Journal: August 7th. Propane, cousin Naomi visits, State Fair and more. .

The first task of the day: get propane.  The chicken from last night is less than half-cooked. Cousin Naomi (nee Naomi Glauberman) is driving out from Hackensack.  My plan is to get the propane--cook up food that didn't get cooked last night--and then?

Not clear.  I'd gotten a lessen in propane tank removal and attachment from fisherman Rick the night before, but didn't quite recall it.  I brought the tank to Gasorama, got it filled and brought it down the hill in the wheelbarrow--but reading the warning filled instructions for installation, I was filled with fear.  Called Laura for propane advise.  No answer.  Then called Logan--I was having trouble with part identification--what exactly do they mean by valve?  The one I'm supposed to turn to the left?

Perfectly installed tank

Logan is home to answer my queries.  It's of course ridiculously easy.  One more suburban mystery mastered.

A short while later, Dave arrives with his lawn-mower.  His mowing had been interrupted the other day when a chain broke-and he has returned to finish the job.

As he mows away, cousin Naomi arrives.  Like several recent guests, she has been suffering from an upset stomach, so barely eats my fine propane grilled food.  She's wearing sandals, so a country walk is not a great idea, but Logan had reminded me that the  Fair had just opened in Augusta.  So off we went--two Naomi Glaubermans to the New Jersey State Fair.  My first memories of cotton candy and mid-way games (throwing balls at wooden bottles, etc) are of this Fair--but we never even make it to the Mid-way.  Due to my various house obsessions, I end up having long discussions with landscapers, chimney installers, and only get the briefest look at prize cows and vegetables before it's time to leave.  Naomi doesn't want to drive in the dark--and this is a desire to which I am most sympathetic.

When we return from the Fair, Logan is at the house with Gabrielle.  He's been planning to cut down one of the trees near the lake all day, and manages to get that done just before night falls.

Journal: August 6th. More garbage. Garlic. Dinner.

Garbage chores in the morning. No recycling, just  four bags of garbage to the end of the road along with a chewed up speaker and large moldy cushions. Then off to shopping for dinner with Regina and Karen and Steven Altman. The organic farm was open around the corner from the post office. I'd thought it's opening and closings were completely random, but the young woman sorting beans informed me they open  on weekends. Although she was there,  the basic payment system was the same. Money put in a slot--beneath a sign that says--don't have current change or a check? pay the next time you're here. I did have correct change for my two lovely garlic bulbs, beautiful stripped zucchini and funny little cucumber seconds.

The moved clothesline doing its job.

Back at the house, things moving along.  Clothesline moved in preparation for porch demolition.
Regina arrives to help prepare dinner.  She makes a panzella--a tomato and bread salad with fresh mozzarella and cucumbers.  I'm grilling vegetables--asparagus, eggplant, onions, zucchini, peppers and corn--and chicken and tofu as well.  Oh--and there's cheese--and smoked oysters with jalapeno jelly, olives, etc. for appetizers.

Karen and Steve arrive.  He seems to be coming down with something--I have a short conversation with him (as I grill) about my fears that I might run out of propane.  He takes to the bed--and sure enough I run out of propane.  Luckily, there's so much food, we did quite well without the corn and chicken and tofu. Steve, of course, eats nothing, but we are eventually joined by fisherman Rick who has a bite or two.

Despite a fine assortment of setbacks, a good time was had by all.

Journal: August 5, 2010. One Chimney Down.

Chris finished taking down most of the chimney (it can't all be removed until we deal with the grading and the siding).  The house looks much better without it.  It is a significant change.  Unlike most of the house, I do remember that chimney being built in the fifties.  Or more exactly, I remember the construction of the new room and fireplace to which it was attached.

Before it was built, I have vague memories of a dark earthen space--was it a long ago root cellar? My parents had it  transformed into a mahogany paneled room, with a big Zenith television and an even bigger picture window in which we spent most of our indoor time.

The years have not been kind to that project.  Poor planning, poor drainage and poor construction created a mess of a room.  Chimney removal is the first step in its rehabilitation.  (All that book cleaning was the real first step, but we're now talking structural) 

Once the bricks were down, Chris, cleaned and stacked all the intact ones in this most impressive pile.  Its clean rectangular lines are startling. I've gotten so used to sloping floors, crooked door jambs, and the complete absence of right angles.

Journal: August 4th. Windows., Chimney. Laundry and lawn.

