Endless Summer

It has been hard for me to shake that old school calender even though I have been in professional life for over 20 years. There is something about that anticipation in May and June of those long summer days that never seem to end. I often feel like one of my kids on the cusp of summer vacation. I want to jump for joy on the last day of school and let the warm summer months roll over me. My mind drifts while I am in the office of days on the beach, riding a ferry to a special place or just reading a book on a quiet afternoon. July has always been my favorite of the summer months as it is the adolescence of the summer season. It is bold, it is full of zest and the end of summer is miles away. That transition to August is always a bit of a speed bump for me. It is that first sign that summer is not forever. It is like this stranger creeping up behind you! Are the days getting shorter or is that just my imagination? I start to feel the pressure of my children's summer reading programs and I begin to focus in on all those fun summer things I haven't been able to fit in. I shake my head as thoughts of Fall projects creep into my head. I am fighting off all of those thoughts and will let that logical part of my brain take over to remind me that August is a fabulous month and we still have a great stretch of this Endless Summer ahead of us. Just keep repeating that to yourself!

Me and the Ghost of Babe

There’s something very deeply rooted about our sports attachments, it gives us a sense of home and binds us as one nation.

And who can't be rooted to the Boston Red Sox.

They make us happy, even through tough seasons.

My attachment to the Red Sox goes back to my first memories of Brookline, Massachusetts. Sunday lunch stories included Babe Ruth stories, who, decades before I was born, had sat at the same table I was at. He was a favorite guest at the dinner table of my father's great-aunt and uncle. The ghost of Babe Ruth loomed in that big dark dining room on Kent Street.

My father's relatives surrounded themselves with interesting people. They held dinner parties, lively conversations---laughter was loud and hearty. Even though I was very young, and they were very old, I was connected to them, their world, their dining room, their stories, their Babe.
Even though the old aunts and uncles had long since passed, that house and all it represented was a great memorable home, a testament to times past and lives well lived.

Lina is My Darling

The other day I was walking with my daughter, Jennifer, and her three children, Mia, Lina and Agostino.

My little Lina piped up with "Nana, it's going to rain because the leaves are turning inside out!'

I was absolutely thrilled. My daughter had passed on to her kids something I had passed on to her, and my Mom had passed on to me. These simple threads are the ties that bind.

My mother, Irene, told me things when I was a child that I believed. Then when i was a teenager, I scoffed at them. But when I had kids myslef, I was sure to tell them all these important things about our world. Things you might not learn in school. If you are observant, you will see that they are true.

Another one is 'When the cows lay down, it will rain". Check it out. It is true, too. I guess we talked a lot about the weather in my family.

Or how about when you are choking "Lift your arms striaght over your head". It really does work. I think it lifts your diaphragm or something. All I know is I did it, my kids did it, and now Mia, Lina and Gus do it, too. Obviously, I am a person who delights in simple pleasures.

I can't wait for my son to have kids to see if things stuck with him, too.

If you have any family pearls of wisdom, we woud love to hear them.

Who you gonna call?

For the past week or so I have been living the lost pet nightmare. My cat, Neeve-peeve, is missing. He's a tiny, scrappy, dark gray & white tabby, and his eyes are almost completely clouded over with what appear to be cataracts, but which is actually a congenital defect of both of his inner eyelids. His vision has GOT to be compromised, but its never seemed to slow him down any. Certainly it never stopped him from tearing up the front walk and flinging himself at the screen on the front porch, where he'd hang like Velcro Cat, peering into the house until one of us would finally have to go outside & painstakingly pry him off, sharp little claw by sharp little claw. The screen now looks as if it's been sprayed by gunfire.

My search for Neeve has taken me to many places this week. I've wandered everywhere calling & calling him - contacted the animal control officer - put posters up all over town - dropped flyers in every mailbox within a 3 block radius - brought posters in to every vetinarian's office on the island - and of course, I've been out to the Potter Shelter in Middletown several times.

If you live on Aquidneck Island and have a missing animal, the Potter Shelter is who you call/where you go, plain and simple. It's pretty much the only real resource we have. We should all be grateful it exists. I adopted my last two dogs from the Potter Shelter - Dexter & the incomparable Zoe - and two of my cats passed through there on their way to me as well.

