I’m thankful that I got to have lobster (“lob-stah” – if you’re from around here) last night. I typically have one lobster dinner per summer, so I’m glad I got this one in before Labor Day—the unofficial end of summer.
Growing up in New England, I’ve eaten many, many lobsters. And yes, as a kid, I was extremely concerned about the seemingly cruel manner of death – by boiling. But once I had that delicious claw meat dipped in hot, melted butter, I got over it.
For those who have never had a lobster, the best ones are from the cold New England waters, especially Maine. (I made the mistake of ordering a lobster in Hawaii once. It was a totally different experience.) In my opinion, boiled lobster is best accompanied by a baked potato and either fresh corn or good coleslaw.
And if you’re a GenXer like me, you must recall a certain song, whenever lobster is served. (You know the one.)
Growing up in Massachusetts, I should have visited New York City before age 18, but I did not. For some reason, my parents never took us there, even though my mother’s parents were true Brooklynites—Dodgers fans before “dem bums” moved to LA. I remember my grandmother always pronounced certain words the Brooklyn way—“earl” for oil and “erster” for oyster. (My grandparents moved to Worcester, Massachusetts early in their marriage and never returned to Brooklyn.)
I first went to NYC on a bus from my college in Hartford in the mid eighties. We went for the day. I’ll never forget seeing those vertigo-inducing Manhattan skyscrapers for the first time. New York is so much bigger and taller than all the other American cities. Chicago, Miami, Philly, DC, LA, San Francisco, and of course Boston, are all special in their own ways, but New York is the greatest of them all. (And I say this as someone who grew up despising the New York Yankees.)
On that very first trip to NYC, I remember a shopkeeper asked me where I was from and I said “How do you know I’m not from New York?” He answered, “Because you’re not wearing black and you smiled and said thank you.” He guessed I was from Connecticut. Also, on that same trip, my friend Ann told me to quit gawking and saying things like “I can’t believe I’m in NEW YORK.”
I was determined to expose my kids to NYC before they were 18, so they wouldn’t seem so naive and Connecticutty when they visited.
A photo I took of my sister in NYC in 1987. (She was living there at the time and did not give Connecticut vibes like I did.)
My friend Andreada in Washington Square Park in 1988. That was a wild trip. NYC in the late 80s was a bit scary. I had to sit near a nasty perv on the bus down and got robbed of my leather coat while I was out at a bar. AIDS and drug addiction were casting a pall.My daughter in the Empire State Building, 2005
My son’s first trip to NYC, 2011
A mini-reunion with high school friends in Manhattan in 2011.
In 2018, I just HAD to see Hamilton on Broadway, so my friend Dina and I planned to go down for the day in late March. I thought we’d be safe from winter storms, so I bought tickets to a matinee. But then a freak spring snowstorm was forecast so we went down on the train the night before, so as to not miss the show. Well, the snowstorm was so bad that they cancelled our Amtrak home and we had to stay over a second night. It was quite a snowy adventure! We ended up running into a friend who took us to see a second Broadway show (Carousel starring Renée Fleming) for free. (She had extra tickets because her friends wouldn’t brave the snow.) We ate at the famous Sardi’s restaurant after the show.
The Hamilton marquis on Broadway, 2018My friend Dina outside the Bryant Park Grill in March 2018. Amtrak shut down for two days due to this little bit of snow! We took the bus home instead.
I went back to NYC for a conference the following month. There was no sign of snow then. I think that was my last trip to the City. I’m not sure when I’ll go back again, but I will.
Now, the first of December was covered with snow So was the turnpike from Stockbridge to Boston Though the Berkshires seemed dreamlike on account of that frostin’ With ten miles behind me and ten thousand more to go
That’s right. The Red Lion Inn is three years older than the United States. It was built the same year colonists were starting to get super annoyed with King George and dumped a bunch of tea in Boston Harbor.*
The Red Lion Inn in Stockbridge, Massachusetts is one of the oldest hotels in the USA. It started as a tavern in 1773.
We had dinner on the famous front porch of The Red Lion Inn last night and met some very interesting people, including two non-binary GenZ artists and a woman our age who is launching a solar farm business.
Interior view of the Red Lion tavern
Our room at The Red Lion Inn had to be locked and unlocked with an actual key 🔑
The Lost Lamb is a wonderful French patisserie in tiny, quaint downtown Stockbridge. I got both a chocolate croissant and a plain croissant with my café au lait.A pretty stained glass window in St. Paul’s Episcopal Church (est. 1834), which is directly across the street from Red Lion.
After a swim in the outdoor pool at Red Lion, we stopped for a delicious lunch at the Starving Artist Café in nearby Lee. We chatted with a woman from nearby Pittsfield, where I was born and spent the first three years of my life. Back then, everyone in Pittsfield (including my dad) worked for General Electric.
I don’t know why I hadn’t been back to this area in decades, but I will not wait so long to return. After lunch, we put on some James Taylor in the car and hopped on the turnpike back to Boston. The traffic gods were with me and I got home before 4pm.
