I Kindle

I'm a restless sort of person so the only drawback to traveling is the amount of time I have to spend sitting in one place. If I'm forced to be on a plane for 6-8 hours I better have plenty to do to make them fly by. For long-haul trips I take at least one book, usually a novel or memoir I can read in one sitting, a couple of magazines, iPhone (for music) and The Guy lends me his iPod nano because he's been with me when the battery dies and no one wants to sit next to me when that happens. (Fidgeting and sighing are the more endearing effects; I also require someone TALK TO ME).
I packed for the Europe trip with three books, the New Yorker, Travel and Leisure and picked up Elle Decoration in the UK, but planes and trains and waiting time meant I was down to one book and one magazine for the return jouney. When we were forced to fly back early from Europe we grabbed the last couple of seats on a packed Delta flight to JFK. No elbow room and no sockets to charge the iphone or ipod, which became a problem about half-way through the trip when both ran out of juice. I read Travel and Leisure from cover to cover and started a novel that was so repititious and boring I turned to the on-demand entertainment system to provide some distraction. Unfortunately, when you're all out of options you shouldn't expect the universe to throw you a bone and my individual moniter was delivering a menu and nothing else. No matter how much I (or The Guy) pushed the screen it refused to move on. The flight attendant did try to reboot it but no luck. I was left with the prospect of a really dreadful novel and four hours of flight time.


Which is, I think, when The Guy decided that the perfect gift for our anniversary would be a Kindle. Never again would I run out of reading material and we would no longer have to lug 15 lbs of paper across the country - or the world - just so I didn't get bored. Not only is it possible to store hundreds of books on the e-reader but I can have a bunch of free samples sent to me at one time so I can try before I buy and I can store books (and magazines) to buy later.
So far it's been a little challenging; better in theory than in practice. Kindle works wirelessly by whispernet, which means you need cell service - five full bars in fact - to connect with Amazon and download the books and for that I have to drive out of the Incorporated Village to the Town harbor with the Kindle and join a line of other cellphone users desperate to make calls, text message or download data before entering the dead zone that is Huntington Bay.
Once I have the material on the Kindle, however, I can read it without being connected; when I get back home I turn off the wireless. If I don't, I discovered, I can run down a newly charged battery overnight by leaving it in the den where it will attempt to connect to a weak wireless signal every few seconds. Turn off the wireless and it runs a few days without a charge. Charging the device isn't quick either, it takes about four hours, although you can still read while it's plugged in. The only other issue I had with it was that it looks so much like an Apple product I expected to work in the same way, and it doesn't quite do that. The Kindle 2 has a five-way control button that took a little while to get used to and I expected that it would plug into the iMac and sync with Amazon the way the iPhone/iPod does with iTunes. It doesn't. If it did, of course, it would save me from that trip into town...

Unaccomplished

Things we did not get done this weekend:
Choosing tiles and fixtures for the master bathroom
Picking a fence style so we can order it and have it installed before the ground freezes
Winterizing the barbecue - the bbq that we have used 3 times this year!
Putting the hard top on the Jeep and cleaning it (the plants I transported left a fair amount of leaves and soil behind that, mixed with dog hair, have formed a lovely layer of mulch on the back seat)
Anniversary dinner

Instead we took a flu-break and watched back-to-back episodes of Samantha Brown's Great Weekends on the Travel Show - punctuating the episodes on Savannah, Nashville, Memphis and Austin with our memories of those cities - the restaurants we'd eaten at and the places we'd seen. And when we'd exhausted ourselves armchair traveling we stretched out and watched a few movies. In order of awesomeness, best first:
Grosse Pointe Blank
Cadillac Records
Danny Deckchair
Made of Honor
The Librarian: Quest for the Spear

The Guy also read an entire novel and declared it a totally satisfying weekend. I guess it's good to have some down time every now and again but it meant there wasn't anything to blog about, which was my retort when he complained mentioned that I hadn't written anything for two days...

