The Gospel of Luke - Part 1

Luke used to sing madrigals in the choir at school and play the organ at his church. No kidding. I think we made every organ joke on the planet and he suffered them all with a straight face. He had been accepted to a religious college that specialized in these and I think they had one of the biggest organs in at a college in Northeast America. (I couldn’t help but giggle.) I think he wanted to teach music.

His college's organ

A group of madrigal singers

The next time we were in my room alone together and I was cold. I had inherited this room from my brother Verne, when he went off to college two years earlier. We sat on the bed and Luke kissed me. I told him that my feet were cold and he took off my shoes and began rubbing my feet. All I could think was that I hope they didn’t smell too bad. Luke was such a gentleman really. He was tender and slow with me. He showed me how to kiss and then moved on to kissing my ears, which I loved, my neck, and then he opened my shirt and undid my bra and kissed my breasts and that was wonderful. He put his hand on my jean clad knee and stroked it up towards my crotch and I couldn’t help but rise up a bit to meet the pressure, it felt so good. Then he stopped and said that his erogenous zones were the same and it was my turn to try on him. So I kissed his mouth, ear, and neck, pulled up his polo shirt and kissed his nipple, then I looked down at his jeans and I could see the head of his erect penis emerging from the waist band of his jeans. It looked all cooped up in there, maybe even painful, and I wanted to free it so I unbuttoned the top of his jeans and unzipped the fly. Right there he grabbed my wrist and stopped me and said, “Don’t start anything you can’t finish.”

I didn’t understand quite what he meant. But then suddenly, we heard the front door of the house open and Lance’s voice say, “Are they upstairs?” We didn’t have long to get presentable and we could hear him charging up the stairs and then he burst in the room and said, “Caught ya!” But we were pretty much dressed. Luke’s pants were up and zipped and his polo shirt was hanging un-tucked hiding his erection. My shirt was buttoned but my bra was not hooked and my shoes were off. I was angry as a wet hen. How dare he burst into my room; he didn’t even knock. I was at a loss for words and left just brushing past him and heading for the bathroom. Once there, I fixed my bra. When I came out everyone was in the living room downstairs and Lance said, “Everything back in place?”

Boat Shmoat, We're Going to Paris - Part 7

We used our map to navigate a short way back to Le Méridian Étoile, our hotel, and enjoyed Paris on our way. There really are no ugly places in downtown Paris. Everywhere you turn there is a surprise of beauty waiting for your eyes to feast on. No kidding. I shit you not. Go there and see for yourself. On our way we passed the nearby Musée D’Art Moderne but we could not take the time to go in and look around.

The inside of a room just like ours. The beds are pushed so close together not for l'amour, but because the room is so small. A window and the opposite wall are just outside of the photo.

We arrived back at our hotel and our room was on the third floor. We took the elevator up and the room faced out onto the street and the street noise was just unbearable. So, we went back to the desk to see if there was another room available either higher up on another floor, or facing the courtyard. Sadly, they told us the hotel was full. Yeah, right. So, we had to make do. Not, so bad, we were in Paris for free after all. I was tired, needed to unpack my suit case, had a big day of interviews tomorrow and just wanted to relax. I proposed to Sean that we just stay in. He was all energized and wanted to continue to explore. Fine. We compromised. I would stay in and unpack and rest, while he would go out and explore. Between the French he had studied at home from tapes and the little bits I had coached him on, such as, “How much is that please?”, “I would like one of those, please.”, and “Thank you very much.”, I felt confident that he would be all set.

Some time later, when I was all unpacked and resting in bed he came back with three pastry bags. Three pastry bags. Oh, and a huge grin of accomplishment on his face.

“I could live here.” he declared. “I can go into a store and buy stuff. I have just proven it. My French is good enough.” Again the big goofy grin. He held the bags out to me and I looked inside. There had to be enough French pastries to clog our arteries until we got home. He had bought éclairs, Napoleons, fruit tarts (those were for me), cream puffs, tiny chocolate croissants, you name it and it was in there. “I amused all of the ladies in the store too. They giggled at my French and I just went with it. I had a really great time.”

I said, “Sean, who is going to eat all of this stuff. We have no refrigerator here.”

He got a doubtful look on his face and said, “I will.” Then he smiled. Somehow I had no doubt that he would be in his element here.

When dinner time at around came at around 7 pm, we headed to the closest restaurant, the one right next to the hotel. It was a five star Southern French fish establishment featuring specialties from Province. The décor was also of a style reminiscent of a store back home called Souleiado. See photos below for examples of the décor.

