Secret Squirrel

I hope everyone has had a splendid weekend. I did. I was busy both days, and only had time for one short nap. Weekend naps are something I look forward to during the work week. I'm sleepy tonight. I went boating with Sadie this afternoon, and the sun zapped me. Yawn!

Before I head upstairs to bed, I thought I'd share a few photos with you. By now, everyone has probably seen the ground squirrel that photobombed a couple's vacation picture (below). As it turns out, he's been around for awhile. Obviously, he's not camera-shy, but I was surprised to learn that he's been a thread in our nation's fabric since our early days, and still wields power and influence in modern times. He has also visited a couple of my good friends recently. This guy seems to be everywhere!



Here's our furry pal acting as a protocol advisor to President Obama & Michelle on their recent goodwill trip to the Old World. This venture might have been a disaster without his counsel.



Jimi Hendrix would never have played The Star Spangled Banner at Woodstock if not for the urging of this wise marmot.



He was part of the first lunar landing, although some naysayers still claim it was all a ruse. He knows better. He was there.



Passionately devoted to the United States of America when we were still just thirteen ragtag, bickering colonies, few Americans today know that we would never have united as one nation if not for the wise vision he shared with our country's forefathers.



Before you jump to any conclusions, this was not a political endorsement. Our friend was simply foraging for nuts, and he found a really big one.



My friends Suzanne & Brett in Amsterdam were thrilled that he found time to drop in when he was in Europe. They are opening a new shop, La Naranja, in the Kinkerbuurt section of the city. Suzanne told me that he is a whiz at product marketing ideas, and he didn't charge them a thing. They just had to keep their cats outside during the consultation.



My pal Scott will be launching a new art show of his works in September, and confided to me that this little ground squirrel has a keen eye for the best picture placement on the walls of the Nau-Haus Contemporary Gallery in Houston.

The House That Love (almost) Built

At some point in most intimate relationships, a time is reached when one asks oneself "How can I best express my love? What can I say or do that will truly demonstrate my undying ardor?"

Of course, the simplest way to let someone know that you love them is to look them in the eye each day and say "I love you," and treat them sweetly. As civilized people, however, we like to make things as complex and convoluted as possible, so we bypass the direct route and seek flashier solutions, usually in the form of gifts or services. Here are a few examples I've heard of.

♥ fresh flowers (delivered; not yanked out of the yard)
♥ a luxury day at a spa
♥ a mood ring (I'm sorry to say that my dad had this idea for my mom)
♥ a night on the town, including dinner & a show
♥ a private island with a 120+ room Rhineland-style castle

I know what you're thinking. The mood ring seems excessive. I'm not sure if my mom ever got over it. I found it in a jewelry box after she died.

Last month, while I was cavorting around the Thousand Islands, Sadie took us to Boldt Castle. Boldt Castle is perched on Heart Island, and was a built as a testament of George Boldt's love for his wife, Louise. George was a Prussian-born self-made millionaire. He & Louise had summered in the Thousand Islands region, and Louise was very much taken with the area.

Time wasn't on George's side, however, and in the fourth year of the castle's construction, Louise keeled over from heart failure. Only one month shy of her 42nd birthday, with the world at her feet and a castle in the making, and poor Louise takes the dirt nap. George telegraphed the island and ordered all work stopped. It is said that he never set foot on Heart Island again. Statuary & fountains brought over from Europe remained in their crates on the island's dock, which rotted, dumping the collection into the river for many years. For anyone interested, a more reverent account of all these doings can be found here.

Today, you can visit the unfinished castle. Sadie took us there in her boat, but (if you can't find Sadie) there are tour boats that you can take from the US or Canada.


Once through the ticket office at the dock, you are pretty much free to roam the island, castle, and other buildings as long as you like. We headed straight for the house, wandered through the first floor, and then went to the basement. There's an unfinished indoor pool in the basement, and a passageway that led us to the edge of the island near the power house. From there, we trudged back up to the house and explored the upper floors.

Below you will see Sherry, Robespierre, and Sadie posing in front of Boldt Castle.


The next photo shows Alster Tower, which is also known as the children's playhouse. It seemed odd to me that you'd build a children's playhouse at the edge of a river, far from the main house, but what do I know about child care? In case the river didn't tempt the children, there was a Roman pool immediately beside the playhouse. Alster Tower's plans featured a billiard room, bowling alley, library, as well as a cafe, grill, and kitchen. It also had bedrooms, and this is where George & his family stayed while the castle was under construction.