A couple of visitors

The heat of the last few days has finally broken and although it's still sunny, it's much cooler. Outside the kitchen door I found this blue butterfly slowly opening and closing its wings in the warmth of the morning sun - very beautiful but so fragile; inside was a rare, and not exactly welcome, phenomenon - a furry toad sitting on the tiles. I guess he had either been brought in by a cat or dog who then released him or he'd hopped in when the door was open. Either way, his hind legs were covered in animal hair which leads me to conclude that although he may have been a rare hybrid species it's more likely that I am not the best housekeeper in the world...

Evergreen Inspiration

I have a plan in my head of how the final section of the yard should look but I'm having a hard time explaining it. So here (courtesy of the comprehensive Better Homes and Garden website) are some truly inspirational shots.


This is perhaps a little too close to how it used to look - except behind the-not so-lush junipers was 30 years of dumped debris and you couldn't walk down the path without getting scratched; I'm positive that is not the case here. Anyway, I love the boxwood edging under the rhododendron and the ground cover plants between the stones. If only money were no object...


This is probably the nearest to my ideal - a mix of evergreen and perennial, hard and soft textures, colour and structure


I love the autumn colors against the blues and greens of the conifers but I don't want to be raking any more leaves - and it kind of looks like the back yard at Beach House right now


And finally... not evergreens but perennials. I couldn't resist this one full of perfect lush hostas. So far I've put in a whole lot of big, bi-coloured Frances Williams; I managed to score a few of the 6' wide Sum and Substance in my favourite shade of green - chartreuse; three cute, compact June hostas went in front of one hydrangea; another trio of medium-sized, speckled Revolution are under the black spruce and I bought as many Elegans as I could find. Now all I need them to do is spread out in well-formed clumps just like the photo...

Some shady characters

and some that prefer bright sunlight in the newly rescued part of the yard. This section goes from deep shade to full sun so it gives me lots of possibilities and I've taken full advantage of them at the 50% sale at the nursery.


Three The Dark Lady roses (I was drawn by the fragrance as much as the crimson colour), a couple of Razzle Dazzle Crepe Myrtles, six Glowing Embers hydrangeas, and a sprinkling of Autumn Fire sedums will guarantee waves of pink toned flowers from Spring to Fall, while a baker's dozen blue fescues, lavenders and hostas by the boatload provide contrasting shades from grey-blue to bright yellow. For structure and something green to look at in the long New York winter, The Guy planted a boxwood to add to the existing yews and I plan to put at least one blue spruce in there in the Spring and a few Japanese hollies - I really like the slender Sky Pencil variety.

We just have to hope everything that has gone in so far survives the six months of ice, wind and snow we get annually. But I'm not going to think about that on an early fall day when the thermometer hit 80F and the lawn got its first gentle trim. I'm just going to look on the bright side... and go and smell the roses.

It's not Thursday night yet

but I need cheering up and ever since I saw this faboolos post I've had this song in my head. The language is West-Vlaams, a dialect of Flemish that leaves most Dutch speakers shaking their heads and asking if anyone here speaks English or French or at least has a phrasebook. I think it's rocking and it makes me happy, so... enjoy!

In mourning

As if my trip to Brussels wasn't frustrating enough I learnt on my return that my beloved handyman had sold his house, packed his bags and was moving South - retiring for the second time.
He wasn't our first "contractor", we tried several - each worse than the last - before we found The Handyman. He came via our neighbor (who was very reluctant to let us have his number, so sought after was he) when two of us had unsuccessfully tried to sister in a Dutchman. His work was remarkable, clean and perfect in every detail. Over the years he has been responsible for all the great renovations at Beach House: the bathrooms, the powder room, the laundry and the repairs and maintenance: the gate, saving the siding and fixing the bridge. I had just emailed him a list of things (big and small) that needed his attention this fall when he called to give me his news. I cried. I'm happy for him but devastated at the same time. Where in this world will I find another person who can do such great work, who will cooperate with me to solve problems and design dilemmas, who is willing to go the extra step... and who likes the nosey animals?

