H and I just came back from Rutland. It was an aimless sort of drive that began with a purpose but whittled down to merely being together under sunset-edged cloud-filled skies. He returns to Boston tomorrow and I stay in VT for a few more days with a vacuumed living room, new mat on the kitchen floor and a clean bathroom. The bathroom and the vacuuming are fringe benefits of having people over. I need to do more of that in order to keep the cobwebs at bay.
In any case, I am sitting now in the tiny room upstairs where the windows are black with night.The rain is
hitting the slate roof and there is a lamp on the desk and I am writing in a pool of soft light. It is a reflective time, and I am struck by something that is not news; we think we know what the pattern of our days will be; we think we know that tomorrow will be Monday or Tuesday or Wednesday, and that is dump day and there will be time to pick up the mail at the post office. We think we know that there will be time to respond to the phone call that has lingered too long on our voice mail. We think that we know what we will have for dinner, what challenges await us at work, and how we will answer them, or we churn thinking that we know what it is that we bring to the task, and what is missing. And sometimes everything we know is wrong.
I started the day with a call from an old friend, one I speak to every 6 months or so. We have known each other since I was a graduate student, but we probably knew each other as children, though that is too long ago to be sure. His life has been tuned upside down in ways that no one should confront. His life has been taken hostage by circumstances beyond his control, and he is left coping with trying to "arrange the deck chairs on the Titanic."
Another friend is struggling with a tense marriage and one with the conflicted feelings of an identity turned inside out by the very thing she had wished most in the world. And H and I are coping too, confronting what may be some
momentous changes in our lives in 2012. I wrote earlier of the
resolutions, and they are part of what we bring into 2012 - our dowry
for the marriage to a new year. We bring the things that we value most as gifts to a year, like the Magi to a blessed child. We bring our demons as well, pushing them along like Sisyphus up an endless hill. But we will also confront the
things that come unbidden, as gifts and challenges, from a
year that is not even one day old. Some are familiar; some serendipitous
and some arise like clouds on the horizon. It remains to be seen
whether they are edged with sunset, filled with rain or betoken a whiteout to come.
We will be warming ourselves for a few more hours beside the wood stove. We hope you too are warm.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Friday, December 30, 2011
Resolutions from the Mastiff side
Hey, if "distaff" can refer to the female half of a couple, then "mastiff" should be the male half, right? And it would make the distaff happy if, along with our 65 nations, we had a blog viewer who was a mastiff...
So I've read Nora's resolutions, and I'm deeply humbled. (That happens often for me; I learn things from her—about forbearance and resolve and compassion and curiosity and a hundred other ideals—and I think about the rest of my day a little differently. I'm a better person because I know her, and the more I know her, the better I am.)
I'm still very aware, six months in, of all the things that are happening for the first time. Our first married Thanksgiving, our first married martini, our first married joint holiday cards. And tomorrow will be another, our first married New Year's Eve. In many ways, we've been here before. But because it's our first, because we've had our share of elsewhere, we are going to stay home, have some friends drop in. We'll sit in the living room and talk and laugh and have a toast at 12:00. This one feels different.
More importantly, 2012 feels different.
I once wrote to her that she was magic in a bottle. I repeated those words on our wedding day half a year ago. And I'm thinking about them again tonight.
In fact, this is the letter that I wrote to her on June 25th, and that she read to the community that afternoon.
It's too easy to fall into labels and categories. I'm "a college administrator," or "a teacher," or whatever it is. But really, underneath those job titles, I'm trying to accomplish some things in the world, and I might have those effects more fully or more broadly through some other medium. 2012 needs to be a year in which we keep those values and goals more visible than the roles we use to achieve them.
And I resolve to hold all of you close in this coming year as well. As the cliche goes, you never wish on your deathbed that you'd answered just a few more e-mails or read one more issue of the Chronicle of Higher Education... no, you wish you'd spent more time with your friends and your family, more time making the world better for yourself and others. That's the work of 2012.
Nora closed her resolutions by wishing you all a "bounteous" 2012. And I concur, but I'd also add the wish that we all think this year about the "bounty" we most desire.
