December 11, 2008

Dear Friends and Family,

It’s that Ho Ho time of year again, and, like everyone else in this great country of ours, we are hanging on by the seat of our pants and waiting to see what happens next.

Who could have guessed, when we planned our trips for the year, that they would take on a dreamlike quality to them as we look back? In March, Jay and I took Fred and Bertie to Costa Rica for 8 days. My daughter Helenka had recommended it, and knowing how interested she is in eco-tourism as well as comfort tourism, we set off with no misgivings. It wasn’t until we were halfway to our first hotel (some 3 ½ agonising hours from the airport by switchback road) that it occurred to me to wonder what the frequent yellow hearts, painted on the road, were. “Those? We were cheerfully informed when we reached our destination, “They commemorate people who’ve died in accidents on that spot. After a day or two we could see why the number was so high. Costa Ricans love their cell phones, and being a talented bunch have almost perfected the art of sending text messages as they ride their bicycles…Almost.

Costa Rica provided thermal waters and iguanas who wanted to share our breakfast, and wonderful people who chased them off for us. Then there was the zip-lining – a hair-raising activity in which they put you into what appears to be a flimsy harness (just like the parachute ones, they assured us, but without the parachute…and set free to fly along an even flimsier cable across ravines up to 600 feet deep. Apparently the view is fantastic as you cross. I have no idea, since I had my eyes shut the whole way and hard not to scream.  

Fred starts out...

It was a relief to be back in New Hampshire hosting Jay’s 50th Yale reunion. Not the whole thing of course, just a mini reunion of five other Yalies and their various spouses, who spent three days with us, eating, drinking and generally behaving as though they were still undergraduates. By the end of it, I fear they were wondering how on earth they had survived four years of this sort of thing when they were students. Sic transit gloria should be the Yale motto.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                   Yalies at play

Just when I thought it might be safe to relax a bit, we had 14 complete strangers to dinner in New Hampshire. We had agreed to this in a mad moment at a Christmas party last year (what was it in that mulled wine?). It was in aid of a local charity for land conservation, so let’s hope it raised enough money to cover our outlay.

A week later, Jay decided to take me and his daughter Amanda, partner Barb and their two children to a baseball game at Fenway Park – the legendary stadium of the Boston Red Sox team. Jay is a die-hard Yankee fan, and he had been warned not to wear any insignia of his team, in case he incited the local crowd to riot. He had scoured the internet for tickets for this game. Tickets for Fenway Park are always expensive, because the stadium is small and ancient, so he gulped, paid five times the price for the tickets, and off we went. Most of us went. As Jay was climbing the stairs to our seats (for $125 each they were right at the top of the stadium), he tripped and landed on his wrist, crushing it a number of interesting ways. He hadn’t damaged that one for about a year, so he was more or less due for a disaster. So he never saw the game and didn’t even see his seat, never mind sit in it.

I was devastated, of course, since it had been my life’s dream to see a baseball game sitting in the boiling sun and eating nasty hot dogs, but that’s life. I must say that four hours in the emergency room was almost as much fun, though. So I left for London the same night.

I’d been planning to do that anyway, to see my mother, now 88 and still going strong. She’s President of her local Liberal Democrat Policy committee, and keeps the rest of the committee on their toes. August brought less glamorous visits to prospective colleges for Bertie, our youngest. For those of you apt to lose track of time (me too), Bertie is now nearly 18, and will be going to college next Fall. His teachers seem to think he’ll be able to find a place at a good college, and maybe the competition won’t be so steep next year, because of the economic situation. Fred’s already at the University of Connecticut, and getting wonderful grades. In his spare time he designs amazing things on his computer, and is looking forward to snowmobiling this winter. Jay is thinking of going up to Canada by snowmobile from our house in NH. It’s true that we’re only three hours by road from Montreal, but I fear he’s being a bit optimistic. Being a super supportive wife, I have promised to give him a sandwich and a thermos of coffee if he’s really determined to go.

We saved the best for last, this year. In September we embarked on a three week odyssey to London, Turkey and Greece. We loved Istanbul, and also travelled to Cappadocia, an amazing region of natural rock formations that look like wizard’s hats but are the size of three and four story houses. In fact, some of them are inhabited, and we stayed in a fascinating cave hotel that had been carved out of the rock long ago for people to live in. For short people to live in. We were travelling with friends, and the men in the group were all over 6 feet tall, so by the end of our stay they were walking around looking dazed after a number of encounters with the low ceilings. I think it was the low ceilings.    

 

                                                          View from our cave bedroom

Sadly, I let Jay loose in some of the Turkish shops. A mistake, of course, since we came home to find the two carpets and artisanal (read: astronomically expensive) pottery waiting for us. Not to mention all the other souvenirs, which resulted in us having to buy an extra bag to carry all the booty. We arrived in Greece after a one week cruise on a four-masted ship, having visited Rhodes, Santorini and Mykonos on the way. Even the names of those islands sound wonderful, don’t they?

Santorini was where Jay left his mark. The port is located at the bottom of a very high cliff, and there are two ways of getting up and down: the funicular railway and donkeys. I don’t even need to tell you which one he chose. The donkey handlers chose the largest donkey and Jay sprang lithely up onto it. Then he seemed to have second thoughts, but it was too late, the donkeys were off. I followed behind so I had a great view of a donkey’s rear all the way down. I need say no more.

We saw Athens at its best, in the early October sun. Jay and I even visited Delphi, to see whether the oracle had anything to say. (She didn’t.)

We returned to election fever. You probably know who I voted for. Fred voted for the first time, since he and Bertie now have American passports in addition to their British ones. Fred had to stand in a queue for nearly two hours to vote, such was the enthusiasm at college. My son Adam voted for the first time, too. So I was feeling that at last the Democrats in the family would outnumber the Republican. You can imagine how stunned I was to find that Jay had actually voted for the right (non-republican) candidate. Who says that you can’t teach an old dog… On the other hand, I thought the rugs and souvenirs would be enough shopping for Jay this year, but he’s threatening to buy 40 acres of land further up the lake in New Hampshire. No, I have no idea why…something about a fun project?

We’re looking forward to a family Christmas in New Hampshire, and wish you a very Merry Christmas and a Healthy and Happy New Year.

P.S. I had a couple of short stories published this year. They’re on this blog if you’d like to read them.