Journal of an Urbane Gorilla

You can Aurora my Borealis

Yes, I know, where has the Gweeds been all summer? Well, of course the Hankster was here and we had to play, and build cities, and watch toonies, and play some more.

I was also interviewing new nannies for a young boy named Eric who’s living in Wales. So many things to do and so little time . . .

Of course, I would have had plenty of time if the Grams had used her pea brain. It seems that the reason for her summer-long malaise was truly her fault and her fault alone. She had an infection that she didn’t deal with until we had safely put Henri on plane back to NYC. By then, she was pretty close to renal failure. Silly woman, it’s 2 rounds of meds later, and she’s finally getting her old energy back.

I know what got her to take care of it: I told her that we were leaving for Wales and Scotland on the 11th with her or without her. Her lifelong dream of seeing the Aurora Borealis from Scotland would be dashed if she weren’t to get herself better. She took her meds faithfully and during the second round, she finally started to be her old self.

She has packed the bags. I’ve found a nanny for Eric (her name is Geneviève. She’s French and she has a bit of an attitude. But, I’m used to women with attitudes, if you get my drift.

So, on Tuesday we’re off to Wales and then Scotland. Emlyn is hiring a car and we’re going to just take off for Scotland. No reservations. No plans. Well, there’s one plan: to see the Aurora Borealis. Fingers crossed on that one. Also, Grams and Marian plan on getting a lot of sketching and painting in.

I’m going to spend as much time as I can with Bronwyn and the child. Oh, I wish Tuesday would get here. Grams says you shouldn’t wish time away, but I do wish Tuesday would come a little faster.

A dopo e Moochas Smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders) and support Kiva.

And, of course

平和 に 働 き

(hewa ni hataraki: work for peace)

Monet in the backyard

I was getting ready to write about a fireplug in Vienna, when I ran across these photos from the weekend. We had biked down to the slough and, not for the first time, I realized how much the scenery looked like something out of a Monet painting.

Then, I turned back and got this shot under the bridge that crosses the slough. The water was so still in the creek, and it shimmered on the underpinnings of the bridge.
Just I was getting that shot, Big Guy said, “Look over here, Gweeds!” That’s when I saw the ‘plein air’ palms. It was such a California shot.




The palm trees mark the spot of one of our favourite restaurants. It’s right on the beach where the slough empties out into the ocean. I know why it’s Grams’ fave: they make wicked Key Lime martinis. Every time we go there, I always think about the time when Henri was very little and he chased a mouse around the outdoor patio. Since the El Niño storms of a few years back, the mice can’t get into the patio anymore. The wave action was so huge that the patio just about washed away. So, they built a short concrete wall all the way around the patio.

The last pic is from the Lemon Festival. That’s Grams with Sparky the firedog. Can you guess what she’s holding in the box? Yup, it’s a piece of lemon cream pie. Yum!

It's funny about the Monet slough: sometimes what you're longing for is right there in your own backyard.








A dopo e Moochas Smoochas,






Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

And, of course

平和 に 働 き

(hewa ni hataraki: work for peace)

What was I thinking?!?!?

Well, I don't know how she does it, but Grams talked me into going with her on her bike yesterday morning. Since we had planned to go to the bluffs, this shouldn't have been a problem. It wasn't as if it were the "Tour de Terrior," which I've told you about before.

How was I to know that Big Guy would find that the gate to the far towers was open and that we would go up the "hill of death"? Of course going up the hill of death isn't the worst part. It's coming down the h.o.d. that's the worst. No, I mis-speak: hearing Grams laugh that laugh of hers is the worst part.

Why the puzzle? If you solve it you can see where we went; but in this form, this is how I felt when we got to the top. As we approached the cliffs I swallowed a bug, "Ackkkkk, bug!!!" Grams was ever so understanding, "If you weren't such a mouth breather, Gweeds! Breathe in through your nose! Exhale with your mouth! It's a Yoga purifying exercise!" I was less than impressed, "I thought you said it was a Lamaze exercise!" "That too!" she laughed. I passed out before we got back down to the bottom. Never again!

A dopo e Moochas Smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

And, of course

平和 に 働 き

(hewa ni hataraki: work for peace)

I didn't want to do it*

It’s one of those days in Santa Tourista. It’s raining and thundering. Big Guy is watching the playoffs. Grams is doing my taxes. I’m loading pictures onto my new 250 gig drive that I got for Christmas (Boy! I must’ve been good!).