So we felt right at home. The maître d’ asked in French if we had a reservation, even though we could clearly see that the establishment was empty of customers. We soon became aware that this was typical in all French restaurants. I replied in French that we were sorry and did not. He must have taken pity on us poor uninformed bourgeois Americans because he gave us the best table in the house, in the back up on a raised area, surrounded by a valance of curtains and piled high with throw pillows. Either that or he wanted to hide us from passers-by that might see that he had been gauche enough to seat diners before the trendy 8:30 pm dining hour or he just rewarded me for using my pathetic French.

We both ordered a three fish dish and were astounded at how wonderful the food tasted. We also ordered one of the suggested wines which of course was terrific with the meal. Guess that is how they got five stars. We thanked our server profusely and complemented the chef. I tried not to notice how much the bill was for, but it was the most we spent the entire time we were in Paris and apparently this was the fanciest restaurant we dined at the entire time we were there (that we paid for). We just didn’t know it at that time.

We returned to our hotel and I was completely sleepy and ready for bed. Tomorrow was a really big day crammed with interviews. But the damned street noise kept me up all night. I took the blankets off of my twin bed into the entry vestibule and slept on the floor there for more quiet. At least I got some shut eye.

Duck and Cover

Fair View aplogizes in advance to readers who may be upset by this post. We try very hard not cover upsetting events, but this time it was needed for the reader to understand the author's psyche.

Background from Wikipedia:

The Cuban Missile Crisis was a confrontation during the Cold War between the Soviet Union and the United States regarding the Soviet deployment of nuclear missiles in Cuba. The missiles were ostensibly placed to protect Cuba from further planned attacks by the United States after the failed Bay of Pigs invasion, and were rationalized by the Soviets as equivalent to the U.S. placing deployable nuclear warheads in the United Kingdom, Italy, and most significantly, Turkey. The crisis began on October 16, 1962 when U.S. reconnaissance data revealing Soviet nuclear missile installations on the island were shown to U.S. President John F. Kennedy and ended twelve days later on October 28, 1962, when Soviet premier Nikita Khrushchev announced that the installations would be dismantled. The Cuban Missile Crisis is often regarded as the moment when the Cold War came closest to escalating into a nuclear war. Russians refer to the event as the "Caribbean Crisis," while Cubans refer to it as the "October Crisis."

I remember it clear as if it were yesterday. I was six years old and in first grade when the Cuban Missile Crisis began. At school we were being shown films about how we should “duck and cover” to be ready for when the bombs dropped. I was terrified. I didn’t understand how crouching under my desk and putting my head down was going to save my life when the fireball came through. Certainly, we lived close enough to New York City that that would be the case. I pictured that someday after all us kids were fried, somebody would make a grisly discovery of all these little skeletons crouched under their desks and just shake their heads at the futility of our survival efforts.

See the scared little girl looking up? That is me thinking, "What the fuck am I doing this for when I am fried anyhow?"

I also saw all of the films on how the blast would affect houses.

How could anybody survive that, I wondered?

I went home that day to ask my mom how serious this nuclear crisis was absolutely sure she would tell me there was nothing to worry about. So, there I was in the kitchen, standing in front of the breadbox and I asked her, “Mom, are the Russians going to bomb us?”

She stopped peeling carrots and looked at me. She said, “I don’t know Susie. I hope not.” Then she kind of staggered and her face crinkled with worry lines. I walked away with really big eyes more scared than I dared admit and saying nothing.

That was when my mushroom cloud dreams began. I would dream that somewhere the bomb would drop and a mushroom cloud would form and my whole family and house would be vaporized in the fireball which would rush towards us at the speed of light. My bedroom window faced New York City and I would sleep with my head towards the window, figuring I would die more quickly and never feel a thing.

I would jolt awake from these dreams with my leg muscles in painful spasms and have to work with the muscles to release the cramps. The crisis ended without nuclear war, as we all know. But my dreams continued to plague me well into college.

Friday Fantasy - Fair View's Mr. Brazil 2006

We here at Fair View after carefully screening all of the applicants and have determined that the sexiest Brazilian for 2006 is.... wait for it.... Igor Rosa. So we name him Mr. Brazil for 2006. (And phooey on Miro what's his name with his tattoo butt..)



Congratulations Mr. Rosa. You may ask, "What did I win?" Well, should you decide to come to Fair View to accept your traditional Mountain Laurel Crown you will win:



A grand tour of the Fair View Estates. (I have trouble writing that without laughing or spitting my coffee out of my nose.)



