It all began in 1988, with this guy, David. Die young, stay pretty.
He persuaded me to take a share in this house. From the front, it looks like an old television. The kind with tubes.
HIV claimed David in 1993 but I've now shared with 79 other men, one woman, one baby, ten dogs and a cat. Some things remain constant. Like friendship. Chris and Anthony joined the first house I organized. Anthony returned to the Pines for his first visit in a decade.
Thom signed up a year after Chris and Anthony. He's been writing checks and demanding "Why don't we get July 4th?" ever since.
And Randy, the mayor of the Pines in his heyday (yes, kids, we all have heydays although ours weren't Instagrammed) joined when he returned from London.
Varick rounded out the current crew in 2007. He really knows how to handle a beater.
Would you believe we once lived in the house next door, surely one of the Pines most Instagrammed? Alter kockers like us call it "Quarter Share Mayhem," which afflicts another of our former houses, too. Still, who are we to complain about a phenomenon that brightens our community with younger and more diverse faces?
We're just jealous because we eat a lot more than we party. Patti Labelle's cinnamon crumb cake is definitely the richest thing I've ever baked. Two sticks of butter!
I'm better at breakfast and appetizers than dinner.
Oddly, Randy never tasted Thom's delicious carbonara before this summer.
Here's Varick's prettiest dessert, if not his tastiest. That would be his lemon custard.
Our "A" side discovered a solution to a problem we never knew we had. It's much easier for three people to keep track of their glasses. Vita ate one of the "hangers on."
Fortunately, you don't have to travel as far as the Cherry Grove firehouse to find a meeting if you need one.
Chris, Thom and I dined at Top of the Bay one evening. We each had a cocktail and Thom had a glass of wine with dinner. The bar tab alone came to $85!
A red glow bathed the water taxi passengers on the way back.
The beach may not be as wide as it once was, but it's certainly as pretty.
The renters, not so much. There's always a party in the Pines, even at 5 p.m. on a Wednesday!
Flowers, both cultivated and wild, add as much local color as drag queens.
Long walks help pass the time and help you get to know the neighborhood.
Fire is a constant threat.
Speaking of destructive forces, I prefer deer in their natural habitat.
Other critters leave our flowers alone.
If not the Belvedere's lions.
Pet names are permitted in Scrabble only after the game has ended. Is it wrong to act like Arko, Florian's adorable puppy, is your grandchild?
When the weather cooled, Vita made it to Cherry Grove. She sniffed, I snapped.
Most of the residents give campier names to their homes.
I know what I'd call mine, thanks to "Feud,"which renewed my appreciation for Joan Crawford.
And everybody else's. Try queuing one of her old movies on Netflix now: Very Long Wait!
I occasionally channel Mommie Dearest when texting absent housemates.
In real estate, it's location, location, location. In the Grove, it's more about kitsch.
It seems to be creeping like kudzu into the Pines where some of the Type A personalities are finally relaxing.
That's not to say they're any less organized. The label order on this junked chest of drawers denotes the wear frequency: pajamas, costumes, sweaters.
Now that we're barely four people, guests liven up our weekends a lot more than they once did.
Sometimes, you even can put 'em to work.
I've known Tom since 1971 when we roomed together at Columbia and smoked weed for the first time. Hip replacement surgery--by the same surgeon--enabled us to walk three miles to Sunken Forest and back.
We never expected to be "blazing" by the pool 46 years later!
Buh-bye until next year.
You know you'll be back for the sunsets!
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