My House Smells like a French (or Belgian) Restaurant

Since I got back from our challenging European vacation I have been (unsurprisingly) obsessed with comfort food. The very first night, despite jet lag, I made Fusilli with ground Buffalo and Three Cheese Sauce. Okay, I cheated by using a jar of Trader Joe's sauce but I added a parmesan rind I had left over in the fridge to the sauce that I mixed with the browned buffalo - unctuous, soothing and exactly what was needed after a plane ride of almost eight hours.
The next evening I was restored enough after 10 hours sleep to cook Pork Tenderloin with a Mustard Sauce and serve it with Stoemp, the Belgian speciality of mashed potatoes with vegetables. The standards are carrots or spinach but I finely chopped green onions to add the perfect bite to an otherwise typically Franco-Belgian dish.
A disappointing but not bad bottle of Pinot Noir became the basis for Boeuf Bourguignon, the classic French stew and an embarrassment of onions prompted me to make Soupe à l'Oignon in the proper fashion with cognac and real bouquet garni.
The only dish I haven't tackled is Lapin Chasseur although the cats did present me with a laid out bunny on the doorstep - a welcome home present.

Surrealism Begins at the Door

I wouldn't say it was the only reason for going to Belgium (family and friends would be highly insulted) but it's safe to say we were excited to see the newly opened Musée Magritte Museum that I blogged about earlier this summer. A whole museum dedicated to the surrealist master? Crazy/fabulous. Let's just say that the paintings weren't the only surreal thing that we experienced. For starters there are two entrances on the front of the building, an entrance for groups and an entrance for those with tickets. What you do if you aren't part of a group and have no ticket? Cherchez la porte?
The Guy had purchased tickets online in advance and joined the queue indicated only to learn when he got to the front that as he did not have a paper print out but rather a code he needed to be in another line for the digital retrievals, on a lower floor. Shrugging his shoulders in an appropriate manner he descended and discovered that it's well to speak three languages here because although the first part of ticket retrieval was completed in English the computer screen switched to French or Dutch for the code input. (He was also instructed when he booked to have the credit card he used with him to get his tickets. No surprise that at the museum he wasn't asked for it).


Never mind, we had tickets, we could now enter the elevator that would whisk us upwards, past the entrance where we first tried to get our tickets, to the third floor where the exhibition begins. Don't look for any information in the lift, the floors are marked by divisions of the painting L'évidence éternelle. You know you have arrived at the third floor because the image on the wall is the woman's head and not another part of her anatomy.


Tickets in hand we proceeded to the turnstiles where things got more odd. An attendant took the ticket from each person, waved it in a digital reader and instructed each person to proceed through a rotating carousel into the show. Except me. Of course. I had an empty Perrier bottle that I'd been trying to ditch for most of the morning but Brussels sorts its trash and I hadn't been able to find a plastics recycling bin. The attendant stopped me and took my water bottle but that also stopped the carousel mid-turn. He then tried to re-insert my ticket to start it up but no joy. The poor man had to juggle my bottle, a sheaf of papers, my ticket and something else I can't recall (a stuffed antelope, a pipe, a large fluffy cloud?) in order to get to his override pass that was on a much too short cord around his neck near enough to the reader to unlock the carousel... all while the family and I made jokes about surrealism being difficult to explain but you know it when you encounter it.


After all that the art could have been an anti-climax but of course it wasn't. There are of course some minor niggles - for one the lighting is atrocious, it's almost impossible to read Magritte's thoughts that are beautifully stenciled in French on the walls so you will have to read the smaller but better lit translation in Dutch. What, you don't read Dutch? Tough, there is no English translation on the wall. Pick up a pamphlet that has his "sayings" in five languages instead. Only don't try reading it inside the exhibition - did I mention the lighting? The pieces in the collection, however, are all labeled in French, Dutch and English. There museum is full of treasures: photographs and home movies, letters, posters and pamphlets from the early days of the Surrealist movement, Magritte's advertising work and of course his paintings. Go here to get a sense of the museum before (or in lieu of) your visit. And be prepared to appreciate the slightly surreal experience of the museum.

One more thing


the passage between the Musée Magritte Museum and the Fine Arts Museum is one of the finest examples of Art Nouveau architecture in the city. And I had never seen it before. Enjoy!

"Bof!" or Belgium wins!

