Jury duty in the land of plantations

As most of you are probably already know, the official title for the "Ocean State" (motto: "Roads? What roads?") is, or rather was, "Rhode Island and Providence Plantations. " The whole plantations thing has been officially dropped -- so you can see what our elected officials spend their time doing: arguing about the state name.

Anyway, I began my tour as a "petit" (small or little) juror yesterday in the "new" state of Rhode Island, in Providence, the new "creative capital" of the state. (Another tagline our city officials have spent God-knows how much time and money coming up with: the "creative capital" of what I have no idea.)

Like nearly a hundred other folks I spent the morning sitting around, watching the orientation video, listening to the orientation lecture by a guy in a dress sitting up high at the front of the room who pretty much read the same spiel that we had just seen on the video. The one thing "the judge" wanted to know was if any of us prospective jurors had any problems that might hinder our ability to serve as the lynchpins of our democracy to speak up. Specifically he asked if anyone had difficulty in seeing him or hearing what he was talking about, if so we were to inform one of the nearby juror "drovers" (the guys that herd us like so much cattle) so that they could learn more about our specific needs.

The short of it was no one raised their hands, no one tried to wheedle out of their service to the community -- after all, we had just been harangued several times over about how the future of our democratic way of life hinged upon us doing our duty.

So we stood up took the oath and sat down. (Actually we stood up and sat down several times in short order as the judge came in, lectured, when we took the oath and when the judge left; rather like being in church.)

After we we were sworn in the drovers herded us back down stairs, where we sat around until about noon. Instead of being given time off for lunch, we were informed that there was no need for us for the rest of the day and so we were free to go. We were warned, however, that we had to be back at 9:30am Thursday when there was a good chance some of us were going to be selected for upcoming trials.

One could just feel the electricity of excitement in the room.

Still, not bad for fifteen bucks ($15) a day.

A weekend aboard Amtrak, the return

After a fashionably late dinner of pot roast, whipped butternut squash, roasted root vegetables and homemade berry pie (with ice cream of course), Susie and I hit the sheets tired but happy to be in northern Virginia. I suspect I rambled on about Mary Heistand during the course of the meal but it was, as always, so much fun to be around those kids. We looked forward to seeing Miss K at breakfast.

Fortunately we had a leisurely morning compliments of daylight savings time -- and after showering and steeling ourselves for the day we popped upstairs to breakfast. Miss K and Glen joined us and soon afterwards so did Christina.

Susie had to be at the hotel in Washington by half past eight so we said our goodbyes to Christina, piled into their van and Glen (with Miss K directing from the backseat) drove us into the city.

The rain continued to fall with an obstinate persistence, skewering my plans for a leisurely stroll through Arlington National Cemetery, looking for Mary Heistand and her husband Henry. So I rode all the way to the hotel said goodbye to my pastry queen (photo above). Glen then drove me to Union Station where I grabbed a bagel and sat and read until time to board the train.

The return trip kept to its schedule -- still a little over seven hours is a long time to stay cooped up on a train. At NYC's Penn Station we picked up several hundred additional passengers heading back north at the end of the weekend -- but this particular line on Amtrak always seems packed. But there's plenty of room to stretch out, lots of great scenery to see (assuming you are on the water side of the train) and it does lack the stress of driving I-95 or flying.

Life is, as they say, full of trade-offs.

So now I'm back in Providence where autumn continues to hang on to the bitter end -- warm temperatures and leaves still clutching on for dear life.

Susie returns later today -- Wednesday -- as for me, well I have to report for jury duty this morning. I suppose that's what geezers get for registering to vote. . .

Halloween, Washington and a weekend aboard Amtrak

It certainly was a fascinating Halloween weekend here along the Atlantic Seaboard. I spent nearly the entire weekend traveling back and forth between Providence and Washington, DC aboard one of Amtrak's less-than-stellar Northeast Regional trains. The upside was that for at least half that trip Susie and I were together.

After a fairly typical week of work for both of us, Susie and I left Providence by train and headed south to Washington, DC. The plan was (and, in fact, still is) for her to attend the national conference of “Women chefs and Restaurateurs” in Washington. I would turn right around for Providence after a quick stop at Arlington National Cemetery. As a bonus we hoped to pop over to Northern Virginia and see Glen and Christina and Miss K.

It was a fine autumn Saturday morning when we left our apartment for the train station in Providence. The plan was simple: take the train to Washington, the Metro to Virginia, spend the night with Glen and Christina, Metro back into the city early Sunday, I get off at Arlington National Cemetery to look for Mary Heistand's grave, Susie continues on into the city to check in for the conference.

A simple plan complicated by the vagaries of human nature and mechanical failure.

The train departed on time but twelve miles outside of Providence, in the middle of rural Rhode Island, we came to a complete stop. We had to pull alongside an earlier New York-bound train, which had broken down, and off-load their passengers onto our train. Naturally this made for a full house and we were just getting started. And now we were late by nearly an hour.

Still, it was a stress-free ride through the Connecticut countryside, and one couldn't help but admire the gorgeous fall colors still lingering just about everywhere along our route.

The train cruised into the Big Apple and came to a halt in the bowels of the old Penn Station. Several thousand people (exaggeration alert) got off and very few got on -- most importantly, though, the conductors failed to get on and so we sat for something approaching an hour before we learned that there was no crew aboard our train. At last Amtrak rounded up a handful of conductors, who, it seemed, had no idea what was going on and in fact gave the impression of just having recently passed their English as a Second Language test.

Off we went to Washington passing through Newark (two stops) Philadelphia, Baltimore and eventually pulling into Washington's Union Station at 8pm (20:00 hours), nearly two and a half hours late.