A free dinner at one of our finest local eateries. (Snort, scoff.)



You will meet the specially trained Fair View hounds. (A.k.a. Jenny & Laila.)



And, be mobbed by adoring fan(s). (Well, in any case I will be there.) Plus the event will be immortalized in pictures by a professional photographer. (Providing Sean hasn't left me by then.)

Anyone want to help me whip up the traditional Mountain Laurel Crown?

First Kiss

I really was a lame ass nerd in high school. I thought I was cool, wearing my worn jeans and picturing myself a hippie, but somewhere deep inside I knew I wasn’t. So when this guy from the other high school in town took an interest in me I was really excited about it. His name was Luke. He was six feet tall with brown hair and eyes with a muscular swimmer’s build. He was very smart and used to hang out with all of us teens in front of the local movie theater. Since my mom was a teacher at his high school, the other one in our town, her current and former students used to hang out at our house also. He was one of those too. So, I saw a lot of him. We used to play chess, and pathetic chess player that I am, he used to beat the crap out of me regularly. But, I was accustomed to that, since I was outclassed by everyone in my family and regularly got slammed. But, he did buy me a book on strategies of playing chess which I read. That was after the time of the great 1972 Boris Spassky vs. Bobby Fisher chess match and I remember babysitting with that match on the television and forcing a little baby to watch it by tying him into this baby seat contraption. He never cried; actually he seemed to glaze over at the black and white pieces on the screen. I pictured that someday he would grow up to be a great chess master and everyone would wonder where he got his skills. Anyway, at that time chess was really big.

Ah, the magic time of someone taking an interest in you; you feel so special. I felt terrified and unworthy. But I glowed anyhow. He was taking an interest in me. Why? I had no idea. Why would this attractive young man be interested in me? Oh well, I just went with it. I was smart and cute, maybe that was enough. Then I thought about all of the jerks in my high school; yeah, they didn’t know what they were missing out on. Assholes! Losers! Come to think of it though, I had driven a couple of potential suitors away. There was the really cute guy in Mathletes that asked me to join up with him in a competition, but I steered him to another cute, smart girl and now they were dating. Then there was the really popular guard on the basketball team that intercepted me on my bike outside the high school on the weekend. God, he was a dreamy hunk. I could never imagine he would be interested in me. He got my front wheel between his legs, held my handlebars and asked me where I was going and could we just talk a while. Of course I was terrified and couldn’t wait to get away. But, maybe I misinterpreted that and he just really wanted to get to know me.

Anyhow, there were a whole bunch of us teens that used to hang out. In our usual crew was my twin Evie, Luke and his friends from his school, the other high school in our district, Tammy and Lance. Lance was what we would call a twink today with curly blond hair and an angelic face and followed Luke around like a puppy. Tammy always seemed older looking to me, like she was in her early twenties, and was beautiful and exotic with long black hair. Rumor had it that she and Luke had already dated. But, I had my doubts because she was Jewish and he was Protestant. Where I grew up on Long Island you were either Jewish or Gentile. Jewish people would socialize with us, but we were not good enough to date. But, it was the Jewish person’s call as to whether to date or not. I learned this the hard way. One day in my English class the handsome classmate at the desk in right front of me turned and was chatting to me about an upcoming dance, when the student at the desk to his left whispered to him, “You know, she’s not Jewish.” Well, that ended that conversation lickity split. He just turned right to his front as if nothing had ever happened. I, of course, was heartbroken. Tammy’s mother was also a teacher at her high school. Our little bunch would routinely go to each other’s houses all of which were within walking distance of each other.

Occasionally our group would get split up and one night Luke offered to walk me home from his house. It was a cool and misting early spring night and as we crossed a barren weedy lot, he held my hand to stop me and began kissing the top of my head. I wasn’t really sure what was going on up there, so I just stood still. Then he took his right hand and lifted my chin up so that I was looking at him and he lowered his mouth to mine. Our lips met and it began as an innocent closed kiss at first, but then he opened his mouth and so did I. His tongue entered my mouth and gently explored it. He held me closer. I gave him just a bit of suction and he seemed to like that. He pressed his body against mine and I could feel his erection through his jeans. Then he moved away and asked me if I was okay. I replied that I was and he walked me the rest of the way home his hand around mine. I was really excited because I now had a boyfriend.

