Saint Thomas and Scubadu

Okay, so I may have recently fibbed a bit about spending a whole week doing spring cleaning. The truth is that I also ducked out of town with my hubby, daughter and mum in tow to the sunny isle of Saint Thomas, Virgin Islands. This carefully orchestrated event kept me on pins and needles as one Nor'easter after another swept through Connecticut.  For non-Yankees ... the preparation that goes into planning a warm weather vacation is equivalent to a NASA space launch.

Nothing can be taken for granted in New England.  Many highly anticipated getaways have resulted in bitter disappointment as snow storms, power outages or airport shut-downs have squashed any plans to escape our frigid winters.  So ... when every possible travel variable fell neatly into place late February, we were elated to finally board our flight to the tropics.

Once we arrived we were greeted by the resident iguanas who will beg, steal or borrow a banana from any kindly passerby. They kept us entertained our whole trip with their sneaky maneuvers under patio tables and pool-side lounge chairs.  If you happen to drop even a bite of food on the ground ... they sweep it up in their powerful jaws and head for the hills.   

It only takes a few days to settle into the rhythm of island life.  Things move slower in the Caribbean and as the hours serenely pass from sunrise to sunset ... you feel yourself gradually letting go of the little things that normally drive you wild back home ... like errands to run, checks to write, dirty laundry, dishes in the sink or visits to doctors and dentists. 

Here, it is perfectly okay to wear the same pair of shorts for a week, to skip shampooing your hair, wearing makeup or worrying about what's happening back in snow country.  Another Nor'easter ... sidewalks to shovel or driveways to plow?  "No Problem, Mon."  Relax and have another sip of your rum-laden, Pain Killer.

 

The highlight of our trip was undoubtedly chartering a sailboat named Scubadu.  As soon as Captain Joe and First Mate Brenda welcomed us on the end of "D" Dock at the American Yacht Club in Red Hook, we knew we were in capable hands.  It was evident that Joe, a former native of Nebraska, took great pride in his Norseman 400, a forty-foot Catamaran class sailboat that he purchased in 1995. 

Brenda surprised us with her diverse resume which includes being a first mate, a landscape painter (Silver Raven Studios) and a fire dancer.  Yes, you heard me correctly ... a bonafide daredevil who lights up a hula hoop as night falls and performs a surreal dance surrounded by flames.  Frankly, I found the whole spectacle unexpectedly mesmerizing.  And, I might add, something I never want to attempt myself! 

Daughter, Chelsea (appropriately nick-named, Sea) quickly found the perfect place onboard to soak up the rays. Soon ... we were off to search for sea turtles and dolphins near Saint John. Our day began mid-morning and lasted through sunset ... during which time we sailed, sunned ourselves, snorkeled with the fishes and ate wonderful food prepared by Captain Joe himself.  There is nothing more satisfying than a man who can cook!

At day's end, we hooked up once again in Red Hook at a breezy pub called Molly Malone's.  There we imbibed in the local Cruzan rum, ate Irish specialties, watched fire dancers and met an interesting islander named, "Pirate Tony."  My octogenarian mother could barely contain herself in his bearded presence. It turns out that this real-life salty sailor has a penchant for kissing ladies hands. Who knew that such chivalry was still alive and well in the Caribbean?  My only point of reference to this point had been Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow! 

If you are looking for a different type of adventure rather than spending an ordinary day at a seaside resort ... perhaps a day of leisurely sailing, swimming in turquoise blue waters and enjoying savory treats served up by a top-rated crew ... then I highly recommend a jaunt on Scubadu.  She will not disappoint. 

Looney For Clooney

For anyone who has read my previous blog rant about disliking award shows, it may amuse you that I am making an exception for tonight's Academy Awards Show.  If you are wondering ... no, my stance has not changed ... but, I reserve the right to adjust it somewhat when George Clooney is up for one of the coveted Oscars.  

More than just celebrity eye-candy, the actor is the closest link to the Golden Age of Hollywood icons. If there is such a thing as "IT" (Idol's Simon Cowell seems to think so) then Clooney exudes IT.  He is of those rare male actors who simultaneously commands the big screen, yet is completely self-deprecating ... in a similar vein to Clark Gable, William Powell and Cary Grant. 

