for you!!!!!! My newest friend and best reader. Long May You Ron.

What can I say, one in a million——who loves Blog, Blog….…we love Blog, Blog.

Till next time,

 Papi

Hola:

“There comes a time when one asks of Shakespeare, even of Beethoven, “Is this all?” ………………………………………………………………………………. Aldous Huxley

“There will always be suffering, but we must not suffer over the suffering” …………………………………………………………………………………………………. Alan Watts

“Truth is something you stumble into when you think you are going someplace else” ……………………………………………………………………………………Jerry Garcia  

Did you ever have to make up your ind? ……To pick up one and leave the other behind? It’s not often easy, it’s not often kind…did you ever have to make up your mind?…………………………..

Kids in Disney’s very hot summer universe pix attached for viewing….

Oh Queen, where art thou? The Queen (TQ) has re-established her court in The Mount….connecting with her volunteer efforts, her bone building, her posse and her rituals….out an about doing the deeds daily….developing new efforts to hand re-invent the land with the evisceration of our rear section of overgrowth; now housing a varietal of dug up and relocated saplings abducted from many trails and dirt roads…….and in her efforts to eradicate mowable space has now erected a tomato tent smack dab in the middle…she spends her days swathed in white fiber and black fly netting happily humming her way around the manse…dreaming up new and better projects…

Whilst, TQ engages in her efforts at yard eradication, social change and woman power, I search for lunch. I search near and I search far – and am befuddled by the utter lack of options regardless of direction….Since Covid, eating option losses include: beloved Sal’s in Wallingford, once beloved Sam’s Steakhouse (early bird deal of the century), the only locals place in tourist-bound Ludlow (Da café at DaLite), local legend Harrys , the local subway (only a slab now), and our closest grocery store and drug store-and of course, our local general store (closed two years now, and still under perpetual construction)….we are evaporating…..there is still lunch around- at about $13 a sandwich pop….which far. far exceeds my sensibilities and my allowable dally quota………where have all the flowers gone…where is the free lunch…where art the men that I used to sport with?………

Dirt road walks have resumed in earnest…with Lucy Lou far racing off into the woods to chase the very evasive “chippie” (any form of rodent that runs away) ……and …… to come back covered in a- animal shit, b- dead animal carcass, c- poison ivy or d- Lyme-bearing Ticks……………. it’s a dangerous world out there…….

Transitioning from suburban convenience to the rural mountain landscape always creates adjustments.  But these have become increasingly challenging (post Covid-post floods) and represents daily exotic (NOT erotic!) puzzles to solve.  Obtaining a jug of milk is akin to crossing the frontier in a covered wagon, sometimes amounting to an hour and a half of roundtrip journey.  This week I continued my mountain auto and phone journeys; finding my way back to the original sin, car dealer dealership to resume my efforts at defeating the random, flashing error lights that haunt my vehicle- this all before my 100,000-mile warranty expires next week. 

Even more challenging has been the amazing quest to secure a battery that might permit my medieval cell phone to take advantage of the newly spectacular availability of cell service at The Mount- with our switch to lovable Consumer Cellular.  But alas, not a battery within a 2-hour drive and the online mavens take a full week plus to find us- and that, only by having the orders sent to a fake mailbox belonging to the Masseuse at the Trailer.  Having finally been notified of delivery, I found her mailbox empty, then realizing that the benevolent, but not so competent, folks at the government’s mail dictatorship had kindly decided to not deliver to the proscribed address- but instead to lovingly hold this for me at my post office box- which had just closed for the next two days.  In disbelief, we messaged our friendly former postmistress, who agreed to meet us at the boarded up facility, to allow us access the long sought forbidden fruit; only to discover we had been sent the wrong battery.  Apparently, No phone for Bonzo- not yet, not today, maybe Tuesday…..  Did I mention some things are more challenging in the mountains?

Has anyone watched “The Patient” on Hulu……….  Role of a lifetime and show of the year………..  A rare piece of true small screen art………  Watch for coming review.

Is anybody watching the NBA playoffs?  Hard to maintain interest in June for the 50 million dollar men……….  It’s time for baseball, no?

Been trying to use speech recognition to offset constant stress of typing…. with mixed results.  While dictating this I coincidentally passed gas, resulting in the computer asking me “what was that?”

On the upside of mountain transitions, there is a fine dirt road waiting around every bend, the wonderfully empty Spring house at Okemo as my personal exercise facility and trails in the woods directly outside my door to romp down for my jogs…………  Not to mention the plethora of Creamee opps, shimmering lakes, regular jaunts to the one and only Ramuntos pizza, farmer’s markets ubiquitously placed and 85 degrees’ days with no humidity. 

Our mountain milieu provides a comforting safe harbor after the fruitless search for something resembling free lunch and a half day spent going to town for provisions, like some Friday night’s farmer’s ritual ….and then cruising Rutland’s’ miracle mile, back and forth, for hours on end, searching for one good thing…. left de circle…………….…right de circle……

Today we will try to connect with the legendary Trout King-to get The Pond its annual burst of macrobiotic energy in the form of his magic $300 secret bucket of nutrients, then a possible visit to a cancer ailing friend and the wiling away of what looks like a rainy day- such is a Sunday in the Greens.

Until we meet again can-just try and reach me…. if you can …. good luck with that.  Be well one and all.

Estuardo