So I've read Nora's resolutions, and I'm deeply humbled. (That happens often for me; I learn things from her—about forbearance and resolve and compassion and curiosity and a hundred other ideals—and I think about the rest of my day a little differently. I'm a better person because I know her, and the more I know her, the better I am.)
I'm still very aware, six months in, of all the things that are happening for the first time. Our first married Thanksgiving, our first married martini, our first married joint holiday cards. And tomorrow will be another, our first married New Year's Eve. In many ways, we've been here before. But because it's our first, because we've had our share of elsewhere, we are going to stay home, have some friends drop in. We'll sit in the living room and talk and laugh and have a toast at 12:00. This one feels different.
More importantly, 2012 feels different.
I once wrote to her that she was magic in a bottle. I repeated those words on our wedding day half a year ago. And I'm thinking about them again tonight.
In fact, this is the letter that I wrote to her on June 25th, and that she read to the community that afternoon.
My Nora,So what does that mean for 2012? It means that no matter how many demands I receive from work or from professional colleagues, I will remember that she, and we, deserve consideration as well. It means that I need to do my writing, to and help her do hers. It means remembering every day what "home" is, and ensuring that I help to make it. It means focusing on what we have and what we can do rather than what we don't and can't. It means fitting our jobs to our passions rather than the inevitable diminshment of working in the other direction. It means being creative about the kinds of work that might lead to the values we hold. It means remembering that everything we choose to do means that we are not doing other things, and that we should weigh the balance consciously rather than default to habit.
I’m sure that you never imagined all of this when I asked you last August if you would marry me. I’m sure that you never imagined all of this when I woke you up on New Year’s Eve with a date in mind.
I’m sure you never imagined the blog. Or the spreadsheets. Or the rings.
It’s been a whirlwind of the unimaginable, but now we’re here. And I just wanted to take a minute to remind you of a couple of things.
I want to remind you that you are a generous and gracious friend.
I want to remind you that you have changed my life.
I want to remind you that you are magic in a bottle. Still, and always.
I want to remind you to stop, right now, and look at our friends. Go ahead, stop. Right now, for twenty seconds or so, just stop and look.
These are the people who have held us. These are the people who make us more than we might otherwise be.
Just as you make me more than I otherwise am.
We are better together than apart. We are better here than anywhere else. I was contented on that evening last summer when you said yes, and put on that carrot bracelet. Not happy, exactly. Not excited. But fulfilled, completed, at home.
And today is the same. Happy, certainly, and a little excited.
But also fulfilled.
And completed.
And at home.
With my full love,
Herb
It's too easy to fall into labels and categories. I'm "a college administrator," or "a teacher," or whatever it is. But really, underneath those job titles, I'm trying to accomplish some things in the world, and I might have those effects more fully or more broadly through some other medium. 2012 needs to be a year in which we keep those values and goals more visible than the roles we use to achieve them.
And I resolve to hold all of you close in this coming year as well. As the cliche goes, you never wish on your deathbed that you'd answered just a few more e-mails or read one more issue of the Chronicle of Higher Education... no, you wish you'd spent more time with your friends and your family, more time making the world better for yourself and others. That's the work of 2012.
Nora closed her resolutions by wishing you all a "bounteous" 2012. And I concur, but I'd also add the wish that we all think this year about the "bounty" we most desire.
Resolutions - of course...
It's the day before the night before. Tomorrow is New Year's eve and the next day, somehow the clocks are presumed to start over because of some arbitrary calendar thing. If I were Herb, I would probably look up the origins of calendaring, but I am not Herb. But I am not immune from the desire to start over at many of the things that are part of the daily patterning. And I am as unlikely to succeed in those resolutions as most, though I am determined to try. Of course I expect to lose weight and become more fit. Of course I vow to balance my life better and spend more time doing the things that nourish, instead of focusing on the toxic tasks and those that are do-able and can be checked off the list rather than the ones that are more consuming. But as I sit beside the wood stove, I am thinking of all this year has brought - a marriage at the top of that list. It is not something I would have predicted a year earlier. And I wonder, like most of us, where I will be on the day before the night before 2013. And this year, the stakes seem different.