Yes, I did say that Grams is doing my taxes. She always gets them ready for me so I don’t show up with a paper sack full of receipts like I did one year. She’s not happy to do this for me. As a matter of fact, she says, “I’m only doing this because you’re so inept at it and I don’t want you to waste our time with the accountant.” So there.

Then, after she gave me the ‘Speech,’ she gave me the ‘Look.’ You know the ‘Look.’ Here’s the interesting bit. I always thought that she had learned the ‘Look’ from dealing with her children and that she had perfected it on me. But, non mes amis: She’s always been able to do the ‘Look.’ Check this photo out, she couldn’t have been more than 5 years old and she was already doing the ‘Look.’

We leave for Vienna in about 10 weeks. So, it’s not as if I have time to do my taxes. I have to get the itinerary together. Also, since Marian and Emlyn will be with us and they’ve never been to our second stop, Florence; I have to plan on all the sights for them to see there. Yes, there’s the Uffizi, the Palazzo Pitti, the Academia. Then there’s Fiesole, Pisa, Lucca, Viareggio. So many places, so little of me. It never changes.

A dopo e Moochas Smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

* You made me love you
I didn't want to do it; I didn't want to do it
You made me love you
and all the time you knew it
I guess you always knew it.
You made me happy sometimes, you made me glad
But there were times, dear; you made me feel so bad

you made me sigh for, I didn't want to tell you
I didn't want to tell you
I want some love that's true, yes I do, deed I do, you know I do

Give me, give me, give me what I cry for
You know you got the brand of kisses that I'd die for
You know you made me love you

The autumn weather turns the leaves to flame

Before she took to her sick bed, Grams discovered Key Lime Pie Martinis at a small bistro in Greenwich Village. As all of those who are near and dear to her know, she will have Key Lime Pie in any form; but this was a new one for her.

Contrary to certain scurrilous rumours, it was not the martinis that sent her to her sick bed. She did call out in her delirium yesterday and asked me find a recipe for Key Lime Pie Martinis.

Key Lime Pie Martini

1 1/2 oz. vanilla vodka
1 oz. pineapple juice
1 oz. key lime juice
3/4 oz. simple syrup

She might just be giving up G&Ts. I liked the Maraschino cherry myself.

A dopo e Moochas smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

Under the Brooklyn Bridge

Have I ever mentioned my fascination with the Brooklyn Bridge? I know just about everything about it. I’m gobsmacked by the Roeblings, père et fils. It’s not just that they invented the way to make the cable wire for bridge suspension that’s still used today, it’s also the dedication they had to the project. Papa Roebling died from tetanus while the bridge was under construction. Washington, his son, was crippled by ‘caisson’ disease (the ‘bends’) and completed the bridge from his sick bed by giving his wife instructions to relay to the construction crew. Wow! 14 years after it was started it opened to traffic.

When we arrived there the other day, after walking along the Brooklyn Heights promenade, there was a wedding party taking photos. You know me, I love to take pictures of wedding parties on the sly. These folks were very friendly though. It turned out they were Russian émigrés. They had been here since they were teenagers. All friends still, there they were celebrating a new stage in their lives.

After that, we went to Grimaldi’s and had one of the best pizzas ever (no slight to Franco Loambardi and his pizzas in Florence). Here’s the secret to Grimaldi’s pizzas: the crust is very thin and the first thing on it are large slices of Mozzarella. After that are the other toppings. At the very last comes the tomato sauce. That way the crust stays crisp while it’s baking. Ooooh, it was yummy!

After the pizza and a tartufo (one tartufo, 5 spoons), we set off over the fabulous Brooklyn Bridge. More on that later.

A dopo e Moochas smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

The subway charms us so when balmy breezes blow, to and fro

Yesterday was a whirlwind. We met up with Mama Meg in Manhattan and after a quick lunch, set off for Brooklyn and the Transit Museum. The Transit museum is in an old subway station. The main level has all of the peripheral minutiae associated with all of the forms of transits in New York. But, the lower floor is where the old tracks are and on those tracks are subway cars from every era of the system.

It is so cool. Later I’ll have photos from the lower floor. The drawing is, of course, Al Hirschfeld’s take on the joys of subway riding. I wish they still had those straps.

The signs are from the early part of the 20th century.

The last photo is engineer Henri at the wheel. The subway is safe in the Hankster’s hands.

After the museum we walked through Brooklyn over to the East River. Then, on to Grimaldi’s for an early dinner and a leisurely stroll across the Brooklyn Bridge. But, more on that later.

A dopo e Moochas smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).