Boat Shmoat, We're Going to Paris - Part 6

By the time we made it down to the Seine, which was only about 5 blocks away, the jet lag was really hitting me. I just wanted to sit down and veg out. But where can you do that in Paris? We were admiring the view when Sean had a great idea. Why not take a Bateaux Mouches tour? We would be able to sit and watch Paris go by while listening to the tour.

So we hiked over to Pont de l’Alma, the place where the bateaux depart, and being an early spring afternoon, there was hardly anyone else waiting to board the bateaux. We paid, boarded and since the weather was sunny and warm we sat atop the open bateaux.

In no time at all, the bateaux engines revved up, the water swelled around our bateaux and we were cast off the pier along the Rive Gauche (Left Bank or downstream). It was decidedly pleasant sitting there watching Paris go by. First we passed under the Pont des Invalides and then next was the famous Alexander III Bridge.

Of course, we saw the Napoleon Bridge:

Then we saw the Musee D’Orsay (Orsay Museum)

and off in the distance the L’Eglise Americain (American Church). It was a good thing we were seeing these things from a boat, because I wasn’t sure how much time we would have to visit them during this busy week.

Before you know it, we could see the tip of the Île de la Cité and the Pont Neuf .

King Henry IV

The Île de la Cité is an island that sits in the middle of the Seine and right behind it is the smaller Ile St. Louis. "Notre-Dame" Cathedral is built on the Île de la Cité and that is what we saw next. What a treat it was to see! Note the flying buttresses that were used to hold up the structure of the back of the cathedral and the famed rose window. When I came to Paris as a little girl I attended mass at Notre Dame, but didn’t take communion because I hadn’t fasted. What a silly little girl I was. I should have just taken communion.

We didn't get to see the rose window from inside on this trip, but here it is and isn't it too pretty to miss?

Although we did see some lovers on the banks of the Seine, we did not see what is in this next photo that I have included for your interest. Click to enlarge.

Anyhow, our bateaux rounded the Ile St. Louis, and headed upstream following the Rive Droite (Right Bank). Notably, from here we saw the Louvre Museum.

We relaxed on the way back, past our departure point and onwards to the Eiffel Tower. Last time I was here with my family we took the elevator up and saw the view from the top of the tower. It was really windy and chilly up there, even though it was August. But the view was outstanding and well worth it.

Last but not least, we saw the 35 foot tall replica of the Statue of Liberty.

Then our bateaux turned for the last time and headed for home. We docked, disembarked and bid adieu to the tour. We felt rested enough to continue back to the hotel.

2007 Begins at Fair View - Jenny News

Here at Fairview we have two bird feeders, a thistle seed feeder and a wooden feeder with glass sides that also has two cages to hold suet cakes. Both hang under the eaves of our porch with sweeping views of the cove beneath our house. Only the best for our birds.

Recently we noticed a big fat squirrel raiding the wooden bird feeder and gobbling up all of the seed. He hangs from the roof edge by his rear toes to do this. We usually set the dogs on him and they chase him off in vain, as he makes it to a tree before they even get close. Apparently, Jenny, our Malinois mix, has been getting closer to catching him.

So the other day, when I saw the dratted squirrel on the feeder, I let her out, without thinking she may actually get him and then I went back to unstacking the dishwasher. I was putting the butter knives in the cutlery drawer and glanced out the window and saw Jenny outside with a dead squirrel flopping in her mouth. “Oh shit!” I said, as I rushed to get out the door. I came down the porch steps and she met me at the bottom with the squirrel.

“Good girl Jenny!” I said in my high pitch, reward the doggie voice. “What a good dog! You are such a good dog!” I grabbed her collar and continued gently, “Drop it.” She did, placing it at my feet as if it were a present just for me. “Good girl!” I grabbed the squirrel by the tail and held it up away from the dog. “What a good girl!!!” It was freshly dead, looked like it had a broken back and its head was covered with dirt as if she had played with it a bit. I walked it over to the trash cans and gave it a proper varmint disposal.

Then I ushered Jenny back to the house. “What do good girls get?” This is how we reward our dogs for doing something we like. We take them in and give them cookies. She understands what this means, of course. She was even more excited, as if that was possible, and followed me into the house. Laila was there too. So, I got the dog cookies down and gave them each a handful, Jenny’s slightly bigger than Laila’s. Then I washed my hands thoroughly.

So, that night we had squirrel spaghetti.

Just kidding! All I can say is, we have plenty more squirrels, but they should take heed. We have a bona fide squirrel killer on the premises, so raid our bird seed at your own peril, varmints!

It really is pretty slow here at Fairview. How is your 2007 so far?