I know this much.
We are blessed in our broad circle of friends and I am only sorry that I haven't spent more time with each of those we love. I am sad at how much of the casual dropping-in friendships that were part of our earlier lives have disappeared under the mounds of to-do's. I resolve to be better at that, and at keping in touch.
Because of our commuting lifestyles, I have been unable to make the contributions I wanted, to the communities in which we live. I have allowed passive acts like reading the news on-line, to substitute for action. I resolve to try to act in some small way each week, to make the change I want to see. Because of the logistics of life in early 2012, most likely, that will mean writing, rather than running for office or funding campaigns for change. While Vermont is blessed with terrific state officials, I agree with Paul Krugman that "too often political journalists mistake the theater of policy for reality (or don’t care about the difference)" and therefore the politicians spend their time grandstanding to those who are most likely to get them a media moment or who will support them financially. Certainly there is too much distance between a constituent's pleas and the passage of policy. But I have been speaking to "the converted" and I need to act on what I have been saying, and act where it might, maybe, just possibly, make a difference in the way one person votes or acts, or in one place.
I resolve to work on work. I have spent less time than I should, on the things that can make a difference in the lives H and I lead. We are apart too often, and I am responsible for not thinking hard enough about how to build the change we want to see in our personal lives. It is easier to do what is familiar than to imagine something new. A colleague sent a Christmas card quoting Nelson Mandela: "It always seems impossible until it's done." I commit to that - to making the work we want rather than fitting the niches that others provide for us. That entails believing that I can make what I want, and right now, that may be the hardest task I set for myself, but I commit to tilling that ground, though right now, that looks about as unclear as where we will be on Dec. 30, 2012.
There are other resolutions... to front-burner the book I have been working on for decades now, to get out of the desk chair for something other than eating and sleeping, to listen more carefully and not multi-task while I should be paying attention. But most of all, I resolve to push the demons aside, for part of each day, and be grateful for what entered my life with great joy in 2011. And that includes you ...and my dear H.
A bounteous 2012 and peace to all, and much much love....
I know this much.
We are blessed in our broad circle of friends and I am only sorry that I haven't spent more time with each of those we love. I am sad at how much of the casual dropping-in friendships that were part of our earlier lives have disappeared under the mounds of to-do's. I resolve to be better at that, and at keping in touch.
Because of our commuting lifestyles, I have been unable to make the contributions I wanted, to the communities in which we live. I have allowed passive acts like reading the news on-line, to substitute for action. I resolve to try to act in some small way each week, to make the change I want to see. Because of the logistics of life in early 2012, most likely, that will mean writing, rather than running for office or funding campaigns for change. While Vermont is blessed with terrific state officials, I agree with Paul Krugman that "too often political journalists mistake the theater of policy for reality (or don’t care about the difference)" and therefore the politicians spend their time grandstanding to those who are most likely to get them a media moment or who will support them financially. Certainly there is too much distance between a constituent's pleas and the passage of policy. But I have been speaking to "the converted" and I need to act on what I have been saying, and act where it might, maybe, just possibly, make a difference in the way one person votes or acts, or in one place.
I resolve to work on work. I have spent less time than I should, on the things that can make a difference in the lives H and I lead. We are apart too often, and I am responsible for not thinking hard enough about how to build the change we want to see in our personal lives. It is easier to do what is familiar than to imagine something new. A colleague sent a Christmas card quoting Nelson Mandela: "It always seems impossible until it's done." I commit to that - to making the work we want rather than fitting the niches that others provide for us. That entails believing that I can make what I want, and right now, that may be the hardest task I set for myself, but I commit to tilling that ground, though right now, that looks about as unclear as where we will be on Dec. 30, 2012.
There are other resolutions... to front-burner the book I have been working on for decades now, to get out of the desk chair for something other than eating and sleeping, to listen more carefully and not multi-task while I should be paying attention. But most of all, I resolve to push the demons aside, for part of each day, and be grateful for what entered my life with great joy in 2011. And that includes you ...and my dear H.