Staffed mainly by volunteers and funded primarily by donations, this no-kill shelter (their official name is the Robert Potter League for Animals) has been helping save lost and abandoned animals since its inception in1929. Their efforts deserve our deepest support. I was there the day before yesterday to drop off a photo of Neeve, and as I stood at the counter, tears in my eyes, waiting for the desk volunteer to get off the phone, I had this epiphany...these people & this organization have been directly impacting my life & impacting it for the better ever since I got to Newport. I think I may need to start doing something for them. Because when you get right down to it, when the chips are down for YOUR pet, who else are you gonna call?

The Existence of Life After Work

Walking out the door and down the steps of my sun drenched windswept office on Ocean Road in Narragansett, Rhode Island, I am drained at the end of the business day. However, as I descend the steps my nostrils are rejuvenated by that intoxicatingly wonderful, sea weedy ocean aroma. Walking to my car, which expectantly awaits me, my pulse begins to quicken. Various items are carefully stowed away, and just as quickly forgotten. Rolling down the windows and opening the sun roof, the vehicle begins to quickly flood with cool fresh salt air. An expectation and excitement begin to build within me. Driving along the sea wall, feeling like I am in a very expensive sports car, enjoying the gorgeous ocean views, the cares of the day are evaporating and falling into a clearer perspective. Continuing to rapidly shed my work skin as I drive down the highway, the greens of the trees are brighter, the colorful blue hue of the sky is especially intense, and the jet trails crisscrossing it utterly fascinate me. I notice just how much I enjoy and appreciate looking at everything.

Feeling on top of the world, I continue on to my selected destination. The car knows the way by heart and I almost believe that the vechicle is on auto pilot. Nearing it, two more miles, one more mile, I have goose bumps! Finally the sign looms up, “Belle Vue Yachting Center”, our wonderful marina. Pulling into a parking space I get out of the car attempting to keep my enthusiasm in check, by not running but walking, not too eagerly, down the ramp and onto the dock while maintaining a pretense of equanimity and dignity. Feeling like a million dollars and a small child filled with expectant anticipation, I turn the corner of the dock and come face to face with our beloved boat, “The Leading Lady”. She is a noble vessel filled with a lot of love, many great times, interesting people and enough happy memories to last ten life times. How can an inanimate object provide such joy, whether at sea or docked? Climbing on to the rear deck I sit there relishing and contemplating the beauty, the boats expertly tied up to their respective slips, the varied scents, the sights and, especially, that relaxing resort feeling just ten minutes from my office. Ah………I am so lucky!
Tomorrow I shall walk into the office with a big smile on my face, bright eyed and bushy tailed, because, I know, that there truly is the existence of life after work , to enjoy, everyday!!!

The Sleeping Porch

I loved Penny's blog about her boat. I have a boat too, I call her 'Comfort', but that's another story.........

What is the next best thing to sleeping on a boat?
Sleeping on the sleeping porch.
Lounging on a gabled portico.

In summer, I give considerable thought to dragging a bed out on the lawn some night so I can look up at the stars. Hedges of the gloriously fragrant rosa rugosa would surround me and the cool evening breeze would lull me to sleep.

I suppose I could just sleep in 'Comfort', rocked to sleep, but she may roll over and enclose me.

Heat and me have never been agreeable, especially in the evening, and I do not care for air conditioning, what I need is .........A Sleeping Porch.

A wonderful sleeping porch, cool and comfortable, on the second floor where the bugs are fewer than my back yard.

I love to see a home with a sleeping porch, especially all dressed up and ready for summer.

My friend, Paul

Where do we come from? What are we? Where are we going?

I don't know what more I could add to this sentiment, also the title of this beautiful painting. I find it comforting that a man who lived from 1848 - 1903 had the same questions that we do today.

Circumstances of life have definitely changed. But whenever I find myself about to become unglued, I remind myself not to sweat the small stuff, and basically, except for a couple of very specific tragedies, it is all small stuff.

As a side note, Paul Gauguin thought this painting his masterpiece and he resolved to commit suicide at its completion. Fortunately, he was unable to accomplish his own demise. Life is really too good to pass up! Enjoy yours. Paul went on to live another 7 years after this painting was completed.

Have another beautiful day in Paradise!