The not so secret recipe for these types of leading men seems to stay the same despite the era: equal parts bad boy, playboy, little boy, a pinch of humility and a splash of raw, natural craft ... an extremely marketable and forgiving mix of ingredients to satisfy the hungry palates of audiences and studios alike. 

And, Clooney by most media accounts is one of the least demanding of actors on a film set, donates his gift (swag) bags to charity auctions and tirelessly raises millions of dollars for international relief efforts. Is this guy too good to be true!?!

Like his esteemed predecessors, the actor seems to revel in his ability to morph into any role he takes on.  In One Fine Day ... he charms as a romantic, single dad.  In O Brother, Where Art Thou? ... he keeps us in stitches as a bumbling chain ganger on the lam. In Michael Clayton ... he transforms into a reluctant "fixer" for companies needing someone to do their dirty work.  And, in the Ocean's series ... he becomes the slick ring leader of high-end heisters ... a role previously acted by Frank Sinatra. 

Tonight, Clooney awaits judgement on his latest undertaking ... playing a corporate downsizer who spends most of his life traveling in airplanes. The film Up In The Air may have provided the most telling role that the 49 year old actor has tackled to date.  Like his footloose character, poised on the brink of deciding whether or not to make a real connection to another person or an actual place, Clooney  appears to be toying with the notion in real life.  As midlife approaches, will he settle down and marry his latest lady friend, the  Italian actress, Elisabetta Canalis?  Or, will he milk the bosom of bachelorhood for another decade or two? 

Either way, he is sure to continue to curry favor with his legion of fans worldwide.  Why?  Because he is cut from a mold that seems to have been tossed into the Tinseltown trash can these days ... an actor who is sure of his talents, true to his own character and not about to settle for a life of complacency, mediocrity or tawdry scandal. 

Chile's Quake

When Chile issued  a postal stamp commemorating the 100th anniversary of the Red Cross (1863-1963) it surely had no idea that almost fifty years later ... their country would be the recipient of the organization's humanitarian relief efforts.  For well over a century, the Red Cross has brought comfort to millions of victims of natural disasters.  Its simple and recognizable symbol brings hope to the hearts of those communties who benefit from the hands of countless volunteers.

The horrific 8.8 Richter scale quake that rocked this South American country has also been the focus of NASA scientists. Richard Gross, a geophysicist at NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena, California used computer models to replicate the earthquake and came to these startling conclusions.

According to Gross, the axis of Earth has probably moved by 3 inches. The length of our day has been shortened by microseconds. Santa Maria Island, off the coast of Chile, may have been raised up by as much as 6 feet! Interestingly, the Sumatran quake in 2004 produced similar planetary changes.

Although these facts and figures may be difficult to comprehend, they are irrefutably permanent consequences of recent major quakes.  Each time our planet experiences these devastating shifts in structure,  its topography and delicate orbital rotation is forever altered. 

Years ago, I marveled at the futuristic images in shows like the Jetsons, Lost In Space, Star Trek, and most recently, the new sci-fi show called "V".  Growing up close to Cornell University and the work of Carl Sagan, I also wondered what it would be like to travel throughout the cosmos.  Flash forward to today ... where the wealth of scientific data associated with our universe is so accessible to us non-astronaut types ...  that the whole notion of intergalactic living seems an inevitability.

What the powerful earthquakes in Chile, Haiti, Sumatra and other locations around the world may foretell remains to be seen.  In Dresden Elementary School we once painted styrofoam balls and strung them together to form a replica of our solar system.  Back then ... our interpretation of outer space was easier to digest.  Now, we have NASA computer models that challenge our previous interpretations and force us to realize that planet Earth is an ever changing body of matter that continues to rock our own sense of stability.

Deal Or No Deal

Hello ... I am back from my temporary respite ... during which I had oodles of time to think about what I would like to post next. The answer came out of the blue as I heard, yet again, on an obscure cable network those annoying words ... Deal Or No Deal?  It was 11:30 at night and I realized that the infamous game show had apparently made it into Re-Run After-Life.