A bounteous 2012 and peace to all, and much much love....
Monday, December 26, 2011
Six Months and One Day
And the six months were pretty good, but the one day has caused us to rethink the whole thing.
We both got a terrible night's sleep last night, for far too many reasons. We got up around 8:30 and packed and said goodbyes, and loaded the luggage cart. But the big suitcase was too big to fit through the elevator doors, so we had to take everything off the cart and do it over. The same was true again at the bottom, where the suitcase was too wide to fit on the cart through the door to the street.
But we got everything into the car, got the cart back into the lobby. I went around the corner to Oren's for a coffee and a tea... closed. So we drove over to Greenwich to RouRou, another nice little coffee shop. The young proprietor was rolling out his awnings as we arrived, and he welcomed me in. "Nothing like the smell of fresh croissants in the morning," he crowed. I got an iced coffee for Nora...but he had no ice. Oh, well, it had been refrigerated, so good enough. I ordered an iced tea for me... but he doesn't do iced tea, so I had hot tea instead.
We got underway, not very much traffic. The cats were whining. We've discovered this stuff called Comfort Zone which is an attempt to replicate happy-cat pheromones–it really does seem to calm them down when you spray it around on the seats and floor. But the can was back at home in my car. So we stopped at a PetSmart, where I stayed in the car and Nora went in. She returned many minutes later with Comfort Zone, a scratching post and a scratch board made with emery crystals so that it supposedly does a better job keeping their claws trimmed back. But she realized that she hadn't gotten any paw-safe snowmelt, so she went back in while I sprayed a little happy mist around the car. Two spritzes on Nora's seat, two on the center console, two on the floor of the back seat. And then I wanted to shoot the little rug that's behind my seat, so I put the can into my left hand to reach around... and hosed myself directly in the right eye with a full stream of it. 90% ethanol right in the eyeball.
Ow.
So my melted eyeball was dripping down the front of my jacket, but the stuff really does keep you pretty calm. So I got out of the car and let the alcohol evaporate, and after about a minute, I could open my eye again, upon which I discovered that I still had vision and depth perception and really good tear-duct productivity.
Nora returned again, by which point I could pretty much see again. So we drove off, bought gas, and proceeded on to the Woodbury Commons outlet center near Central Valley NY. I need some new shirts for work, and Mom has served as a member of the Board of Directors of Philips Van Heusen, which gives her a card good for 40% of on any purchase of Van Heusen, Bass, Izod or other PVH brands from one of their stores. We had that card today.
Can you even begin to imagine how busy it is at one of America's largest outlet malls on December 26th? No. Trust me, no, you cannot even begin to imagine how busy it is at one of America's largest outlet malls on December 26th. We got there at about 11:45 am, and even the extended, overflow, distant, cowpasture parking lots were full. (Honest, we saw one family who'd parked across the eight-lane access road at the nearby high school and walked across all that traffic rather than try to fight their way through Woodbury Commons parking.) So we parked way out by the tour buses and snow plows, and walked into utter consumer hell. There were rope-lines outside some of the stores, forty or fifty people waiting just to get IN to the Fendi store, for instance. We found a map kiosk, located the Van Heusen store, and walked over. Elbow to shoulder in there. Long lines for the dressing rooms, lines for the registers.
I had an interesting conversation with the store manager while waiting to try on a shirt; he said that the rope lines we'd seen outdoors were more due to preventing shoplifting than managing crowds. If the really high end stores let in only ten or fifteen people at a time, the staff can watch them all.
Nine shirts and a nice jacket later, we were done, and the price was admittedly crazy low, like about 80% lower than retail price. And the Comfort Zone left on my face probably kept me calmer than I otherwise would have been.
