Category: Dear Diary

The parking lot at Sea Breeze Amusement Park was full last night and at first I thought it might be open for the season but I know that doesn’t happen until Memorial Day. Then I spotted a sign that read “Summer Employee Applicants Parking.”

My father called and asked if we wanted to go down to Vic’s Place for dinner. Peggi thought we were talking about Nick’s so my dad decided to go there. The place was packed. I have never seen it that crowded. “Slammed” as they say in the restaurant business. Nick never even got over to our table to shoot the shit. My parents always forget to ask them to hold the olives on their salads and that works out good for me as they both pick them out and pass them on. Peggi and I both had the Manicotti and brought half of it home.

After dinner we rode down to the bridge that has swung open for the year and my father said, “Every year Chuck Schumer and the woman from Marge’s get their picture taken out on the bridge (as they make their case for a year-round bridge) and nothing ever happens.” As we looked out at the bay he told us how strange it was that no one has ever developed this idyllic spot. As we drove by Vic’s’ new spot on “hot dog row” it looked as though they were doing a good business as well. I think people around here just like it funky.

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We used to do brochures for the Society for Chamber Music in Rochester. I’d meet with two women who smoked like chimneys and we’d use clip art of medieval instruments in a two or three color brochure. This was quite a while ago. We’re still around but I don’t think they are.

When Margaret Explosion was doing the Friday Happy Hour gigs in the nineties we’d talk to Steve Brown, one of the three original owners of the Bug Jar, during breaks and he was pretty much out of his element behind the bar. He was working at Merrill Lynch during the day and liked talking money and investments. We had very little of each but as time went on he convinced us to meet with him in the old Lincoln First Tower downtown. I’m so happy now that he prodded us into putting something away. He moved up in the company and passed us off to Todd who is now out at Wells Fargo. Todd arranged an afternoon event at Monroe Country Club where he promised he wouldn’t talk any business so we went along for the ride. It was a beautiful day, a gorgeous setting and the Society for Chamber Music in Rochester performed.

During lunch we were seated with Matt, on the bassoon above, and we learned from his wife that they have a room in their house devoted to making reeds. There is an incredible amount of effort involved in making a bassoon reed and once you get a good one you’re lucky if it lasts a few days.

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My grandfather’s brother, Paul Dodd, was a local ballplayer of note. He took out ads in the paper announcing his availabilty to teams preparing for competition. He played for money. My father has been tracking down links to him in old newspapers, like those found on the amazing Fulton History site. He has found mentions of Paul playing at Sheehan’s field at 12 Corners, Windsor Beach in Summerville. a ballpark out Edgemere near where Schaller’s is today and this place called “Birds and Worms.”

At painting class last night my father (Leo Dodd), asked us if we had any idea where “Birds and Worms” was. He sent us this photo. He thought it was near us but we had never heard of it. My father continued his research last night and found it on a Google map. It turns out to be at the closest point on the bay to our house, a former Native American settlement and now home to the Newport Yacht Club. It is at the bottom of Seneca Road down a very steep hill. It is impossible to ride our one speed bikes back up it so we walk them.

The Birds and Worms clubhouse, shown above, hosted meetings of the “Early Birds And Unfortunate Worms Club” and later became the Birds and Worms Hotel, serving smuggled Canadian rum. There is not enough flat land down there for a baseball game so they must have sponsored games at another location. I’m thinking of re-organizing a social club called “Early Birds And Unfortunate Worms Club.”

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We were out by our mailboxes talking to our neighbor, Jared, for about ten minutes before I realized he was wearing his waders, boots that seamlessly transition into leakproof pants. He had broken the ice on his bond and he was taking inventory of the fish that survived our tough winter. There were twenty-four groggy fish in the pond before the snow came. They stop eating when the water temperature goes into the forties and just kind of float below the surface.

When the water freezes on top he has a small heater that keeps a small opening in the surface, just enough to let gasses escape. He was in New Zealand and emailed us to request that we clear away the snow from the top of the heater but when we did that the ice froze around the heater’s cover sealing the fish in for a few weeks. So far he has identified four living fish, one injured fish and six dead ones. Jared was in mourning but I am uncertain as to whether it is over the loss of the fish or the engineering failure.

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Good thing Peggi brought along the tube of “Glide.” We met Jeff and Mary Kaye at their house on the river for French Toast, “lab meat” sausage links and French press coffee. By the time we got suited up the snow was beginning to melt and stick to the bottom of our skies. We applied the blue, wax-like substance to our non-wax skis and took off around the old, overgrown harness racing track, then through the woods down to the river where we ran into this little guy.

He was in our trail but seemed oblivious to us. We all wondered if he was just coming out of hibernation or something because we thought they were nocturnal. Could he possibly be hard of hearing or sight impaired? I looked it up. “Opossums do not hibernate. The winter months will see many opossums change their foraging habits from night to day in order to try to take advantage of the warmer weather during sunlight hours. Their tails are particularly susceptible to frostbite as they have no fur covering to protect them. Neither their eyesight nor their hearing is particularly acute, but they can both see and hear.”

Back inside we were happy to assist Jeff with a presentation of his life-long project, a daily photo of himself, mostly self portraits including scans of slides, prints and multiple iPhoto libraries. It will be sensational when it is officially out of the bag.

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We do groundhogs’ day a month late around here and we do it with chipmunks. This little guy, in our backyard, popped his head up and likes what he sees. He’s predicting St. Patrick’s Day will arrive on schedule, March 17th.

We are headed over to my parents’ apartment to wish my dad a happy birthday. I called to say we were headed over and he invited us down to the bistro where the Special of the Week is “Fried Bologna and Onion Sandwiches.” I have not had one of those since I was kid but I might go for one of those and a vanilla shake.