This year, the programming Gods finally pulled the plug on the spectacle.  I used to be a big fan of Howie Mandel back in his St Elsewhere days ... a medical dramedy about a fictional hospital and its quirky doctors.  But, his flashy game show with the promise of instant wealth eventually got on my nerves.

Was it the bevy of wafer-thin beauties that held the shiny brief cases or Howie's equally shiny bald head?  Was it the quick fix to financial woes? Or, was it the fact that certain acquaintances of mine (their names shall go unmentioned) seem to have become addicted to the show?

I have a theory about daytime television in general.  Between the soap operas and the game shows, interspersed by a few newsy style programs, the minds and bodies of otherwise healthy men, women and children are being slowly turned into the anatomical equivalent of slushy cones!

What ever happened to kids playing outside at nearby parks, adults taking a morning or afternoon walk or spending extra personal time volunteering for a worthy endeavor? 

Maybe these thoughts are  coming from the mindset of someone who has been both cursed and blessed with medical crises and medical miracles. But, I have come away from both ends of the wellness spectrum with one undeniable belief ... that a moment wasted on something as frivolous as watching people open cases of money, along with the drama that takes place when they win BIG or lose BIG is downright stupid!

Come on ... if some of you haven't noticed lately ... crime is up, pollution is worsening, homelessness is growing, jobs are shrinking and the world at large is drowning in political unrest and natural disasters. Can we really afford, as a nation of responsible people, to sit on our butts for hours at end when we are perfectly capable of rolling up our sleeves and pitching in somehow, somewhere?

Growing up ... my dad declared and enforced this rule for us kids ... "NO DAY TIME TELEVISION."  It was a rule that I revolted against. Yet, now I get it. He was trying to get us to appreciate life in a richer, more imaginative way ... to never take a single day for granted. 

So, I may be hanging myself out to dry on the information highway with this advice, but here goes anyway. With the exception of the elderly, the infirmed or those persons who have made daytime television their profession ... Please shut off your sets and make the most of your time here on Earth.  Trust me ... It's the ultimate reality show.

Coffee Breaks

Once in awhile we all need a good long coffee break.  I am taking mine soon.  This will be my opportunity to catch up on this and that and all the things I have neglected in between. That includes myself by the way!

I am going to cash in all the gift certificates for spa treatments that have been collecting dust since Christmases past, sort through my closet for articles of clothing that I no longer wear and clean out over-stuffed drawers that hide, among other things, make-up or prescriptions that expired years ago.

There is something about the impending month of March that makes me want to reflect, regroup and refresh.  I can feel that my body's batteries are running low.  March, in these parts, is a LONG, unpredictable month of weather anomalies. It can bring bone-chilling blizzards, raging winds, hail storms, thunderstorms or even a freak wave of sunny, warm bliss. 

If I had my druthers, I would bail out of March in New England completely and spend it instead on a sunny tropical isle somewhere.  Returning only when our vacationing Robin Redbreasts decide all is safe for feathering new nests.  

In the meantime, I will sip a lot of fine coffee ... maybe some Jamaican Blue Mountain variety, listen to my Caribbean Calypso CD's ... and pray for the sooner than later arrival of SPRING.  See y'all soon!

Snowboarding

This year's Winter Olympics in Vancouver, Canada will undoubtedly re-spawn interest in Shaun White and his snowboarding aerial antics.  Before White came on the scene, I knew little about the sport.  But, after watching his stellar Olympic performance on the halfpipe four years ago in Turin, Italy ... I was hooked.

The "Flying Tomato," as White is often referred to due to his flame red hair, has made something as athletically challenging as snowboarding look like a sport any person could enjoy.  Not that I have yet, mind you.  But, why not, I often wonder to myself.  With two fairly new titanium knees installed in my legs, I am almost feeling like the Bionic Woman these days.  

Meanwhile, a fifty-something year old friend of mine named, Nick Samela has just returned from a snowboarding trip to Snow Basin, Utah.  I promised to insert this brief You Tube link of his own escapades while there. He is the first snowboarder in the video clip who kind of wipes out as he passes the camera.