Walking back out at 1:30, the parking was even MORE full than it had been. We walked past one little altercation, where one group of young people in a Scion and another group of young people in some anonymous ZipCar were both inserted at opposing angles about 30% of the way into a single parking space. The two groups were standing around arguing about whose spot it was and who was wrong and all that, and the security guard on her Segway scooter said, "If there's an argument about a parking spot, neither car gets it. That's the rule." What a great sort of Dad-wisdom that is. "If the twoaya's don't shut up, neither one'a ya's is gonna get any!"
Nora hadn't had enough outlet therapy yet, so we went to another nearby shopping center and the Eileen Fisher Factory Store, where she got a nice mid-length coat. And then we got back in the car and drove, and drove, and drove. The cats were champs: eight hours, no food, no peeing, no puking, and after I melted my face off with the Comfort Zone, they were pretty placid about it all.
Finally, at 6:30, we were in the house. Cats fed and watered, all luggage inside, and we were eating a mediocre takeout pizza that had the HUGE advantage of having required no time or labor to produce, so it tasted heavenly. But we've used up just about all of our emotional reserves. Fortunately, tomorrow, I'll be driving away for another two hours in each direction to go use my new pool cue for the very first time. (If you want to see it, go to this link above, click on "cue collections," then "standard collection," then find the Grand Slam in natural finish. Absolutely stunning, and the photos really reveal little about just how beautiful this thing is.)
I should probably shoot a little Comfort Zone around my car before I leave, just as a back-up...
We both got a terrible night's sleep last night, for far too many reasons. We got up around 8:30 and packed and said goodbyes, and loaded the luggage cart. But the big suitcase was too big to fit through the elevator doors, so we had to take everything off the cart and do it over. The same was true again at the bottom, where the suitcase was too wide to fit on the cart through the door to the street.
But we got everything into the car, got the cart back into the lobby. I went around the corner to Oren's for a coffee and a tea... closed. So we drove over to Greenwich to RouRou, another nice little coffee shop. The young proprietor was rolling out his awnings as we arrived, and he welcomed me in. "Nothing like the smell of fresh croissants in the morning," he crowed. I got an iced coffee for Nora...but he had no ice. Oh, well, it had been refrigerated, so good enough. I ordered an iced tea for me... but he doesn't do iced tea, so I had hot tea instead.
We got underway, not very much traffic. The cats were whining. We've discovered this stuff called Comfort Zone which is an attempt to replicate happy-cat pheromones–it really does seem to calm them down when you spray it around on the seats and floor. But the can was back at home in my car. So we stopped at a PetSmart, where I stayed in the car and Nora went in. She returned many minutes later with Comfort Zone, a scratching post and a scratch board made with emery crystals so that it supposedly does a better job keeping their claws trimmed back. But she realized that she hadn't gotten any paw-safe snowmelt, so she went back in while I sprayed a little happy mist around the car. Two spritzes on Nora's seat, two on the center console, two on the floor of the back seat. And then I wanted to shoot the little rug that's behind my seat, so I put the can into my left hand to reach around... and hosed myself directly in the right eye with a full stream of it. 90% ethanol right in the eyeball.
Ow.
 |
| Read the label. "Eye Irritant," it says. Duh. |
Nora returned again, by which point I could pretty much see again. So we drove off, bought gas, and proceeded on to the Woodbury Commons outlet center near Central Valley NY. I need some new shirts for work, and Mom has served as a member of the Board of Directors of Philips Van Heusen, which gives her a card good for 40% of on any purchase of Van Heusen, Bass, Izod or other PVH brands from one of their stores. We had that card today.
Can you even begin to imagine how busy it is at one of America's largest outlet malls on December 26th? No. Trust me, no, you cannot even begin to imagine how busy it is at one of America's largest outlet malls on December 26th. We got there at about 11:45 am, and even the extended, overflow, distant, cowpasture parking lots were full. (Honest, we saw one family who'd parked across the eight-lane access road at the nearby high school and walked across all that traffic rather than try to fight their way through Woodbury Commons parking.) So we parked way out by the tour buses and snow plows, and walked into utter consumer hell. There were rope-lines outside some of the stores, forty or fifty people waiting just to get IN to the Fendi store, for instance. We found a map kiosk, located the Van Heusen store, and walked over. Elbow to shoulder in there. Long lines for the dressing rooms, lines for the registers.