Alone again in the country.  Well, scarcely alone.  George and his son Chris are both at work. George, continuing the installation of the new windows with warnings, while Chris has begun taking down the chimney for the fireplace in the den which was in dreadful shape. 
The other three chimneys built two hundred years ago, don't really function, but they do look like proper chimneys and the equally old fireplaces, to which they connect, despite dripping pink insulation, are basically intact.  In contrast, the fireplace in the den, known to us as "the new room" along with its chimney, though built one hundred and fifty years later, is a wet and crumbling mess.  It really had to go.  

Chimney half-removed

While Chris and George worked, I did a laundry, which successfully dried before it started raining, and even managed to do some lawn mowing.    I even re-filled the lawn mower with gas.  I didn't mow as much lawn  as much as I'd intended but was suitably hot and sweaty before stopping. Hanging clothes to dry and mowing the lawn!!! Who would have imagined any of this?

Journal: August 3rd. Hair cut, lobster roll and Zabar's before driving back.

My minimal New York plans had included breakfast with Margie, and a last minute haircut at one with Izumi on East 7th Street.

Margie canceled, giving me some welcome New York quiet time.  Due to the heaviness of my possessions, I decided to leave them on Wooster Street so I could walk easily to and from haircut.

Oh, there are few things that give me more pleasure than walking in New York City.  It is indeed my natural habitat--so much so that I forget to take pictures of my many excellent encounters--perhaps I will rectify that eventually but for now I can only report that I got an excellent haircut followed by a sublime lobster roll with root beer and potato chips--pure heaven -- next door at Luke's.  Reclaimed my bag and brought it to my happily parked car on 84th street.
How could I be on 84th Street and not visit Aunt Debbie, 94 year old widow of Uncle Mike, and mother of Jeannie.  Jeannie had told me she most likely would not remember me, but with just the slightest reminder, she knew exactly who I was and we had a splendid visit.

She appears to be in perfect health, and mentally, she is quite all right.  In fact, she laments about her good health, wishing that she could manage to exit this particular existence in which she spends most of her time lying on her bed, doing cross-words puzzles.  "I just do the easiest ones, now," she says, claiming she doesn't have the patience for anything challenging.

Who knows how you're supposed to grow old?  I would think she'd be much happier in some kind of group setting where she could talk to others.  "No, no.  I would hate the regimentation," she says.  More likely she just can't imagine any change.  She has, after all, lived in that apartment for decades.  Why move now?  Why not?

Old reliable windows

After my allotted twenty or so minutes (she does tire), I left for a Zabar's run before returning home.  I'd promised myself this treat (oh--what a day of seafood treats--first the lobster roll in honor of my non-existent new england heritage and then whitefish salad and herring in sour cream--my true heritage indeed.  Oh--and a loaf of fresh rye and assorted cheeses.

New risky ones

With the promise of a fabulous dinner/snack awaiting me on my return, I walked back to my car to discover that despite my obsessive locking of all doors and the double locking of the trunk, I'd left the back window open.  No harm done.  I don't think there was anything to steal, but the car, open window, California plates, Obama sticker and all,  sat undisturbed for two full days.

Got home before dark.  Had a brief pang of regret on sighting old wooden windows with their many panes stacked by garage. I did love those windows, though they failed miserably at all basic window duties, they did look great.  but I can take comfort that my new windows, vinyl though they may be, might provide some excitement of their own, as they all
bear many warnings.  Still, if the open car window led to no trougle in New York City, it is unclear what dangers an open window (with excellent screens, mind you)  might leave me open to here in the country.

Journal: August 2nd. LaGuardia again. New York City visits.

Sam with trimmed beard and haircut

George and Chris arrive around 9 am, just as Sam and I are leaving to drive to La Guardia.  He's flying off to Milwaukee, where he'll spent the night at Carrie's family house in Shorewood before driving to a distant island in Michigan with Carrie, her dad and two younger brothers for a week long canoe trip.

We've rehearsed this drive the week before with Carrie, so now we scarcely need our Droid navigator as we transition from 80 to 95 to the FDR Drive to the RFK Bridge to La Guardia.  Lots of house work will continue in our absence.

I'm meeting Nancy at her apartment for lunch, and manage to get myself to 79th street at the exact moment Alternate Side of the Street parking went into effect.  Cars are neatly double-parked on the north side of the street, and I despair of finding parking for the next hour and a half.  No--I don't despair--I like to imagine I once had excellent parking karma and although I haven't called on it lately, I'm hoping it might still exist.  And indeed--as I drive up and down the streets from Broadway to Central Park West, I eventually get into another zone -- the streets had been thoroughly cleaned an hour earlier.  Of course, these coveted spots are already taken, but the parking gods are smiling--a huge truck pulls out--and three spots open on West 84th Street.  It is Tuesday at noon, and I can remain there--if I so desire--until 8 am on Thursday.  Praise be.  I am so elated that I practically float to Nancy's--stopping only--in a bit of enthusiasm more suited to a 6 year old boy-- to take pictures of the fire fighters and hook and ladders  engines clogging  West 82nd Street.

