Showing posts with label North Andover. Show all posts
Showing posts with label North Andover. Show all posts

Monday, December 22, 2025

Early Migration

By autumn's end, I already had been in Florida for two weeks.  Florian captured this very meta moment at Wynwood Walls where I take nearly everyone who visits the Folly for the first time.  


The Miami neighborhood offers a case study in gentrification:  where hipsters once bopped, strollers now roam but it still remains Selfie Heaven, even for septuagenarians who should know better!


Photo shoots in Central Park can be just as creative, if less angular. There's a woman under that puddled blue dress.




A traffic light on Park Drive intensified the fall foliage colors.


En route to Little Bear Ridge Road, I passed Yvette Mayorga's "Magic Grasshopper" which celebrated '90s nostalgia in Times Square.  Oh to be in my forties again!

Something about this new tower on the East Side keeps catching my eye.

Larry Bell's "Improvisations in the Park" include "Pacific Red II" (2017).

I was passing through Madison Square on my way to pick up a coffee-table book about Salvatore Ferragamo only available at Rizzoli's.

Here's that skinny new tower again, from a different angle.  

Florida weather began to look pretty tempting on a bitterly cold day at Columbus Circle.

But that's the thing about fall in New York: one day it's freezing, the next day it's not.

I never realized how good the people watching can be in Washington Square Park.  You also can get high just by inhaling.

Thom told me a new walkway opened for pedestrians on the south side of the Edward Koch Bridge.


It offered views of Manhattan and Queens I'd never seen before.


Clouds enveloped the super talls near  Columbus Circle while I biked to the theater district to see Oedipus  the best show I saw this season.  Bye-bye Broadway until next spring. 

Ghosts haunted the entrance to the Belnord on the Upper West Side for Halloween.

Thom and I celebrated our birthdays with a delicious but overpriced meal at Milo's and Hell's Kitchen afterwards.  It finally made me an Alicia Keys fan.



I found myself back in Queens a week later for the Friendsgiving dinner that Thom hosted for our Fire Island Forever crowd after it had been postponed from Columbus Day due to bad weather.  I made pumpkin cheesecake for the first time since 1988.  My kitchen may never recover.


In between my endless blogging about my wonderful two-week trip to Italy just after fall began, I also found time to see several exhibits, including "Ben Shahn, On Nonconformity" at the Jewish Museum which includes small sketch of a McCarthy era monster whose apt pupil has wreaked almost inconceivable havoc on the world order in the 21st century

Portrait of Roy M. Cohn, ca 1954)
. . .  "Downtown/Uptown: New York in the Eighties" at Lévy Gorvy Dayan which proves that the art scene during that decade was almost entirely a boys club

Barbara Kruger (1987)




I also trekked to Soho to catch "Law and Order" at Jeffrey Deitch, a gallery show of works by Sam McKinniss, a Brooklyn-based gay artist who paints from photos.  I get why he chose Jeremy Meeks


. . . but even a very young Marco Rubio seemed a little out of right field.


 On Wooster Street, everything looks artistic.


Would you believe it's a half-century since Patti Smith released the incomparable "Horses?" Franz Gertsch painted these oversize portraits from photos he took when she performed in Cologne four years later.

Patti Smith III 
Patti Smith IV
Manhattan's holiday windows began their temptation early.

Marc Jacobs, Soho

"Naked on my Ozgoad: Fausthaus - Anal Deep Throat"
(Cowardly Lion detail, 2024)


Knowing I wouldn't be around for Christmas as usual, I wanted to make Thanksgiving in North Andover something special for Dagny, Della & Desi.  When Magda and Zoltan were growing up, they loved examining the contents of "my secret drawer" at 47 Pianos, which I filled with things children might find interesting, including some items from my own childhood.  "Why not make it portable for the D-Kids?"  I thought, and introduce them to Andy Warhol by collaging it in reproductions of his art from an old datebook?  Voila!