Belgium isn't only famous for surrealism, it's also well known for the Gallic shrug, which in combination with the expression "Bof!" indicates that the user could not give a damn about you or your problem. You don't have the correct change for the bus? Bof! All the stores are closed and you haven't bought a bus ticket in advance? Bof! You are five kilometres from home and all the money you have in your possession is a 20 euro note, not the required 2 euros in coins for the bus. Bof, Bof, Bof! That's not my problem, Madame, it says. You'll just have to deal with it. Significantly in a country that draws its language barriers tightly it is the same word in both French and Dutch.
So it was that after my tussle with the transport system where I emerged battered but victorious, I set out to buy another ticket, or better still a 10-ride card, so I could go to the centre of Brussels to meet the family. Remember that I still have no coins, only notes and it was after 7 pm so the stores that sell tickets are now shut for the evening. I approach the concierge at the hotel and explain my little problem and ask if he can change a twenty euro note. He cannot. He does however tell me that the train station is open and I will be able to purchase a bus ticket there by inserting money into the machine. I remind him that the reason I am asking him to change the note is that the ticket machines only accept coins. His shoulder raise slightly, he shrugs and utters one syllable "Bof"!
I gave in and caught a taxi. Half way through my experiment with public transport, in a city famous for its bus/train/tram system, on my way to a bar that's easier to reach by bus than cab, I gave in. Belgium won. I got into the taxi, gave the driver the name of the bar, which although it is one of the most famous in Brussels he claimed to have no knowledge of; as I couldn't remember the name of the road I ended up walking the four hundred metres but eventually I was reunited with my Belgian family. There I gave 15 euros in notes to Verity who gave me 2.70 euros in change and after trying two ticket machines (the first wasn't working) stuck her chip-embedded smart card into the machine and retrieved for me a 10-ride card.
At the end of the evening I caught the bus back to the hotel with only minor adventures such as waving the paper ticket in front of the digital reading verification points and discovering that I'd creased the card by stuffing it into the pocket of my jeans so it refused to go gently into the slot of the only paper-reader on the bus. I may have looked like some dumb tourist but at least I was back on the public transport system and no one had said Bof! to me in several hours. I know Brussels welcomes tourists - it even has a My Brussels section on the Brussels Tourism Bureau website - but it makes you work really, really hard for that welcome.

Surrealism isn't only about art

In the old days, long ago, when I first lived in Belgium, visitors to that tiny country were reminded that it is the home of surrealism a few minutes after they walked off the plane. Arriving at the baggage control, they were informed in French and Dutch only, that they needed a 20 BF coin in order to release a baggage cart from its moorings. How many people do you think understood this, or even if they did, were in possession of what I later learnt to call een stuk van twintig/une piéce de vingt francs? The answer, of course, is the population of Belgium, plus all those who had travelled this way before and now always, always carried said coin with them.
Before I embarked on this multi-country vacation I had made a plan to try and do all traveling in Europe, other than plane, by public transport - no cars, no taxis. So far I had caught a train from the airport in England, changed to the underground to reach my destination and repeated this to catch another plane to Belgium. It had been simple, inexpensive and eco-friendly. I had no qualms about continuing on the continent; Brussels has made enormous strides to link its airports with its train and bus service and the latter stopped just outside my hotel. Remember Belgium is my home, my adopted country, so I knew which bus to catch and that I would need the correct change for the bus. So after collecting my luggage I got into the elevator and headed down to the bus station.


I had a wallet full of euros and stopped with note in hand in front of the new ticket machine. Huge signs let me know that by buying my ticket here in advance I would not only save time but also receive a 25% discount on the 4 euro ride into Brussels. Brilliant, I thought and looked for the correct slot in which to insert my five euro note. There was none. My folly was in assuming that I would be able to insert a five, ten or twenty euro note into the machine and get change and a ticket. The machine mocked me. Of course, this being Europe there are other ways to pay - with a credit or debit card - which I had. One of each. Unfortunately, this being super secure-no danger of card-or-identity theft Europe, I needed a smart card, a card with a chip inside so I could then type in a secret code known only to the bank and myself. My cards, being US issued, lack that security feature. (Heck, they don't even require matching signatures in America, do they? Go on. Try it. Sign your credit card receipt Mickey Mouse and see what happens. Nothing, right? Except the charge will appear undisputed on your next statement. Not exactly secure, is it? But I digress.) The machine mocked me again. It practically scolded me.
I was undeterred. I returned to the arrivals area and looked for a change machine where I could get coins in exchange for notes. Of course they do not exist. Had I arrived at the train station in the centre of Brussels I could have bought a ticket with paper money at a Bootik from a real live salesperson. At the airport? Nada. I asked at the information desk where I might be able to perform such a transaction and was directed to the Bureau de Change, where I could of course change foreign currency into euros but not euro notes into euro coins. In the end I bought a packet of Tic Tacs for 85 cents which gave me the 4 euros to put into the ticket machine, which then happily dropped 1 euro in change into my hand along with my ticket. Success at last. I might have beaten the system but having spent the entire day traveling the last thing I needed to do was fight the transport system, or wheel my luggage those extra metres to and from the airport concourse a second time. Belgium had taught me once again that things are never as they seem at first glance nor as straightforward as I would like them to be.