Next we see a reception room on the first floor of the castle. The property sat vacant for over seventy years, and was tormented by harsh winters and vandals. In 1977, the Thousand Islands Bridge Authority purchased the place for one dollar, and has spent millions on upkeep and renovations. The interesting thing about the house is that, while the first floor has been spendidly finished, the upper floors become increasingly crude as you climb.


The impressive domed skylight in the main hall...


Sadie in an unfinished bedroom. The house had way too many bedrooms. Really, how many overnight guests do you want all at once, no matter how many rooms you have for them? But, George owned the Bellevue-Stratford Hotel in Philadelphia, and he was proprietor of the Waldorf-Astoria in New York, so I guess he thought that houses should have thirty bedrooms and bathrooms.


The fourth floor was quite bare and incomplete. I loved the hints of grandeur unfulfilled.


Next, we have the passageway that led from the basement to the outer edge of the island. This would have been used by servants to convey goods from the docks to the kitchens & storage rooms below stairs.


Here's the cute little power house, which held generators to supply the island's electrical needs.


The heart motif was everywhere. Flowerbeds, stone masonary carvings, plaster fretwork on the ceilings...George Boldt even had engineers reshape the island to resemble a heart. It's astounding what people, unencumbered by income taxes, could do with cheap labor. Just look at the Egyptian pyramids.


This gazebo is a popular spot for weddings nowadays.


Here's a view from Heart Island of a little lighthouse in the St. Lawrence River. The sailboat obligingly came along at the right moment. And that concludes our tour of Boldt Castle, the uncompleted monument to love. When you think about it, the mood ring makes far more sense.

Double Feature

Do you ever have one of those days where you think it's another day of the week? On Tuesday I thought it was Thursday. Wednesday I tried to make it be Thursday, also, and it wouldn't. I was in a local grocery store, saw that they had eggs on their daily special for Thursday, and had picked up two dozen before I realized I was a day early for the bargain price. Today I keep thinking it's Friday.

No surprise, then, that I started to name this post Double Feature Friday, but came to my senses before I did so. Our first feature today shows recently discovered archival footage of my pal in Texas, Scott, getting dressed when he was a youngster. It seems he's always been fussy about his appearance.



I've been on an old movie kick lately. Through the advancements in media technology, tons of old films are now available, and the list keeps growing. I went on a Val Lewton junket for awhile. Despite the lurid titles that the studio insisted upon (I Walked with a Zombie, Isle of the Dead, and the like), his movies were actually quite well done. I Walked with a Zombie was a Caribbean version of Jane Eyre, except the mysterious wife was a zombie instead of a madwoman. His Curse of the Cat People, despite its lurid title, is more of a psychological study of childhood fantasies than horror film.

Another movie I enjoyed recently was The House on Telegraph Hill, directed by Robert Wise, starring Valentina Cortesa and Richard Basehart. It was a hybrid film which had elements of film noir and the woman-in-peril genres. Valentina Cortesa swaps her identity with that of a dead friend, and we know that nothing good ever comes from that. How many times did we hear this from our mothers when we were kids: "You may play in the neighborhood for one hour, but remember to look both ways before you cross the street and don't swap identities with any of your dead friends." Bette Davis learned that lesson in Dead Ringer when she murdered her wealthy sister & assumed her identity, and then got nabbed for murder anyway because her sister had killed her own husband.

Now that we've had our Intermission, it's time for our next feature film, Backpacker Cat, which was sent to me by Scott, and I've watched it frequently when I need a calm moment. Laetitia & Guillaume, a French couple, began a walking trip in October 2008 from Miami to the tip of South America. In Louisiana, they found a stray kitten in the middle of the road, and Kitty has been with them on their journey ever since.

I just love this clip.

To Sir, With Love

My sponsor passed away this week. He was 61, and was diagnosed with inoperable brain cancer several months ago. I'm glad he did not have to suffer too long with his illness. I will miss him.

When I first started on my journey to sobriety, I went to many meetings around town. I listened and learned from others who had managed to free themselves from a life of alcohol. I was amazed that these people had lived soberly each day for years. Hell, I was amazed when I saw a guy pick up a thirty-day chip at my first meeting.