My strategy worked, thanks to an old case Chris gave me last winter when he began scanning his father's old circus slides.  Della grabbed a tiny microphone; the frozen minute and second hands on my first Seiko wristwatch fascinated Dagny; and Desi ecstatically chased a battery-operated VW Beetle that reminded Magda of Herr Cucaracha even though it only spun doughnuts backwards.  I'm pretty sure the D-Kids will be just as excited by the arrival of "Andy's Secret Case" next year.


T Lo, their grandfather, surprised me with another blast from our past:  the postcards I sent to him and Audrey when I toured Australia.  He and I had recently turned 30.



Although Zoltan, 35, couldn't make Thanksgiving this year, he had been Down Under himself just the month before.   He visited many of the same places I had in a kind of generational chime 40 years later.  Unlike me, however, he actually got to see a koala in the wild.


Before departing North Andover, I took Magda, the D-Girls and Moofy on a hike Tom and I made previously.  Neither Dagny nor Della stopped whining until we reached the frigid shore of Lake Cochichewik for a photo op with the always eager but now semi-blind Moofy.  In dog years, he's even older than I am.


They even ascended to the top of Osgood Hill without complaint.


The leaves may not turn colors in south Florida but you do get about an hour more daylight and sunsets like these.

You'll also find elaborate Christmas displays on South Flagler Drive.  Just don't look too closely at Santa's baseball cap.


There's truly fine dining available, too, at Oceano Kitchen where the shrimp risotto 

. . . was MUCH yummier than the one I ordered in Milan.


That's to say nothing of the Folly's other advantages:  an onsite washer/dryer, a car instead of a bike for doing my grocery shopping and, not least of all, enough space to host guests eager to escape winter's chill in the Palm Beaches, just like the manatees.

 

Saturday, September 13, 2025

Hangin' @ Club 223

Zoltan and I coordinated a late-summer visit to Club 223, christened for its D-Kid hospitality, in North Andover.  Audrey, his not-short mamma, sure does love him.  She had mowed the club's expansive lawn the day before due to Tom's recovery from knee surgery to repair a meniscus tear. Needless to say, she did it her way.

 

Mr. P, who lost Vedder, his longtime companion in early May, demanded to know how much time he had before the D-Kid invasion on Saturday.


Zoltan and I spent much of our quiet time catching up on his recent far-flung travels.  They included a visit to a Sikh temple in Bihar, the "Alabama" of India, where his head gear looked familiar


. . . his second (!) now-that's-what-I-call-a-destination-wedding in Bangalore


. . . . and the Calgary Stampede with Seth, an ex-Army buddy almost as tall as he is.  Inquiring minds in Canada wanted to know if they were wearing Confederacy cowboy hats.  Thems fightin' words to these white boys.  I drove through Alberta long before their birth on a road trip to Alaska with my father.


Zoltan's appetite has remained a defining characteristic.  He still holds the record for consuming the most pancakes in the Pines.


We also took a quick walk to nearby Ridgewood Cemetery, which opened in 1850.  He savors the history evoked by the dead; I go more for graveyard aesthetics.  The bronze gates were added in 1909.



Thanks to Z, I learned this very meta symbol represents Freemasonry.


Josiah N. Brown and his survivors must have been wishful thinkers, counting on his ascent to heaven.


Veterans occupy a small section of the cemetery.


Zoltan's service as a U.S. Army officer after graduating from American University on an ROTC scholarship took him to Seattle.  I attended his commissioning ceremony in 2012.

This enormous tombstone looked like a child's building blocks.  The terse engraving (P. Stevens 1864) offers no clues to its meaning.


A twenty-something couple died a little more than a year apart in the late 19th century. For some reason, the wife's maiden name was engraved at the top of her headstone. There's a story there.


The cemetery is immaculately tended.


You don't often see metal tombstones.


A family plot like this one makes me wish I was eligible to be buried with my parents in Fort Bliss National Cemetery.


This mushroom boasted natural bas relief.


Quiet time ended as soon as we returned to Club 223 where Zoltan put his helicopter-blade arms to aquatic use with Dagny and Della.