Laborare est orare

Newport preservation question du jour: Why has the Belmont Chapel at Island Cemetery been allowed to slip into such an appalling state of decay? Commissioned by famed 19th century financier August Belmont in memory of his daughter, and donated by him in 1886 to the trustees of Island Cemetery for use as a "public mortuary chapel", this red sandstone structure was built by George Champlin Mason, Sr., and later renovated by Richard Morris Hunt. It is surrounded by monuments created by important 19th century architects and artists such as Augustus Saint Gaudens, John LaFarge, Karl Bitter and Hunt. Elaborate memorials to Newport's social elite surround the building, clamouring for attention. In fact Hunt's own grave lies nearby, a flat granite slab inscribed "laborare est orare" (work is prayer).

If only it were so. In reality this work by Mason & Hunt is crumbling faster than a toddler's sandcastle on a rainy beach. Terra cotta relief tiles lie smashed on the floor. Polychrome flooring has been prised out of its setting. Furnishings & fixtures have long since been stripped away. The roof is partially collapsed and reveals wide blue patches of open sky, and birds fly in and out and leave droppings everywhere. A thick blanket of vines & weeds is seemingly all that holds the ediface together. The chapel is no longer a memorial to anything beyond the power of time to erase all things and to undermine our best efforts, even those of the very wealthy. Belmont's gift to us of a "public mortuary chapel" may well be beyond all saving. I suggest you hurry over there to check it out before it's totally gone.

A South County State of Mind

A funny thing happens to you when you move to South County, Rhode Island. It doesn't happen overnight. You can't see it coming, but it invariably strikes almost all residents of this idyllic portion of our state. Once we get here we have a hard time leaving. When I say leave I don't refer to moving away, this is purely about leaving South County for any reason at any time. I grew up in Providence and hear about all the great things that have been happening there with the renaissance of the City, etc. However, when push comes to shove, I am not interested in getting in my car and driving past the "Hannah Robinson Tower". The "Tower", which is located at the intersection of Route 138 and Route 1 has always served as the unofficial line which separates South County from the rest of the world. Everyone says that once they pass the "Tower" they can feel the cool ocean breezes. The "Tower" was originally constructed in 1938 and has glorious views from the top of Old Tower Hill but has always been tied to the sad story of Hannah Robinson due to its proximity to the old Robinson Farm.

We in South County find it hard to pass that "Tower" at any time. I find myself making a list of items to buy at the larger big box stores of Warwick and other places and making the 20 to 25 minute trip about 3 times per year and hating it every time I do it. Although there is great dining North of the "Tower" I am still very happy enjoying the great dining here in South County and when I feel I need something different I will go East to Newport as to avoid going North of the "Tower". For those of you who live elsewhere this all sounds crazy but my fellow Quahogs out there know what I am talking about. Come and spend some time, you will see what I mean!

You Can Get There From Here

I love the old Maine expression , "you can't get there from here", however amusing that may be, it is not entirely accurate, a trip to Maine is about getting there.

A promise made when gas prices were lower to get a 3-row SUV for our Maine trip this year, we drove from Southern Rhode Island to the Northern reaches of Maine, Canada is very close by - on only one tank of gas --- I was stunned and thrilled by that, what a bargain!
Usually winding through the quaint villages and towns along the scenic Maine coastline, this time we headed straight up Rt.95 and had another 2 hours on our journey along our favorite coastal stretch until we reached the farm.


Checkers, catching snakes, chasing sheep, milking cows, stunt jumps in sunny hay lofts, gathering eggs for breakfast, having lobsters delivered to the kitchen doe-ah (door), ping pong, long walks through forests of tall pines, great stretches of beaches, making rhubarb apple pies and those fabulously goofy kid talent shows after dinner........

The story of a barn spider named Charlotte and her friendship with a pig named Wilbur....I think I met them this morning.....was written by E. B. White who lived in Maine. We are in the Charlotte's Web of Maine.

Anyone who knows Maine, knows it is a perfect place to vacation with your family, take your time driving up the coast, it is a great New England vacationland, however far up the coast you choose to go. For some presidential history, go across the way to Campobello, it is a time capsule of American history that happens to be in Canada. What is your favorite place to go in Maine?

Newport serendipities

There's a subtle kind of Newport serendipity, in which the past & present never seem to be quite finished with each other, but instead keep on combining with each other in new and unexpected ways...Or maybe it's nothing more than our own minds forging the links in this chain, I don't know.

One such link for me is that in 1860 Richard Morris Hunt, architect of Wrentham House, currently listed with us, met his wife-to-be Catherine Howland at a party at Oaklawn, also currently listed with us. Ever since learning of it, this factoid has seemed infused with an inexplicable metaphysical significance for me. But is it the facts themselves, or is it just me?