I was uncomfortable trying different meetings, but I did it anyway because it was strongly suggested by people who knew more than I did about life. That's how I found my sponsor. While most folks in town were still in bed, or padding around their homes in robes & slippers, I went to the earliest meeting in town at 6:45. I wasn't being virtuous; I was scared. My alcohol abuse knew no difference between 5a.m. and 5p.m. toward the end of my drinking days.

I liked what the man who would become my sponsor had to say. He spoke quietly, and talked about how he used to be, and what his life was like now. There was never a false note. He didn't seem to be shoveling out a pile of shit to make himself sound good. If he had something to say, he said it; and if he didn't, he listened. He appeared to be calm, serene, and genuinely happy with life. I wanted what he had.

I was thrilled when he agreed to sponsor me, and we started to work right away on the steps to recovery. He helped me get my life back on track. When a situation had me ready to pull my hair out, he would look at me with his calm, blue eyes and say "Bill, why are you letting that mess with your serenity?" or "What part have you played in the situation?" He had a gentle way of turning my pointing finger back at myself.

When he shared his experience, strength, and hope in meetings, people were eager to listen. He was a gentleman, and after he had his brief say, he would always conclude with "I'm glad you are all here this morning. Thanks for letting me share."

Tonight, after I close the office, I will pay my respects to him at a funeral home across town. Tomorrow I will attend a lakeside memorial service in the country. My sadness will ease as time passes, but my gratitude for having this remarkable man in my life will never waver.

A Confederacy of Lunatics

See that critter over there? That's a Luna moth, and it was part of my vacation experience last week. Sadie & I were sitting up late one night, and we heard something fluttering & banging against one of the sliding door screens. When Sadie investigated, she thought it was a bird at first. These are some damned big moths! They have a wingspan of four inches. I had never seen one (except in pictures).

I got all excited, and dashed out another door to see it up close. It was a beautiful bright green, and it must have liked my equally-bright yellow sweatshirt, because it flew right over & landed on me. Sensing a photo-op, no doubt. You can't be that glamorous in your class without knowing it.

I figured that if it bit me, it would just be a memorable part of my vacation experience, but then I found out that this genus of moth lacks mouths. Sadie the scientist wasted no time, and was on her laptop in a flash researching the Luna moth. At this final phase of their development, the Luna moth does not eat. They're just like fashion models! They just carom about at night looking for sex, like young single people. Since they can't eat, they have to act fast. They only live one week once they emerge from their cocoons as adult moths.

Next, I have more photos for you from my Thousand Islands adventure. They won't top the Luna moth, I'm afraid.

Even though I spent fourteen hours driving up there on Friday, I was wide awake at 4a.m. Saturday morning. By 4:30, I gave up on falling back to sleep, so I got up & got halfway dressed, made a pot of coffee, and went down to the dock. Before long, Robespierre joined me, and we walked out to the back yard (the road side of Sadie's property; the front of the house faces the river) to watch the sun rise. That's Robespierre below. We saw a deer emerge from a copse, and wander over to a hay bale for breakfast. It was a serene start to our first full day at Sadie's.


Before long, everyone was up, and we all went into town for a 9a.m. AA meeting. There were about forty people there, and it was a great way to get our day under way. If you're in AA, it's a lot of fun to go to meetings when you're out of town. It's like being in a room full of strangers who are already your friends. The personal stories may be slightly different than mine, but there is a bond in the fellowship of recovery. After the morning meeting, we dropped Sadie off at a marina so she could pick up one of her watercraft. She motored back home on the river, and the rest of us returned by land.

That evening, we took one of Sadie's boats to Grenell Island, where another meeting was held. This one was a campfire meeting at a fellow's summer home. I took the following picture on our way there, and it shows the American span of the Thousand Islands Bridge.


The meeting was held right at the edge of the river, next to the host's boathouse. A big campfire blazed at one end of the circle of people, and ashes kept flying in Sherry's hair. The wind on the boat ride had already flailed her hair mercilessly, so the ashes adhered excellently to her damp locks. There were about thirty people around the circle, and the speaker was the area delegate. A storm blew in at the mid-point, so we all grabbed our chairs and made a dash up to the wraparound porch of the host's Victorian house. After the meeting closed, homemade pie & coffee were served inside, but I stayed outside to snap some pictures.

