"And now I must confess I could use some rest I can't run at this pace very long Yes it's quite insane Think I hurt my brain But it cleans me out, then I can go on"
-Jimmy Buffett
This weekend was a little ambitious, and we're feeling the effects this morning.
Friday we celebrated the tenth anniversary of our first meeting by riding over to Elmira for supper at the Hill Top Inn (technically on Jerusalem Hill). Peg looked beautiful. I wore cowboy boots and a blazer. The place had a spectacular view of the valley below, but the food was mediocre and the dining room appeared to have been decorated by the same folks who decorate the dining room of every Elks Lodge in the country. As we dined I was engaged in an online auction of antiques, bids growing bolder with each sip of Jameson's.
So the next morning we had an unplanned mission--to locate a U-Haul and drive up to Weedsport to pick up our auction winnings. I rented a van over in Elmira Heights, and we rattled and shook our way up through Ithaca and Auburn to an old horse farm where the artifacts of a long life raising horses and collecting art filled a ramshackle old farmhouse, each with a little white identifying tag hanging from it. The nice lady who helped us locate our loot picked up on Peg's accent, and let us know that her son-in-law was an actual Southerner, from the South, even South Carolina. And it turns out he didn't have hookworm or listen to George Jones--he'd moved up here and was making good money as some sort of fund manager. Amazing.
On the way home we stopped in Seneca Falls for lunch in a little Mexican diner, surprised to find mole on the menu and more surprised that it was pretty good. The town was filled with women in sensible shoes, arriving in a tour bus on some sort of feminist pilgrimage to Susan B. Anthony's old neighborhood.
We arrived home just as the drag show was getting rolling down on Market Street, which was blocked off and packed to the gills with revelers celebrating Pride Day. By the time we finished unloading the truck the party was pretty much over, however. We walked down to the Cellar all the same, enjoying a cheese board and some very, very expensive specialty drinks for Pride Day with our de facto kids and grandkids. Then back up the hill to curl up on the couch, start a movie, and fall soundly asleep.
The Houghton armoire finally made it up into Peg's new sitting room in the last few days.
Peg's excited to have someplace to hang her clothes, finally.
The cats appreciate the new playhouse, as well.
Yesterday we pondered whether to go to church, but finally pulled ourselves together after a leisurely breakfast that included two slices of bacon for me, guaranteeing a day of unquenchable heartburn. Worth it? Maybe not.
After a couple post-worship hours shopping online for boats and mulling over our Sunday amusement options on the front porch, we rallied again and moved the last of the new furniture, hung the new art, and vacuumed up enough dander and fur to create two other cats. From there, we rewarded ourselves with a top-down drive through the hills to Point of the Bluff Vineyard, above Keuka Lake, to hear the Little River Band.
Well, the group that has secured the right to call itself the Little River Band. Apparently there has been litigation.
The crowd was old and friendly, most a little drunk, some attempting to dance a bit. It was a pleasant way to spend a Sunday afternoon.
On the way home we stopped in Hammondsport for a bite at the Village Tavern, and were shocked at finding they could really cook. The chopped liver was almost as good as Peg's, and the sauteed crab claws delighted us. Turns out the owner and chef was trained in New Orleans. We knew he couldn't be local talent, given the paucity of decent dining options here.
Seeing as how he was a Nola guy, we decided to try a sazerac. Then another. They were also quite good, maybe too good. This is why we're suffering so this warm, overcast Monday. I'm thinking the health kick will have to wait until tomorrow to resume. Time to get ready for a big hearing in a few.
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