Monday, December 14, 2009
Into the foothills of the Catskills this weekend for an 80th birthday party (not mine, thank God) at the fabulous Mohonk Mountain House. We spent New Years there in 2000 and 2001 but hadn't ventured back.
It is so lovely there over the holidays with untold Christmas trees, fireplaces burning real logs, lovely decorations in a perfect Victorian setting. Little girls in velvet dresses and little boys in jackets. Adults in their finery, too. I wore my only winter dress, a black number that I actually wore there in 2001, but who remembered?
In fact at the host's table, everyone forgot what he/she had ordered, and the waiter kept passing stuff around, hoping, I guess, that someone would remember. Our table, not as aged, remembered perfectly well. One was grateful that the helpings were human sized and not for trencherman.
The party was lovely with lots of (mostly) short speeches and all the birthday boy's grandchildren on their best behavior. Good food, drink and company. Watching the youngest grandchildren dancing made me terribly sentimental, thinking of the year their father was born and how the decades had passed and all that had happened and how sweet the future looked. One can only hope for a good world for these little kids.
We didn't skate or x-country ski (too icy). My idea of winter sports is indoor stuff, like crossword puzzles before the fire and a nice conversation. Hated skating since the ice cracked under my skates on a frozen lake when I was all alone as a twelve-year old. Once bitten, twice shy. Never went back, after having been spared an icy grave. And then I got in trouble for getting home late and missing a Girl Scout event. So, no skating for Grapeshot and no skiing either. Summer is my season.
Yesterday morning, it began to snow, and we grabbed a quick brunch after a sort-of-late breakfast and headed out. Roads slicker than snot on a marble. Huge wrecks on I-84 East and sitting in the backup for two hours. Truckers on meth or something, tailgaiting, cutting in and out. Idiots speeding with no lights. Total traffic meltdown. So damn glad to get home.
Cats, as always, happy to see us. A Manhattan, a bowl of leftover goulash soup, and so to bed. I slept for over ten hours. Need that beauty sleep. Yup.
Onward to Christmas. Time to get the tree. The cats will be so pleased.