Autumn, Morning, Central Hunterdon County
2 November 2013
It's a good thing we get an extra hour tonight. I'm gonna need it in order to catch up on all the blogging I've missed over the past three weeks.
*****
New York City, 16 and 18 October:
I worked halfway through my first vacation day, but Jack and I made it to the City in time to meet two of our English friends who had been in Manhattan for the week, in the US for the first time in 26 years. Whenever we visit Mazz and Graham, no matter what else we do, we go for drinks and dinner. We met at the Chrysler Building and walked the few blocks to the Algonquin Hotel for drinks, where the current resident cat, Matilda, summarily ignored all of us.
You may admire me. I shall snub you.
I gave Mazz a box of chocolates from Thomas Sweet. She's hooked.
Two days later Jack and I were back in the city, en route to Boston, for the first of two bead shows in two days. Jack decamped to the Strand while I did pretty well in adhering to my shopping list. Adherence to a list does not mean fullness of wallet: the price of silver has gone up, and I needed a lot of silver from Jerry at Singaraja Imports, one of the vendors I've been patronizing from before the time I could first afford to. (Whether or not I can afford it now is an open question; it depends on how much jewelry I sell between now and the end of the year.)
Grace Ma is one of my Whole Bead Show favorites. I've been drooling over her work since her first trip east, back when she had only one table, back before she hired ten people and had to hide her beads behind a login to keep from being ripped off by unscrupulous mass-manufacturers overseas. When I showed her the bracelet I was wearing, she whipped out her phone and took pictures. I got a better one for her later, in the lobby. She says she's going to post it on her Artist Corner page, but she hasn't yet. She did favorite (it's a verb now, sigh) my Etsy shop, which is way cool.
Grace's beads, Jerry's silver, and my funky sneaks in the Metropolitan Pavilion lobby
I have a box full of her beads waiting to become jewelry, plus a private stash that I won't sell, and a few pieces waiting to be photographed for sale. And 9 watches I made from her beads and wear regularly. And a handful of earrings. And a pile of necklaces. And a few bracelets. And half of Dale's jewelry collection. In a rare show of willpower, this is all I bought from Grace this time 'round:
After the show we had lunch, visited a wine shop, took the train back to where we'd parked in Newark, got stuck in North Jersey traffic, got stuck again in Connecticut as a partial lunar eclipse happened (we could see the moon but not the shadow), and pulled into our hotel, hungry for dinner, at 9:30 p.m.
*****
Boston, 18-21 October:
Here's downtown Boston from a window in the hallway:
Here's a necklace I made the night before. It has nothing to do with this story except that Heather used to come east to bead shows in New York and Boston. Now she's been kind enough to me samples instead, saying I could send back whatever I didn't like. I kept everything and wrote another check.
Beads by Heather Trimlett; help with the chain by Moxie Shenanigans Lynch
Chris, my roommate from college, picked me up at the hotel on Saturday morning. We've been going to the Bead Affaire in Watertown almost every year since, geez, 1988 or so. Some of the artists who were there then are there now. Others I've never seen before. One named all of her beads:
I'd just sent a lot of money to Heather, knowing I could afford to because Kristina Logan was in Corning instead of Watertown. However, one of my other favorite artists, Ann Campbell was there.
While Chris was off surveying semi-precious stones, I doodled around at Ann's table, the morning's coffee and blood sugar rapidly declining. This is the most dangerous time to buy beads. And the most fun. Oops. Earrings are happening. Dale will like these. Send text.
"Love!" she writes. More.
Can she buy the blue ones? Yes! So two now, one for me, one for her.
Chris helped me put the brakes on. We went to the Red Lentil to refuel.
Jack, meanwhile, did his best to amuse himself at bookstores and wine shops in downtown Boston. He said he was coming down with a cold. His bad day got worse when he had to take a crowded T to meet us at the Paradise Rock Club. We didn't have time for a real dinner before the Mike Doughty concert; we were in a college town (Boston University) and wolfed down bad college town food.
The tickets didn't list an opening act, but there was one, and they were really bad. I asked the ticket-taker/hand-stamper when Doughty would take the stage. "10:00" he said. Yeesh. It was only 8:00. So we left, walking half a block to a coffee shop. I ordered a decaf, iced. It was to be the only good coffee I had during the trip.