Below is a view from the house after the storm passed, followed by a picture of Sherry on the porch.



After the campfire meeting, Sherry & I fixed dinner when we returned to Sadie's. Sherry prepared some delectable jumbo shrimp, and we had squash casserole, herbed noodles, and a blueberry-peach cobbler with ice cream.

Sunday, we went back to the town of Alexandria Bay to do some shopping. It's a pleasant little town, with a lot of gift shops targeting the tourists. They even had a leather shop, but - believe me - it was nothing like the Mr. Leatherman shop that Brenda & I found several years ago in Greenwich Village. One day I may write about that little retail establishment, or maybe I'll just say that New York City has something for everyone, and leave it at that.

We saved our sight-seeing for Monday, figuring it wouldn't be as crowded. We took Sadie's boat to the marina at Alexandria Bay, and had breakfast at Chez Paris. It wasn't as fancy as it sounds. Just a small town diner with good breakfast fare. After eating, we walked to the Cornwall Brothers Store, which operates as a local history museum. The picture below shows my compatriots in front of Poor John's ice cream stand on our walk back to Sadie's boat.



Sherry & I posed for a photo as we sped away from town on our way to Boldt Castle. I'll write a separate post about the castle, which sits on its own island across from Alexandria Bay. See the green travel cup in Sherry's lap? This woman cannot go anywhere without at least two beverage cups. She carries five in her car, and they are all filled with something - coffee, diet cola, iced tea, Love Potion #9, hemlock tea. Obviously, Sherry still has a drinking problem, but at least it's not alcohol.


The next pictures are of the homes on the islands that we passed by on our way back to Sadie's. The Thousand Islands region is dotted with approximately 1800 islands of various size. Some are just large enough for a tree and a couple of shrubs. Others have one or several houses on them, and a few, like Wellesley Island, are sizable enough for roads and villages. To qualify for island status, it must be above water 365 days per year, be at least one square foot, and support at least one living tree.


Here's a nice home. No, the building behind the boathouse. The boathouse in the foreground looks nicer than my home, and quite a bit larger. I need to go back up there when I have time to troll for a rich sugar daddy.


This lovely old stone house has a quick escape hatch. If you get into an argument with a housemate, you can take the slide and start swimming for the mainland without waiting for a boat.


I could make do with this little cottage until I find a place of my own.


Who am I kidding? I'd be lucky beyond my wildest dreams if I could afford a place this big.


And soon we were safely home.

THE END
(courtesy of Robespierre)

What's your point, Vivian?

I ran away from home on Friday, and ended up in New York. The days were peaceful, the vistas clean & serene, and the nights were so quiet that I slept the deep sleep of the carefree man. Most mornings I was up before the sun, and my companions were deer, muskrat, and heron. "New York?" you exclaim. Well, yes, there is more to New York than Manhattan. I was Sadie's guest at her summer home in the Thousand Islands region.

It took quite awhile to get there, but the time spent was well worth it. I love traveling to see new places, especially in the company of friends. Sherry, Robespierre, and I made the journey together, and we returned to Richmond late last night. Sadie's place is on the St. Lawrence River just west of Alexandria Bay. Her cottage is adjacent a the tiny resort settlement on Point Vivian. I'm including several photographs of my daily sightings, all taken from Sadie's porch, dock, or yard. I hope you like them, because I took a lot of pictures, so more are sure to follow. The first snapshot shows my first dawn from Sadie's dock. The second is a view of sunset the same day.



Here's the cottage as seen from the boathouse & dock. Sadie's dad built it in the mid-70's, and subsequent additions expanded the home to a spacious house with plenty of room for guests.


The town of Alexandria Bay is just a ten-minute boat ride (or a couple of miles by land) from Sadie's house. Within walking distance is Point Vivian, a charming resort community established in the late 1800's. I was curious about this hamlet, so Sadie pulled out a booklet about Point Vivian which was written by her Aunt Louise. Louise Gaylord Cooke now makes the old family summer house her permanent home in the riverside neighborhood, and I learned about the history of this settlement from her carefully researched efforts. Bear with me while I share this information with you.