We headed straight for the Metro, bought our "Farecards" at one of the automated kiosks and headed for the Red Line. We got off at Metro Center and connected to the Blue Line headed in the direction of Franconia-Springfield -- indeed, we took it to the very end of the line.

The one highpoint of the metro leg of our trip was that since it was Halloween evening, nearly everyone under 25 in Washington was dressed up (or down) in one sort of costume or another – although in this day and age it’s often difficult to distinguish what is a ‘costume” and what is simply normally clothing for some people. One thing did stand out though: it seemed that most of the young women were vying for top “Halloween Slut Award.”

But it was fun and made the trip out to northern Virginia zip by.

Glen met us at the entrance to the Metro station and a few minutes later we were in their warm home, sitting around a table of delicious food, enjoying a glass of wine and lively conversation.

Not a bad way to end out a long day of train travel and train snafus. Not bad at all.

Next: Susie stays, I return and Amtrak lives up (or down) to its reputation.

Autumn here today, gone tomorrow and back again

Nearly two weeks ago, during the Columbus Day holiday break for New Englanders, Susie and I gassed up the Mini (not much bother there) and headed west to the Catskills. The plan was to see our friends Don and Gloria in Prattsville, NY. The weather not only cooperated but added to the pleasure of the drive by providing an incredibly gorgeous sky under which to motor.

We drove the Mass Turnpike to near Lenox, MA of Tanglewood fame and then spent the next couple of hours cruising the back-roads in the Berkshires. We drove through Stockbridge (Normal Rockwell country), and soon found ourselves passing into the Empire State on route 23, heading to Prattsville. It wasn't long before we crossed I-87 (the New York Thruway as its fondly called here) and quickly began our climb into the much-revered Catskill Mountains, passing every so close to the village of Catskill itself.

A few minutes after passing through the artsy village of Windham we found our turn at County Road no. 4, just short of Prattsville itself and were soon at our destination -- a slice of heaven in upstate New York.


We spent a beautiful evening with friends not seen for far too long -- enjoying a wonderful meal by the wood stove, a bottle of good wine and even better conversation; life doesn't get much better than that.

The sky was clear and the night air filled with a silent cold as we turned in -- although a quick step out onto the back deck let us foolish urban dwellers see the stars for the first time probably since we were in Colorado a year ago this August. A treat to be sure.

No sooner had we returned to the Ocean State Monday than the weather turned raw, temps fell dramatically through the succeeding week and the rain came in sheets last weekend. And snow was seen in New England, as close as southern Massachusetts.

But once again Nature had the laugh on us -- Indian summer returned with warm days, and sparkling blue skies. I have the evidence to prove it from a recent stroll along the Providence River:



It's along this same stretch of river that you can also find the touching and very poignant Rhode Island Irish Famine Memorial:

Not to forget, though, some Rhode Islanders need things made perfectly clear:

Dreaming of Spring in Paris, living Autumn in Providence

Color change seems a bit behind schedule in New England -- not that we know first-hand mind you; not like we did when we lived in Vermont. There, color meant everything of course: how far you were from tapping the nearest stand of maple trees to how far you were from mud season and black flies.

In Providence the arrival of Fall and the splash of color change seen here and there warns you that the grit and grime of urban living will soon be transmogrified into a covering of gray tending toward black that passes for snow. (All the more reason to daydream of Paris in the Springtime. . . . Now, we just need to do something about it.)

But at least the food in Providence is good, some of it very good and a few places serve truly great food, and for some of us that's the be-all and end-all of existence.

September flew by in a hurry to get to October it seems. Susie is trying to get a handle on a new raft of Fall desserts and I'm still collecting, sorting and tagging photographic images for a living.

A couple of weeks back we paid a short but oh so sweet visit to the nearby Blackstone Gorge.



Located just outside of Woonsocket in the little village of Blackstone, the aptly named Blackstone River passes through a rather spectacular gorge before finishing its short trek toward Providence and Narragansett Bay. (After all, one just doesn't expect to see a "gorge" anywhere near this part of New England.)

As my brother-in-law Dick has often pointed out to his history students, the Blackstone is largely responsible for much of this particular part of New England; the mills that sprang up along its banks, the canal that was created to move goods up and down the river all spurred the development of the villages that led to the cities dotted up and down the river's length. Back when textile was both king and queen of New England that is.

So, on a beautiful Sunday Susie and I head off for the short drive to the Gorge where we strolled and soaked up the sunshine and the beautiful blue sky that served as an incredible backdrop to the green all around us. If I seem to wax a bit poetic here, just remember we're urban dwellers now and are easily impressed at the sight of a handful of trees and bushes parked alongside a set of rushing rapids.

Aside from our tentative foray into the wilds of southern Massachusetts we've stayed pretty close to home. We did eat out at New Rivers last Friday evening; delicious food, as always, surpassed only by the welcoming atmosphere and warm hospitality -- thanks Bruce and Beau. It was the perfect way to close out a week that saw one of my colleagues announce he was taking a job closer to his home in Bristol, and closer to his daughter's daycare. I’ve watched Brad Bortone for the better part of a year now and can say with confidence born out of long observation that he not only possesses incredible writing skills, he's a talented young man of amazing wit and great promise. Take care Professor.

Anyway, we got October off to a proper start: Sunday evening Dick and Dorothy and Dorothy's old friend Grace came over for dinner. Grace and Dorothy were roommates in college and took their very first jobs together in Michigan; Grace teaching German and Dorothy 5th Grade. Like Dorothy Grace is retired now, seeking the good life by spending time with old friends.

What more could one ask?