I related a story: In 2002 Jack and I had gone up to New York City to see Simon Townshend at the Mercury Lounge. There were two opening bands. The first was awful. The second intrigued me, and I made my way towards the stage as they were packing up. "Do you guys have a CD?" I asked. They did, their first. I've been a fan of The National ever since. So I suggested we go back. The second act might be worth hearing.
As we entered, we heard,
And it booms as cool as
Sugar-free jazz
Skoolzeebomzeebomzzzzz
Jack said, "It's him!" We scurried inside. While Chris and I found a place where we could see, Jack went off to find out how much we'd missed. One song, it turned out.
I wormed my way towards the stage, finding a spot off to the side near the stand-up bassist's stand-up bass case. Chris followed a few minutes later.
He did Screenwriter's Blues. That's the song that got me hooked on Soul Coughing in the first place.
Screenwriter's Blues
The show ended early for a Saturday night-club event. I wasn't tired when we went to sleep at midnight. We set the alarm for 8:00 a.m.
I suspected there had been caffeine in my decaf. Jack was sick and snoring. I tossed, turned, covered my head with pillows, tried ear plugs, tried my white noise app, tried putting up with it. Nothing worked. At 3:00 a.m. I grabbed all of the extra pillows and the sliver of bedspread. I put the pillows in a long pile in the carpeted bathroom vestibule. The bedspread, more of a foot-of-the-bed decoration than anything else, was just wide enough to keep me warm if I didn't curl up too much. Earplugs in, I fell asleep.
I woke to see Jack attempting to straddle his way over me into the bathroom. I stumbled back to the bed, figuring on half an our before he'd be finished showering. When I woke up again, he was seated, reading.
"What time is it?" I mumbled.
"9:30."
"Shit!"
Chris was going to come by around noon to take us to South Boston, where we were going to meet Andrew, Jack's college roommate, for brunch. The four of us have known each other since 1985.
We waited almost an hour for a table at a hipster-laden diner sort of place, but it was worth it. Then we took the scenic route back into town, where we decided to walk off everything we ate. Jack begged off halfway, feeling crappy and wanting to nap before he was to meet a former student for dinner. Chris, Andrew, and I were going to go have Ethiopian food, which Jack can't stand, so it all works out.
Downtown Boston on a sunny autumn Sunday:
This is a labyrinth. It took me a five minutes to get to the center.
This bridge connects Downtown to Southie:
At 5 p.m. none of us was hungry. I decided to go back to the hotel to keep Jack company and said goodbye to Chris and Andrew. Jack hadn't napped, but he was feeling well enough to go out in an hour as planned. I went with him, and the four of us had an enjoyable, mellow evening.
*****
The Evolution of an Earring (20 and 21 October):
In the hotel room before dinner and before driving home the next morning, I got to work on Dale's earrings, texting her pictures along the way.
Meh. The huge silver chain is too distracting.
Make my own silver connectors? Niiiiiih.
Oh, god, no. Try again in the morning.
After a good night's sleep (no caffeine, earplugs), the aha! moment:
*****
Hunterdon (26 October)
Right. Biking. Last Saturday, Hunterdon County. Jim already posted about it, saving you, dear reader, from having to hear about it again.
There's just one thing I want to add: When I offered the choice of Deer Hill or Rockaway, I added, "You won't lose any points if you have to walk up the hill," Ed said, "Won't lose any points?!? There are two bloggers on this ride!"
"See, now, it's quotes like that that make the blog," I said, as we headed towards Deer Hill.
I thought we'd missed the peak of fall. The colors seemed muted. Leaves were going from green to brown with little in between.
Somewhere Near Readington, at Ed's Request
Deer and hay bales on Case Road:
Jim got the Hill Slugs Logo printed on his mirror.
*****
Hunterdon and Somerset (2 November):
Once again, Jim has done the reporting. He took pictures of people; I got the scenery. The ride was hilly, and much of the pretty stuff went by as we were huffing our way up or hurtling down. I didn't get very many pictures because I didn't want to stop mid-hill in either direction.
The colors were popping today. I'm glad we'd come back.
Homestead Road:
Rockaway Road:
Al had a flat on Roxiticus Road. We stopped at the entrance to a mansion once owned by an athlete now jailed for murder.
*****
Polka-dot Horse Pictures for Larry (27 October):
Because he couldn't open the attachments, I'm posting them here. We were somewhere north of New Egypt.
I fed the horse some grass from our side of the fence as payment for its patience.
*****
Well, that took about three hours. This is why I'm not on Facebook or Twitter.
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