I now call him the "Flying Zucchini." However, I admire his courage to strap the mini version of a surf board onto his feet and head down the face of a steep, unfamiliar mountain.  Did I mention that he is (at this very moment) visiting his chiropractor?

Nevertheless, Nick seems to have returned to the Northeast a rejuvenated man. Whether it was the rush of surfing down a slope or holding his own against younger snowboarders ... his trip seemed to do the trick.  He is already planning next year's event.

Playing in deep drifts of snow, whatever your sport of choice, can be the frozen version of bathing in the Fountain of Youth.  Whether building the perfect snowman, sledding, skiing, snowboarding or shoeing  ... the feel of fresh falling snow on your face is Mother Nature's anti-aging tonic.  

Frosty noses and fingertips are not reserved for the very young. The next time a blizzard comes your way ... dive head first into a big snow drift and feel the years melt away.   

Opera

Growing up in rural Upstate New York we were barely exposed to the world of opera. But, once a year, my parents (owners of a small fishing marina) packed up our car and made the five hour drive into New York City to attend the annual boat show there.  Once in a while, one or more of us lucky offspring would be chosen to make the journey with them. 

My first trip to The Big Apple was as exhilarating as opening presents on Christmas morning.  I was awed by the illuminated skyscrapers, the taxicabs honking and the throngs of people making their way along the crowded sidewalks.  My parents always made sure, when business was concluded, that we had a chance to eat in some nice restaurants and took in at least one Broadway production.  

Among those restaurants was a tiny, hole in the wall establishment called Asti. This Greenwich Village landmark first opened in 1925 as a Sixth Avenue speakeasy with Adolph Mariani, an immigrant from Italy, as its proprietor.  It is rumored that he named it after the Italian town that produces sparkling wine.  After the Great Depression, Asti was relocated to 12th Street in a townhouse that once belonged to the 21st American President, Chester A. Arthur.

So what made this particular restaurant so unique?  The answer became immediately obvious when customers entered into its dimly lit dining room. There, the walls were plastered with autographed photos of some of the greatest opera performers of all time: names like Pavarotti, Toscanini, Lanza, Sutherland and even Caruso. There were other photos too ... of famous customers who frequented this spot ... like Broadway actors, movie stars, playwright Noel Coward and the one and only, Babe Ruth.

But what really made this restaurant an over-the-top place to eat was that the waiters were either struggling opera singers or a new crop of aspiring singers.  As traditional Italian fare was delivered to tables ... wonderful, spontaneous operatic music would fill the room ... as waiters became singers and diners became their enthralled audience.

I remember one December visit to Asti when my youngest sister, Dee was also celebrating her birthday that month.  My father had sneaked off to the kitchen to discuss an appropriate surprise dessert for her at meal's end. I suppose that I should interject here that Dee is about as shy as someone can possibly get, shunning public scrutiny and avoiding embarrassing situations at all turns.

Keeping their word ... a waiter suddenly appeared bearing a small, candle lit Italian cake in one hand ... a traditional white starched napkin draped over his other arm. Before long, other waiters gathered around our table and while the original waiter dramatically dropped to one knee in front of my sister ... they all delivered a very operatic version of the "Happy Birthday Song." After that, they broke into another classic aria that I can't seem to remember anymore. 

What I DO remember is that my sister's cheeks were the color of Chianti wine, and she had slowly slid down in her chair as if this sneaky act would somehow deflect the attention and cheers that she was receiving from onlookers that special evening.

On New Year's Eve 1999, after 75 years of feeding and entertaining customers from all over the world,  Asti closed its door for the final time.  Ironically, the next year I had been planning on taking my daughter there for her own birthday celebration. I was shocked and saddened to learn of Asti's demise.

This morning, a friend's email revived my memory of the famed restaurant. Jane sent me a You Tube link  of an operatic outburst in a market located in Valencia, Spain.  The sights and sounds of the event brought a big smile to my face and reminded me of the power of passionate song and the talented voices that keep its tradition alive today.  Click here to witness opera's magic for yourself.