I had an interesting conversation with the store manager while waiting to try on a shirt; he said that the rope lines we'd seen outdoors were more due to preventing shoplifting than managing crowds. If the really high end stores let in only ten or fifteen people at a time, the staff can watch them all.
Nine shirts and a nice jacket later, we were done, and the price was admittedly crazy low, like about 80% lower than retail price. And the Comfort Zone left on my face probably kept me calmer than I otherwise would have been.
Walking back out at 1:30, the parking was even MORE full than it had been. We walked past one little altercation, where one group of young people in a Scion and another group of young people in some anonymous ZipCar were both inserted at opposing angles about 30% of the way into a single parking space. The two groups were standing around arguing about whose spot it was and who was wrong and all that, and the security guard on her Segway scooter said, "If there's an argument about a parking spot, neither car gets it. That's the rule." What a great sort of Dad-wisdom that is. "If the twoaya's don't shut up, neither one'a ya's is gonna get any!"
Nora hadn't had enough outlet therapy yet, so we went to another nearby shopping center and the Eileen Fisher Factory Store, where she got a nice mid-length coat. And then we got back in the car and drove, and drove, and drove. The cats were champs: eight hours, no food, no peeing, no puking, and after I melted my face off with the Comfort Zone, they were pretty placid about it all.
Finally, at 6:30, we were in the house. Cats fed and watered, all luggage inside, and we were eating a mediocre takeout pizza that had the HUGE advantage of having required no time or labor to produce, so it tasted heavenly. But we've used up just about all of our emotional reserves. Fortunately, tomorrow, I'll be driving away for another two hours in each direction to go use my new pool cue for the very first time. (If you want to see it, go to this link above, click on "cue collections," then "standard collection," then find the Grand Slam in natural finish. Absolutely stunning, and the photos really reveal little about just how beautiful this thing is.)
I should probably shoot a little Comfort Zone around my car before I leave, just as a back-up...
Sunday, December 25, 2011
2.5 Down, One to Go
Well, we promised three Christmases, but had a surprise visit this afternoon from our friends Sjoerd and Michael from next door. We discussed politics, talked about having Frisian horse butts outside your kitchen window, and had a glass of prosecco in the middle of the afternoon.
Last night, we had a lovely dinner with Grazyna and Howard, consisting of:
Back home, crashing into bed. Then up this morning at about 9:00 to finish wrapping the last of packages, and then Christmas morning with Mom. A fun fabulous time; as Mom said, every gift was clearly intended to be exactly for whom it was for. There were no generic "oh, gee, that's really nice..." moments. (It's unseemly to talk about one's Christmas loot, but Nora and Mom conspired to have a brand new Theirry Layani pool cue delivered from Montreal... My gosh, it's gorgeous!)
We made scrambled eggs and bagels and cheese for lunch, then cleaned up enough (both the apartment and Nora & I...) to be presentable for Sjoerd and Michael's arrival. Now we're cleaning up once again, and will leave for Ellis and Joanna's in about half an hour.
A lovely weekend thus far, with more to come. We hope that yours has been terrific as well.
Last night, we had a lovely dinner with Grazyna and Howard, consisting of:
- Prosecco (seems to be a theme...)
- Cocoa truffles
- Grilled salmon
- Cabbage and mushroom perogies
- Borscht with dumplings
- Steamed asparagus
- Steamed fresh potatoes
- Couscous with cranberries and pecans
- Chardonnay
- Brussels sprouts
- Apple strudel
- Kutia - Polish / Ukranian/ Slavic charoset
- Kenyan coffee liqueur
- Israeli honey liqueur
- Tea
Back home, crashing into bed. Then up this morning at about 9:00 to finish wrapping the last of packages, and then Christmas morning with Mom. A fun fabulous time; as Mom said, every gift was clearly intended to be exactly for whom it was for. There were no generic "oh, gee, that's really nice..." moments. (It's unseemly to talk about one's Christmas loot, but Nora and Mom conspired to have a brand new Theirry Layani pool cue delivered from Montreal... My gosh, it's gorgeous!)