Now known as Point Vivian, the cluster of resort cottages originally had no name. It was just a grouping of small Victorian homes built by inland friends & neighbors who wished to have relief from the summer heat. Little did they know how things would heat to the boiling point in their peaceful enclave.

In the mid-1880's, one of the original residents, Pastor Josiah Clatterbuck, died of a heart attack while fishing one morning. His wife, Vivian, decided to make their small cottage her permanent home. She bade tearful farewells to her summer neighbors when they departed at season's end, and promised to greet them the following summer. Vivian's neighbors told her that they worried about her spending the winter on the isolated point, but her resolve was firm and she steadfastly refused to return to her inland town. She said she was ready to move forward with her life, and she needed to embrace the changes that God was unfolding day by day.

Vivian's lady friends wrote to her frequently throughout the harsh winter, fretting about her safety & comfort. They were relieved when Vivian replied that many of the local fishermen stopped in to provide her with freshly caught food, and even removed the snow & ice from her paths and performed household maintenance. The pastor's widow's melancholy was lifting, and letters began hinting at a gaiety of spirit that Vivian had never dared reveal with her dour husband at her elbow.

Time passed, as it is wont to do, and the summer residents returned to the lovely point on the St. Lawrence River. As their carriages rumbled through the woods toward the shoreline, the view of the blue water was interrupted by a flash of bright color. Vivian had painted her house pink!

Even Vivian's outhouse was pink, and a wraparound porch had been added to the house. And there was Vivian, emerging from the outhouse like the sun bursting over the horizon! Gone were the dark mourning gown and shabby black cloak Vivian had worn when her neighbors last saw her at the end of summer. Her clothing was more brilliant than a peacock's plumage. Indeed, it looked like a peacock had sacrificed its life for the enormous hat that adorned Vivian's head.

The summer villagers did not know what to make of these changes in their quiet friend. The women could not rouse her for their quilting bees or scrapbooking soirees until late afternoon. Candles seemed to burn behind Vivian's new garish draperies (tightly drawn) into the wee hours of the morning. Vivian's soft titter had transformed into a braying laugh that startled small children and horses.

Vivian's former benefactors, the local fishermen, were sulky, and hinted that Vivian had no use for them now that the millionaires had returned to their nearby islands. Indeed, a new hundred-foot dock had appeared near the store, and the pleasure craft of the seasonal wealthys crowded out the modest skiffs of the common folk. Nighttime seemed endless, for laughter and piano music throbbed from Vivian's pink cottage until the neighbors had to slam their windows shut for any hope of rest.

The ladies of the town, although dismayed, did their best to take a charitable view of Vivian's behavior. The poor thing had gone mad over the lonely winter, they whispered, and she would settle down soon enough now that her neighbors had returned. They would take her back to the interior of Jefferson County when summer ended. For the time being, they would do their best to ignore the liquor bottles that littered Vivian's flowerbeds.

Beneficence turned to ire, however, when the ladies' own husbands began 'taking walks' late at night, returning home at unholy hours, and giggling in their sleep. Mrs. Rhutan found a rouge stain on an article of her husband's clothing of which she claimed only she, he, and God should have any familiarity. After a hastily arranged quilting bee at Mrs. Garlock's cottage, the women marched down to Mr. Henry's store to confer with him. Mr. Henry, a fussy man, placed the 'closed' sign in his window, and led the ladies upstairs to the town's meeting room above his shop. Plans were made over the next three hours.

About two weeks later, the supplies were received by Mr. Henry's store. The ladies insisted that Vivian join them for an afternoon picnic, and served her morphine tea. Meanwhile, Mr. Henry entered the pink house, a small box in hand, and laced all of Vivian's liquor bottles liberally with laudanum. The ladies returned to the point, and deposited drowsy Vivian on her fainting couch. Later that evening, the laughter and music from Vivian & the men died down quickly.

The ladies, aided by Mr. Henry, circumnavigated the slumbering husbands & millionaires, and carried Vivian down to the dock. The firewood was already arranged in the hull of the wooden skiff, and the lamp oil was at hand. Vivian was placed atop the wood, the flames were lit, and Mr. Henry gave the boat a robust shove into the swift current. Vivian raised her head briefly and croaked "What's the point?" before falling back into her stupor.