A mural in downtown Lee
*The Boston Tea Party was a political protest by American colonists against British taxation policies. It occurred on December 16, 1773, in Boston, Massachusetts. Colonists, frustrated by the Tea Act—which allowed the British East India Company to sell tea directly to the colonies, effectively lowering the cost but undercutting colonial merchants—disguised themselves as Mohawk Indians and boarded British ships. They proceeded to dump 342 chests of tea into Boston Harbor. This act of defiance became a pivotal event leading up to the American Revolution.
Tanglewood Music Center, the summer home of the Boston Symphony Orchestra is an iconic location in New England. Over the years, I’ve heard many musically-inclined people describe it as their “happy place.” Located in the picturesque Berkshire Hills of western Massachusetts. Tanglewood hosts a variety of concerts, performances, and events featuring world-class musicians and artists. The grounds also include beautiful gardens, walking paths, and vast picnic areas. Purchasing “lawn seats” for a symphonic performance at Tanglewood and picnicking on the grounds has long been on my bucket list. (Tanglewood picnics have a legacy all their own.) Well, yesterday I checked this one off in absolutely spectacular weather.
The first half of the program included a modern piece by a living composer, Anna Clyne, who was there to introduce her work, as well as two gorgeous Mozart arias sung by an ethereal young soprano—Elena Villalón. The second half of the program was Mahler’s Symphony No. 4. The entire program was conducted by James Gaffigan—a young (cute) GenX American.
Besides the fact that we absolutely lucked out with one of the most stellar days of the summer (sunny, not too hot, low humidity), the sumptuous 4-course picnic lunch (provided by gourmet chefs from my church) made yesterday an over-the-top delight. My lifelong friend Gail and I didn’t have to bring a thing other than our lawn chairs. (The picnic lunch was something I won in a church auction last year.)
Holy wow! From the majestic setting, to the history of the hallowed grounds traversed by the greatest American musicians of the 20th century—from Leonard Bernstein and Aaron Copland to John Williams and Renée Fleming—I truly felt the Tanglewood magic.
The orchestra setting up on the stage in the Koussevitzky Music Shed at Tanglewood
Gail and I with a bust of Aaron Copland (1900-1990), the composer of Appalachian Spring
Huge trees provide shade for picnickers at Tanglewood
The fourth course of our picnic lunch: peach and raspberry parfaits
A name has been chosen, but not released. We know it’s two syllables and a bit “old fashioned” but it’s not a family name. Hmmmm….Hazel? (Nope) Alice? (Stop guessing)
A nurse asked…and was told! (she liked it). And it’s already on a baby hat!
I’ve posted many times about my love of music, especially singing. Singing with choirs and choral groups has been bringing me joy since I was a teenager. I’ve done a bit of solo singing as well.
Typically, I don’t sing much in the summer, because my church (and choir) go on hiatus. Yup, that’s right, Unitarian Universalists take the summer off (which is a good thing because our beautiful, historic churches are rarely air conditioned).
This summer I’m trying something new. I’m going to collaborate with a musician who plays the digital bagpipes—of all things. We’re going to get together and work on a few songs. If things go well, we may have some opportunities to perform next church year. One song she really wants to try is Skye Boat Song. I’m going to need to practice this one. I have no idea what it will be like to sing with bagpipes. I’ve sung with piano, guitar, and even organ, but this will be new.
I made Grilled Chicken Salad for my dear book group friends yesterday. This was the second time I’ve made it and I can confirm that it’s a good and reliable recipe.
1) Went to see a cover band. The band was called Tusk and they are a Fleetwood Mac Tribute band. They were really great musicians and played all the songs really well. It was a beautiful, warm night. I danced and had fun. Fleetwood Mac’sRumours album came out in 1977 and it was my junior high jam. I loved that album so much. I did my majorettes try-out to “Second Hand News.” Hearing it all again, 47 years later, I have to admit, it’s yacht rock.
Tusk playing “Go Your Own Way” – don’t they sound just like Fleetwood Mac?
2) Went to see Fly Me To The Moon in a movie theater. All the movies out this summer seem like they’re for twenty-somethings. This one looked like it was geared for my age group and it was. If you ever drank Tang or Tab, this movie is for you. I thought it was very entertaining. ScarJo’s luminous beauty, the US space program of the 1960s, and a couple of very solid jabs at the Nixon administration were highlights for me. On the downside, the portrayal of the creative, gay movie director seemed like an over-the-top caricature, complete with ascots and limp wrists. Also, the whole plot seemed to feed into the whacko, conspiracy-theory, alt-reality culture we’re now living in.
When we came out of the movie, I had texts from both of my kids telling me Trump had almost been iced. A quick social media search revealed that Trump had stood up after the shooting and dramatically urged the crowd to “fight” and Republicans were blaming Democrats for the entire thing. Conspiracy theories were already in full bloom.
3) On Sunday night, with a growing sense of despair about the inevitability of the United States’ descent into right-wing madness, I happened to watch a Netflix comedy special and it was SO FUNNY. I laughed and laughed. Leanne Morgan was the only female comedian who appeared in the lineup of Netflix specials, so I took a chance on her and I’m so glad I did. She’s exactly my age (born in 1965) and I just loved her references to the 80s and all things wife/mother/grandmother-related. She avoids politics entirely. This bit about Dexatrim being speed had me in tears.
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