Home

I'm home. I saw England and Belgium. I didn't get to go to Paris. I did get sick. That's all you need to know for now. More later.

Book review: House and Home

You love your home, you've made eighteen years of memories there and now you are forced to sell it. How would you react? That's the scenario explored in House and Home, the first novel by writer and HGTV columnist Kathleen McCleary.
Although she seems to have been living the perfect life (she runs her own business, has two adorable children and is surrounded by loving and supportive friends), Ellen Flanagan suffers a crisis in her relationship with her husband Sam that, combined with an earlier tragedy, results in an obsession over the family home... a home that has already been sold.
Anyone who loves their home will relate to this novel, and we empathize with the frustration and resentment felt by Ellen when her husband's unsuccessful business venture leads the family into financial hardship resulting in the sale of Ellen's beloved cottage to the preppy Jordan Boyce and her husband Jeffrey. Not only does she have to leave her cottage but she is forced to listen to Jordan's plans to remodel all the things she loves about it - the colors, the moldings and even the picket fence.
By turns comic and poignant, the novel is a page-turner; we sense a crisis is coming but we're unsure what form it will take. How far will Ellen go to keep her home? Can she renege on the sale, will she ruin someone else's marriage or even burn down her cottage to ensure Jordan doesn't take possession of the house? Eventually priorities become clear, and Ellen realizes that she must hang on to the important things in life. The author leaves the reader to answer the ultimate question: What makes a house a home?

This book review is a stop on the House and Home TLC Book Tour.

Petit Tour

I'm hopping the Atlantic for a week; three countries in seven days. Apart from the necessary plane travel, I'm hoping to do it all by public transport - so it will be a cheaper, more eco-friendly version of the Grand Tour "Le petit tour light"


First a little planning



then... the first stop


a weekend here


culminating in a night of romance in the city of lights

Postings as and when... but watch out for a book review on the 14th.

Dizzy

I am totally in love with this Sergio Rodrigues Diz chair from Vintage and Modern Brazilian dealer Mercado Modern. Designed in 2002, it pays homage to many 20th century styles and would fit perfectly into the unique architecture of Beach House, perhaps near the Michel Arnoult game table. The asking price is actually something of a bargain - they retail for almost double. Dreaming....

Maybe it's time to wash the windows again

Is it me being more slovenly than usual or are the spiders more dedicated in their web building endeavors this year? It seems that every time I remove one web (usually by walking through it) another two or three spring up in its place. On the one hand I am itching to get the Windex out, on the other I'm enchanted by the size of the web... and Halloween is nearly upon us...

Market Sunday

Huntington Farmers' Market on Sunday morning - a gathering place for good food, chatty neighbors and friendly dogs


Lots of samples and a few unexpected items


Cheesecake Souffles - a sweet treat for breakfast


and red wine starter bread - yeast-free but without the sourness of sourdough.

Last Night

A cocktail followed by:


the setting sun over the bay


an inside joke


sparklers after dark


music and dancing at a local bar - expanding the evening and the summer fun...

When angels come to the rescue... ::UPDATE::

UPDATE: the Angel drove me in his truck to get the Crepe Myrtle I had seen earlier this week. That's above and beyond!