No more was heard. The band of villagers watched silently from the dock. The breeze on the water encouraged a merry blaze, and soon Vivian & her pyre disappeared behind Gypsy Island.

The next morning, the energetic women - every last woman in town - assembled in front of the pink house. Under the firm direction of their wives, the chastened men set to work with ladder & bucket. The women barked orders to their spouses, and tidied up the yard. The interior of the house was cleaned from top to bottom. The liquor bottles, indoor & out, empty or full, were tossed in a little donkey cart which Mr. Henry supplied. The piano was carried to the store, and hauled upstairs to the town meeting room (where it can still be seen today). By the end of the afternoon, the pink house was a crisp white, but the ladies decided that the outhouse should remain pink. The women slept easily that night, and the men got whatever rest they could manage with one eye open.

And that is how Point Vivian got its name.

Today, I try to use my imagination for good, not evil. Therefore, I must tell you that this story is my own fabrication. I found no reference in Louise Gaylord Cooke's brief history of Point Vivian concerning the origin of its name, so I just did the best I could. I hope you enjoyed it. The story was inspired by the marvelous snippets of historical arcana which you will find at Lidian's Virtual Dime Museum. Admission is free; go take a look.

Come back for more tales from the Thousand Islands. Some of them may be true. At least the pictures won't lie. Here are a few more for your enjoyment...


That's Sadie's dock & boathouse above.

Sadie & Robespierre braved the chilly waters, while Sherry & I remained on dry land.




Although we were at leisure, we had occasional reminders that the St. Lawrence River is a workplace for some.



And here I am, Day One, looking a bit stunned that I am sitting on the dock of the bay before the sun has broken the horizon.


p.s. Sheldon told me that this is the worst picture of me that he has ever seen. Sweet of him, huh? What does he expect for a 5a.m. photo before a shower, shave, and second cup of coffee...sheesh!

Sunset Cruise

I took the above picture one evening last week as the sun was setting over the International Deepwater Terminal at the Port of Richmond docks. It had been an unusually busy day at work, with people crowding the office and both phone lines ringing steadily. I looked forward all day to a sunset cruise on Sadie's boat.

One of the calls I got during the day was from a man who had contacted me previously. When he called in May, he had been sober about a month and was calling for information about AA meetings in his area. Tuesday he called again, now two months sober, and said he felt like he was losing his mind. He still hadn't been to a meeting, and was trying to figure out things on his own. He thought he would feel better after he stopped drinking, but instead he felt worse. I told him that I understood how he felt.

I had the same expectations when I stopped drinking, and the same results. For about three or four months, I went through a period of confusion, restlessness, and feeling as nervous as a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs. Like the guy on the phone, I thought I'd instantly feel better as soon as I stopped drinking. Instead, my brain felt scrambled, and I could only string together about three hours of sleep at a time. I frustrated my friends and frightened small animals. My behavior was self-absorbed and erratic.

The meetings I attended regularly helped a great deal, but I knew that it would take time to smooth the rough edges. Talking daily to other people who had been through the same thing helped tremendously. I didn't feel like I was the last man on Earth. And I wasn't. Thousands of people had been through this before, and I was nobody special. It took awhile to stop taking myself so damned seriously.

I told the fellow on the phone that I would have someone in his area contact him. I called the same member, Miles, who had contacted the man for me in May. When Miles heard who was calling back for help he asked "Has he been to a meeting yet?"
"No, he's been flying solo."
Miles chuckled and said,"It's like going back to the doctor and saying 'Doc! My ass is still falling off!' and the doctor says 'Did you take that medicine I gave you?' 'Well, no...'
I'll call him again and tell him to come home to where we are."

But, that's how it is with most of us. We'd rather admit to robbing a bank or flying to Argentina to visit a mistress than stand up and say "I'm Bill, and I'm an alcoholic."

It was so pleasant to spend quiet time with friends on an evening river cruise. We took fried chicken, snacks and drinks. There was a nice breeze, and the air was cooler on the water. We talked and laughed, and enjoyed a gentle end to a busy day.

Here are some additional pictures for you to see.
First up is Captain Sadie at the helm, with Robespierre looking insouciant in the stern.


The Pocahontas Bridge spans the James south of Richmond.


Robespierre happily full of fried chicken and chocolate chip cookies.


The remains of the day settle over the historic James River...