We made scrambled eggs and bagels and cheese for lunch, then cleaned up enough (both the apartment and Nora & I...) to be presentable for Sjoerd and Michael's arrival. Now we're cleaning up once again, and will leave for Ellis and Joanna's in about half an hour.
A lovely weekend thus far, with more to come. We hope that yours has been terrific as well.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Three Christmases
We're about 20 minutes from loading the cats into the car as the final step before leaving for NYC. Tonight, we'll have dinner and Christmas with Grazyna and Howard -- Grazyna still holds to many of her Polish holiday traditions, so that's always a lot of fun. (Clear borscht is really good, too!) Then in the morning, we'll have breakfast and Christmas with Mom. And then in the evening, we'll have dinner and Christmas with Mom and Ellis and Joanna.
We hope that all of you have wonderful Christmases as well, regardless of how many you indulge in.
Herb & Nora
We hope that all of you have wonderful Christmases as well, regardless of how many you indulge in.
Herb & Nora
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Cookies and Movies and Adventure
Yesterday was a very fine day.
Once we got up, I prepped the kitchen, laying out all of the flours and spices and sugars and bowls and spoons to make cookies. We put together two different kinds of sugar cookie dough to chill in the fridge, along with a double batch of rugelach dough. Then we made brownies, blondies, and oatmeal cookies. (The blondies didn't set well, but I figured that letting them cool overnight would turn them into blondie brittle. Turns out they just became very dense, and very good, blondies.)
 |
| Highly Recommended |
Speaks with Doorknobs asked the bartender about the barback, a stunning display of woodworking with a bust of a horse looking over the bar from the top center. Well, there are some folks who, once you crack the tap, can't stop. There were scarcely any other patrons, so with a little urging, we learned about the history of the bar, the politics of working with bar owners, the residential and commercial real estate conditions of Glens Falls and Saratoga... and then we learned that our bartender was back in school to train in radiology. We got a MARVELOUSLY graphic depiction of a hip replacement surgery, complete with stainless steel mallets and pulling the old hip out of the socket with the puller having one foot braced against the operating table for leverage, blood and bone chips flying around the room. He said at one point, "I have a moderately weak stomach, and this was my first full surgery. I thought I'd have not look until after the incision was done, so that I wouldn't pass out. I was sure I was going to become a secondary patient. But I finally told myself, 'Just get outside yourself and go do this.' And I was okay." The orthopedic surgeon was someone our bartender had played high school football against 21 years earlier.
Then we went in to the theater, got a very nice seat back-row center (back row at Aimie's being the equivalent of about the eighth row in a normal theater), and had a remarkably low-quality dinner. We keep TRYING to have a good meal at Aimie's, but they can't pull it off. The concept is so wonderful that we want to support it, but their kitchen staff or procedures are just not up to the task. (Same ownership as the bar, which is nearly empty four nights a week and only has real business on Friday and Saturday nights once the bands start up.)
But the movie itself, Hugo, was remarkable. It wasn't a very credible story, and the acting ranged from bland to awful. Ben Kingsley would not have gotten his Oscar for this, and Sacha Baron Cohen was channeling John Cleese from the Fawlty Towers era.
What was remarkable was the way in which 1920s Paris had become a larger-scale analogue for the clockworks that Hugo tended. This was a movie with ten million moving parts, all of which were visible so that you could see the gears turn and the cam-wheel pivot and the pawl catching on the ratchet. It was a movie about the craft of movies, made by a director, Martin Scorcese, who clearly loves the craft of movies.
In every movie, there are a few lines that I take away as ideas worth testing. From Hugo, the passage was when Hugo was breaking into a theater with his compatriot Isabelle. Since young Hugo was a mechanical wizard, it was a simple matter for him to pick the lock on a side door. Isabelle said, "We could get in trouble!" And Hugo looked at her and said, "I know. That's how you know it's an adventure!"
Nora and I have talked a lot about risk and certainty. Hugo may have some wisdom for us both.
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