Nancy's mother, an artist, died last March, and Nancy's apartment is now overflowing with her quite extraordinary work.  I get to take in a small sampling before we head out for an excellent Thai lunch on Broadway.

As Nancy returns to work, I wander through Barnes and Noble and Zabar's (where I buy what I hope will be excellent red ceramic knives) while waiting for a call from my cousin Jeannie who lives in the neighborhood.

Jeannie and her husband, Raymond have just completed a massive remodel of their always excellent apartment--sweeping views in three directions--and we have a fine visit.  Our parents were sister and brother--and we are just one week apartment--so there is always family business--both ancient and contemporary to catch up on.  She promises to try to make it to the country some day soon and off I go.

I'd thought I might do some walking, but despite my "light" packing, my laptop--which I now bring everywhere--is heavier than I want it to be--so I scotch (is that a word?) all walking plans--and take the subway straight from Central Park West to Jackie and Andre's in Soho.  Sarah meets us there--and she and Jackie and I have an excellent Sushi meal at the Sun Cafe in Tribeca.  After dinner, Sarah bikes off to Brooklyn and Jackie and I return to her house, where I'll spend the night. 


Sam and I leave Sam flies to Milwaukee Parking on upper west side. Lunch with Nancy. visit with cousin Jeannie. Dinner with sarah and Jackie at sun Cafe.

Journal: August 1. Cemetery. Airplane Tickets. Thunder Storm. Flood.

Oh dear. The days are  flying by. To say nothing of the hours. The plan for today was to sort through the piles of papers and files pulled from corroding boxes, rescued from beneath squirrel nests and file them neatly away. Also plans to shave Sam's beard and cut his hair. Perhaps these tasks will be accomplished in the five hours remaining before midnight.


So far, we have gone in many other directions.  Sam is flying to Milwaukee tomorrow and then going on a canoe trip with Carrie, her father, and two younger brothers. The plan was to drive him very early in the morning to catch his 7:45 flight at La Guardia. At some point late last night he discovered that the plane was actually landing in Milwaukee at 7:45--leaving NY around 6am. We would have had to leave here around 3am--this might have been even beyond our loony capabilities. He spent many hours this morning in an ultimately successful quest to change his ticket to  noon. 

Finally, with the plane situation straightened out and my New York plans taking shape, we could proceed with the afternoon at hand.

We had been planning a quick trip to buy provisions for dinner--spinach to go with the ricotta cheese in the fridge for    for a quick pasta--and were looking forward to a leisurely perusal of the Sunday Times.  I had also promised Sam a drive to the cemetery.

My grandfather, both my parents and my Aunt Frieda are all buried in the Jewish section of the Hardyston cemetery, about six miles from the house.  This would be his first visit to the resting place of his ancestors.

Rain had been forecast, and the sky was growing dark, so we decided to postpone paper and pasta and go directly to the cemetery.

This hilltop in Hardyston is not where I'd expect to find all these Glaubermans.  But there they were.  All the Jews of Newton--the Jewish families of my long ago childhood--were there as well.

The Friedmans, Pete and Claire accompanied by their two grandchildren who died of Tay-Sachs in the early sixties, the Seplows, who owned the liquor store, the Fogelsons of the bakery, the Churgins—he was a tailor—maybe she sewed as well, Sid Lubert, the television repair man.  They were all accounted for in the narrow Jewish section on the far side of the Hardyston cemetery.   

 

As we approached home, the rains began. Huge bolts of thunder, and torrents, sheets of rain so thick that even the bold, ever-tailgating Sussex County drivers had to pull over. So much rain, that we had to forego newspaper and grocery purchases--and carefully drive down the rushing river of a driveway.  The rain was so heavy that I sat in the car for twenty minutes rather than make the dash to the house.

This would have been the time to do the sorting and organizing I've been putting off all week, but the rain had managed to work its way into the den.  I have learned that one of the main issues in house construction is figuring out how to keep out water--the den--which my parents had built in the early fifties in a textbook case on how to make it easy for water to permeate floors, walls, etc. Luckily all the work we'd done in the den meant that nothing was on the floor--so the water didn't cause much additional damage. Of course, it did have to be mopped up.   There went the late afternoon.