Columbus Day Weekend
Oct. 13th, 2003 04:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
quislibetJ. and I spent the weekend at her family home up north. We drove up to the Brattleboro Farmers' Market Saturday morning -- I drove, in fact (to the border, at any rate), without killing us or anyone else, so that's exciting. Route 2 is a useful practice highway, although I always lose my bearings in that rotary near MCI Concord. But perhaps I'll even have my license before I have to renew my permit next July.
Then there's the example of my dad, who has been driving for only a decade now. My siblings, of course, both started driving surreptitiously before they had reached the proper age, which helps bring some kind of balance to the whole affair.
Anyway. Farmers' Market. One of the finest I know, and yes, there were feminist mummers and, of course, Morris dancers... eventually; we were worried we'd have to put up with the rather talented jazz combo the whole time, but fortunately it wasn't long before they were replaced by a woman with a colander on her head, waving a poker around and declaiming about Joan of Arc in that over-serious lilting voice that amateur theater people use when they're being arty.
From the Market, laden with produce, we (J. and I, her parents, and her sister's family) drove to a nearby orchard for a picnic and apple-picking. All very pleasant, except for the hornet-sting that made J.'s sister's day a less than happy one.
Thence across the border into New Hampshire to the aforementioned family home, where we were drafted to help move boxes off the roof. For you see, J.'s parents had decided to redo their attic, to turn it into a large bedroom; the contractors, not expected until spring, had, in their turn, decided that, with the weather being nice and all, they'd start immediately. Unfortunately, the progenitors of my beloved were unreachable in Italy, but this proved no obstacle; the contractors entered the attic by ripping off the roof, which had to go anyway, and then moved the contents of the attic out of the way, and began to build the frame for the new structure. When J.'s parents returned from their trip on Thursday, they were rather surprised, even peeved.
So it was that on Saturday, with rain expected, the pile of boxes sitting out on another part of the roof, protected loosely by a tarp, needed to be moved indoors; this was tricky, for the framework for the new wall and roof did not in every instance permit the passage of the boxes, which had to be emptied outside, their contents passed piece by piece through the openings.
Then, although few of us are really spectator sports people, we watched the Sox and the Yankees beat each other up until dinner time.
Here is a good salad: roast some beets with oil and salt and pepper, and peel them. Allow them to cool, mix them with walnut oil, minced garlic, and toasted walnuts, and serve them with crumbled blue cheese over a bed of fresh greens.
Sunday had more box-moving and so forth. The entire day seemed a few hours later than it was because J.'s toddler neice had us all awake by 6 a.m. After moving boxes and rainproofing the remains of the attic (my job included offering suggestions that would not lead to J.'s dad climbing up on the slippery upper roof), we ate cheese. Then we came home, with J. driving, since weather conditions required someone with actual driving skill to operate the vehicle. After dinner and studying for a bit, we watched "Bread and Tulips."
A little bit ago we went for a short walk; Salem is chock-full of spooky and non-spooky people wandering around, it being a warm holiday a few weeks before Halloween in this supposedly spooky town. Halloween season is in full swing; unfortunately I missed the opening parade with Miss USA and the Saugus American Little League team Thursday night. This lost opportunity will (appropriately) haunt me for many years to come.
Then there's the example of my dad, who has been driving for only a decade now. My siblings, of course, both started driving surreptitiously before they had reached the proper age, which helps bring some kind of balance to the whole affair.
Anyway. Farmers' Market. One of the finest I know, and yes, there were feminist mummers and, of course, Morris dancers... eventually; we were worried we'd have to put up with the rather talented jazz combo the whole time, but fortunately it wasn't long before they were replaced by a woman with a colander on her head, waving a poker around and declaiming about Joan of Arc in that over-serious lilting voice that amateur theater people use when they're being arty.
From the Market, laden with produce, we (J. and I, her parents, and her sister's family) drove to a nearby orchard for a picnic and apple-picking. All very pleasant, except for the hornet-sting that made J.'s sister's day a less than happy one.
Thence across the border into New Hampshire to the aforementioned family home, where we were drafted to help move boxes off the roof. For you see, J.'s parents had decided to redo their attic, to turn it into a large bedroom; the contractors, not expected until spring, had, in their turn, decided that, with the weather being nice and all, they'd start immediately. Unfortunately, the progenitors of my beloved were unreachable in Italy, but this proved no obstacle; the contractors entered the attic by ripping off the roof, which had to go anyway, and then moved the contents of the attic out of the way, and began to build the frame for the new structure. When J.'s parents returned from their trip on Thursday, they were rather surprised, even peeved.
So it was that on Saturday, with rain expected, the pile of boxes sitting out on another part of the roof, protected loosely by a tarp, needed to be moved indoors; this was tricky, for the framework for the new wall and roof did not in every instance permit the passage of the boxes, which had to be emptied outside, their contents passed piece by piece through the openings.
Then, although few of us are really spectator sports people, we watched the Sox and the Yankees beat each other up until dinner time.
Here is a good salad: roast some beets with oil and salt and pepper, and peel them. Allow them to cool, mix them with walnut oil, minced garlic, and toasted walnuts, and serve them with crumbled blue cheese over a bed of fresh greens.
Sunday had more box-moving and so forth. The entire day seemed a few hours later than it was because J.'s toddler neice had us all awake by 6 a.m. After moving boxes and rainproofing the remains of the attic (my job included offering suggestions that would not lead to J.'s dad climbing up on the slippery upper roof), we ate cheese. Then we came home, with J. driving, since weather conditions required someone with actual driving skill to operate the vehicle. After dinner and studying for a bit, we watched "Bread and Tulips."
A little bit ago we went for a short walk; Salem is chock-full of spooky and non-spooky people wandering around, it being a warm holiday a few weeks before Halloween in this supposedly spooky town. Halloween season is in full swing; unfortunately I missed the opening parade with Miss USA and the Saugus American Little League team Thursday night. This lost opportunity will (appropriately) haunt me for many years to come.
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no subject
Date: 2003-10-16 09:51 am (UTC)The journals that you're a member of include Boston-oriented. Do you live in Boston? I've recently moved out here to go to school and am curious if you know the area.
Note about driving
Date: 2003-10-16 01:19 pm (UTC)And by the way, your translation of Baby Got Back is now on the W&M Classics Club listserve, just so you know.
-Ariel
no subject
Date: 2003-10-17 11:49 am (UTC)Re: Note about driving
Date: 2003-10-23 09:42 am (UTC)