We have a host of house angels who go the extra mile for us. This week's star is definitely the landscaper and his crew... Meanwhile, did you doubt that I wouldn't be able to control my plant procuring self until Spring? There were bargains to be had:


I scored three huge - well they will be eventually - red toned hydrangeas and three prolific mopheads, "Nikkon Blue", at the 50% off section of the nursery


but the biggest deal was this yew that cost $7! Fingers crossed they survive the winter.


Super Landscaper to the rescue while I was at the Goombas event, planted everything, fixed the break in the sprinkler line, put on a new head and changed the direction of the others so the whole area gets watered. I told you he reads the blog...

Keeping it old school in a digital world

Young Rebel Goombas (l to r) Richie Saccente, Cosmo Mallardi, Uncle B Johnson and Richie Cannata keeping it real at a special event @ CW Post, Long Island University.


The live sound is being videotaped by Jake Gorst for their youtube channel. Awesome jamming - that's one way music is made in 2009.

Framed Up

Recycled picture frame ceiling - an exercise in colorful creativity, and thinking outside the box - from a house built using other peoples' trash. Recycle, repurpose, reuse taken to a whole new level. From the New York Times.

Almost a Home Run

A week or so after we decided to clear decades of debris over on the north side of the property. it's all done. The good news is we have a weed-free, level piece of property that is graded away from the house, seeded and ready to sprout green shoots of grass. The bad news, as I discovered when I put the sprinklers on, is that the whole side needs an improved watering system. We have a break in the main line that's probably been split all summer; we just didn't see it because it was hidden under all the holly, juniper, weed mess that was there before and the one sprinkler on that zone is knackered - more water pores out of the bottom than the head. That goes for the next head down too. Thanks to the extra-long hose we purchased earlier in the season I can water the entire area from the other side of the gate, but that's just temporary until super-sprinkler guys can run me a new line with some cute pop-up heads. Superb landscaper tells me to wait until spring and have them do it when we do the turn-on but that was before I realised we were watering big holes in his newly created lawn. (As he reads this blog, he's probably learning about it, just. about. now!). Anyway, let's recap:


Monday August 31st - at the start of the day: a stumpy, McGrumpy, mess of tangled roots


mid-day: tons of topsoil, a bobcat, a roller and a lot of manpower


5 PM: looking over the fence after the prep-work is done.
It's amazing how much better this is. Firstly you can appreciate the house even more - it's not closed in by the shrubby border. Secondly, the property looks so much bigger, which in a sense it is - we've increased the space by about an eighth of an acre. Lastly, I can skip down the path with the dogs and not be attacked by prickly, allergy-producing bushes, and that's a huge bonus. Also, the fence guys will be able to get in to repair/re-fence the area, the borders have been laid out and the landscaper is lobbying for a pergola to go in the north-east corner...
Now I can either wait for Spring to begin planting or go see what is available in the half-price section of the nursery. Which do you think I'll do?

Cleveland Foodie*

I had heard Cleveland was the new destination foodie town but I was unprepared for how fabulous the food would be:


Artisinal charcuterie was everywhere, French-influenced here at Lola and, even better, an Italian-inspired version at The Flying Fig in Ohio City sourced from Iowa's famed La Quercia meats.


Not for the vegetarian, tender hangar steak with pickle sauce and chiles at Lola


A refreshing lemony and not overly sweet version of the famous French 75 cocktail @ The Flying Fig. This was the most enjoyable drink I've had in a long time - so good I had to repeat the experience.


Fig ice cream @ The Flying Fig. Simply the best ice cream I've had, homemade, restaurant served or store -bought, anywhere in the US - maybe better than in Rome, too (heresy, I know but it's been a while since I gelato in Italy, I really need to go back to Cleveland and Rome to do a scientific taste comparison).

Other stand-outs I've mentioned before: the shellfish, sushi and pork were all excellent, as was a crab appetizer we had in out hotel where I also sampled a smooth Harvey Wallbanger with just the right amount of Galliano to render it totally lethal. Forty-eight hours in the city and not one below par dish, I can't say that about my local town, or even New York City.


Of course there's always one stuck in 80s dish: retro, mega, chocolate-covered strawberries with whipped "cream". Look at the squeezy-bottle sauce skills - plaid rules!

*Apologies for the blurry quality of these photos. iPhone really needs flash and a zoom.