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We chased a herd of deer toward the lake as we skied through the woods today, maybe twelve or so of them including a buck with a decent sized rack. And on the way back we chased the same herd back toward our neck of the woods. They must feel a lot more vulnerable in the snow. They are normally camouflaged. In the winter they take off as soon as they see us. In the other seasons they wait and check us out. If we act casual they will hold their ground and we get within fifteen feet or so. We come across their sleeping spots all the time, melted snow, indentations about a foot deep with leaves visible and of course, deer scat.

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We got back from New York just in time to make a toasted cheese sandwich and head out for painting class. I didn’t even have time to shovel the roof until the next morning. The temperatures were above freezing by then and ice damning is a concern when the snow melts and rolls toward our big overhangs. The roof temperature there is quite a bit colder than it is over our living quarters so freezes, forms an ice damn and can lift the shingles and drip into the house. This has only been a problem one time so I head it off at the pass. I’m only up there a few time a year and it’s pretty easy shoveling because it is all downhill. I just have to keep my wits about me up there and that is a challenge.

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We were members of Abundance CoOp back in the mid seventies when they located in the old firehouse on Monroe Avenue. We used to have work there for a few hours for the privilege. They might have changed their name since then but they are on the move again. Instead of being tucked away behind KrudCo they’ll have much more visibly on South Avenue. And you’ll have better visibility while you’re shopping as well because the new building has giant windows across the front. If I sound like one of the two thousand shareholders I am and we were there yesterday to take advantage of our once a month 10% off that each member enjoys.

While we were there we picked up a copy of their newsletter, the “Rutabaga Rap,” and learned that at the monthly board meeting they discussed what to do with all their new space. The most popular item on the expansion list was beer. Winter enthusiast, Jack Bradigan Spula has a great article in the newsletter about the subnivium, the vital ecosystem under the snow.

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We were hiking through the woods the other day when we spotted some cross country ski tracks. We had not considered the few inches of white stuff a sufficient base. It’s just not enough for us. Too many roots and fallen branches to trip on and not enough fluff to cushion our falls.

But skiing out on the course where they groom trails on the fairways is something else all together. For the last few days we’ve driven the car down to the lake and parked on Horseshoe Road where we take off on our skis. It is as cold as hell in the open but somehow you get in the zone and it is always quite astonishing to run into other skiers out there.

We set aside the afternoon to make a labor intensive recipe from our new “Mexico: The Cookbook.” Chopping shallots and grinding peanuts, soaking guajillo chiles and straining them into a sliced mushroom mix and wrapping hammered chicken breasts around the contents, tying them up with string and rolling them in flour before browning them on the stovetop and then baking the whole thing. We started at four and didn’t eat until after eight.

Like Noam Chomsky said, “I love the cold weather. That’s when I get my work done.”

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The older I get the more inconsequential I feel. And that is both sobering and liberating. At least that’s the way I felt when these big guys came up the hill on these big fat tire bikes. They look like they are intended for riding over really rough terrain like the surface of the moon or something. I’m afraid to google them.

I get this same feeling when I watch a FKA twigs video

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Seems like we won a few games. We must have. Maybe St. Stanislaus. St. Boniface? Holy Trinity didn’t even have a gym. We played in the parking lot during recess while other kids smoked cigarettes in the woods. Our league games were played downtown in the Auditorium at the old CYO where the Garth Fagan dancers rehearse now. I came across this photo while I’ve been painting the six players on the 1957 Myndersian Academy basketball team. The caption above the team photo reads, “Team Faced Tough Competition.”

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Our neighbors down the street asked to keep an eye on their house this weekend because they were driving down to DC to visit family. There really isn’t much to the job. Their cat has his own entry and a food dispenser that automatically refills itself. But before they left they gave us the most beautiful Thanksgiving Day flower arrangement to reward us for the task.

We didn’t watch the parade or any football and we didn’t get together with any family members. We didn’t even have turkey but we used the flowers as a centerpiece when we celebrated the holiday with four friends.

I’m not sure how people call themselves vegetarians but then eat fish. We know a few people like that and two of them were having dinner with us. Our menu Was comprised of what we all brought to the table and it was just fantastic.

We started with cheese, some stinky Bleu, Manchego and a New York Chedder and then followed that with a few tapa like portions of warmed, fresh figs with a vinegret and goat cheese dollop and then some calamari in Peggi’s homemade tomato sauce.

We sat down for the rest but the conversation never stopped. Baked potatoes, sliced but not all the way through so they were still in the form of a potato, poached white fish in a cream sauce, roasted Brussels sprouts and a kale salad made an arrangement as sweet as the flowers. And then the pumpkin pie, which baked while we ate, sent us over the edge. Somehow the night went on forever and I am thankful.

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My parents weren’t home so my sister brought her grandchild over here and let her loose. I was working on some paintings so she wound up down in the studio with me. I managed to carry on but at least half, no, more that half of my time was spent as assistant to her. More paper, fresh water, bigger brush. “I’m done with this one,” she would say and I’d drop what I was doing and attend to her needs. I really got a sense of what it would be like to be an artist’s assistant. They want to keep the juices flowing and stay productive and all of the mucky muck is handled by the assistant. My work was secondary. The world is demanding dinosaurs for their refrigerators.

Margaret Explosion has a very special show lined up for tomorrow. It’s a vegetarian, as in no vocals, Thanksgiving eve performance of all new material. 

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It doesn’t seem fair but most of our leaves blew across the street onto our neighbor’s lawn. The weather was way warm today, near seventy, and we had some high winds which will surely bring in some colder weather. It took down the rest of the leaves so we got out there and raked the remainder, the last batch for the year, and then chopped them up with our mower.

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