A famous 18th century Newport visitor, the philosopher Bishop George Berkeley (pronounced "Bark-lee" by the way), claimed that when we deal with the extraneous world we may THINK we're connecting with an outer reality, but we're really only connecting with our own ideas. Ever. Berkeley's position is that what we think of as "reality" doesn't even exist at all - his bottom line is that the world itself doesn't exist - and that only our perceptions & ideas have existence. He says: To be is to be perceived. In other words, the whole thing is just your basic hall of mirrors (which hardly comes as news to some of us - especially us realtors).

What Berkeley would make of this admittedly ephemeral thread connecting Wrentham House with Oaklawn by way of Lila Delman I have no idea, but astounding the thing is to me and astounding it will remain. Reality or no.

The Sniff Test

What do you like to smell when you walk into a house that you’re considering buying and making your home?

Do you notice the smell?

Do you remember the house by the smell?

What smell would make you take that home off your list of possibilities?

We all weigh the perception of different senses differently. Smell is just one that is more important to some. There are those of us may not be concerned about street noise, while others absolutely must have bright sunlight.

Hopefully, when you visit a property for sale any odor there belongs to the current residents not the house or the neighborhood.

Suggestions abound regarding what scent sells a house. Sellers watch the “sell it” shows on TV, read articles and get advice from friends. They light candles scented with everything from pumpkin to ocean breezes. They bake bread and cookies. They plug in air fresheners. Sellers take note: buyers walk in and wonder what the seller is trying to cover up.

My favorite scent in a house is none at all! No mustiness, no pet odors (including pet food), no potpourri, no strong cleansers or disinfectants and no hint of last-night’s-dinner. It can be done. A house cleaned and prepped for the market should be in this condition anyway.

What scent do you think sells a house?

The Front Door

In a home, a beautiful entrance and front door is a thing of delight. In the ancient art of Feng Shui, the front door and entrance of a home is very important.

The energy of the universe comes to us through the front door.

The Chinese felt that people who lived with "feng shui" were much more likely to be happy and prosperous. Feng Shui literally means wind and water, and is the art of living in harmony with your physical surroundings. These homes with waterviews; ocean, entrance to a bay , cliffs and a bustling harbor are all beautifully sited, in harmony with feng shui principles.

In Feng Shui, the color of the front door should reflect the compass direction it faces according to the Five Elements.


South (Fire) = Reds, pink, burgundy.
Southwest (Earth) = Yellows or browns.
West (Metal) = White, silver, copper or gold.
Northwest (Metal) = White, silver, copper or gold.
North (Water) = Blacks or blues.
Northeast (Earth) = Yellows or browns.
East (Wood) = Greens.
Southeast (Wood) = Greens.




And then there is the color of power, Black, especially good for running a business, or a country.



I am not an expert in this field, this is just what I have gleaned from various sources, your mileage may vary, if these door colors do not work for you there are many books on the topic, this is an art, not an exact science.

We are all made up of a combination of the elements, but we have one main elemental influence in our person. To discover your native element, click here.

Happy Fourth of July

Happy Fourth of July!

We in Rhode Island should be triply proud - Declaration of Independence signers William Ellery, Stephen Hopkins AND the famed songwriter George M. Cohan all hail from the Ocean State!

In fact, William Ellery's grave is right here in Newport's Common Burying Ground. Today would be a great day to honor him by visiting it. On the other hand, it would also be a great day to sit around an eat hotdogs.

Either way, have a great holiday.

Meadows

While visiting one of my favorite houses recently, I was struck by the sheer beauty of the adjacent meadow, and I realized that it had been awhile since I had seen a true meadow. Unfortunately, they are disappearing.

This house sits on the site of a former farm. Part of the land is still used to gather hay for horses by a neighborhood farmer.

Not simply a field, I have learned that a meadow is a small, flower-rich, grassland that is most likely bordered by stone walls or hedges, remnants from the original farm. Undisturbed areas with grasses, wildflowers, like buttercups and thistle, attracting butterflies and bees, are allowed to grow tall before mowing and baling.

Many meadows have disapppeared over the years and have been replaced with housing developments or if the land is still farmed, with higher yield cash crops. But in Tiverton and Little Compton, you can still come across them. Lots of open space.

If you do happen to be driving about on your busy days, and come across a meadow, please take a moment to appreciate the simple beauty. I did, and I keep thinking about it.