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a year of transition

june 13

new orleans, louisiana

What a miserable trip! The flight from Providence to Cleveland is late, so naturally I misconnect for my flight to New Orleans. As there are no more direct flights from Cleveland to New Orleans today, I am forced to go to Houston and catch a flight from there. Of course the flights to Houston are all oversold.

Finally arriving in New Orleans—only seven hours late — I go directly to the hotel (The Monteleone) to try to catch up with my colleagues (Ron Koren, Randy Adamoli, and Randy's friend, Alison) — whom I was supposed to meet at the airport eight hours ago. As I check into the hotel, the clerk hands me a note. It's from Randy. "Meet us at Pat O'Brien's at 8:15."

Well, it's already about eight o'clock, and I'm waiting for John Czarnetzky to show up. (John taught a bar exam class in Jackson, Mississippi earlier in the day and decided to join up with us in New Orleans.) Figuring — correctly as it turns out—that the Pat O'Brien's crew wouldn't hesitate to start "the meeting" without me, I decide to relax at the Carousel Bar to wait for John and have a quick drink before joining the others.

I request a seat by the window with a good view of the hotel lobby, but I barely have time to down my first scotch — and most of you know, it doesn't take me very long — before John approaches the hotel, spotting me in the window from the outside. We decide to have a quick drink before joining the others.

Before long, John and I are joined at the bar by Achim and Margitta Kordass. Achim is a colleague from Berlin, and he and his wife have become good friends of mine over the past few years. Once the introductions are complete, we decide to have a quick drink before joining the others.

Fully rejuvenated now, we leave the hotel bar in pursuit of Pat O'Brien's and the rest of our comrades. We walk the block or so down Royal to Bourbon Street, and even though the sun has set we are already wilting from the heat. As we pass one of those ubiquitous walk-up booze-to-go places, we decide to have a quick drink before joining the others.

Somewhat turned around, I point the way (I had a 50-50 chance of getting it right), and our now very merry band presses on to the promised land: another bar. So intent are we on our objective — as well as staying upright — that we completely miss Ron, Randy, and Alison walking in the opposite direction in search of us. (Obviously we aren't the only ones preoccupied with keeping upright.)

Fortunately, someone from our group spots someone from theirs just as they are about to disappear into the throng patrolling Rue Bourbon on any given summer Saturday night. As we once again make the appropriate introductions, it becomes very clear to me — and I can assure you nothing else is very clear to me at this moment — that the Pat O'Brien's group had started "the meeting" long before reaching Pat O'Brien's at eight fifteen. Now successfully regrouped, but once again feeling oppressed by the heat, we decide to have a quick drink at yet another booze-to-go while pondering where to go for dinner.

After giving it some thought — "it" being how to speak intelligibly, I have no doubt — Randy informs us that the House of Blues is the "in" place to be. So, in-crowd aspirants that we are, the House of Blues it is — if we can find it.

After what seems like an eternity of stumbling, we arrive. I'm not sure how; I don't recall. But we are here, at the famed House of Blues. The establishment is split into two areas: the restaurant/bar and the live entertainment room. We are in the restaurant, but the show from next door is piped in and displayed on television monitors throughout.

True to New Orleans, the food is spectacular. "The show," however, is so loud conversation is all but impossible. So after dinner, and a couple of quick drinks, it's back to the hotel. My memory is pretty cloudy at this point, but I do know we don't make it as far as the hotel — at least not yet. Instead we plunge into a crowded bar with a Zydeco band for a couple of quick drinks. [My thanks to whoever is holding me up at this point.]

The music is overwhelming and wonderful, but before long I am near the point of collapse. So we make another attempt for the hotel. Before going up to our rooms for the night, of course, we stop off once again at the Carousel Bar for a quick night cap — or three. Through sheer stupidity, John and I outlast everyone else. Even in my stupor, I know it is now definitely time to go to bed — but there are still problems in the world that must be addressed. So John, who is bunking with me, and I order a few more for the long elevator ride upstairs.

* * *

I wonder now that we found the elevator at all, let alone the room. I do remember that John and I stayed up for some time, and that in fact we found solutions to all the world's problems — I just don't remember what the solutions are.

june 8

coventry, rhode island

Barbara and John Andreozzi arrived today from Florida — at nearly midnight! They look none the worse for wear, however, and we're all looking forward to a good visit this season.

may 30

coventry, rhode island

Nick took his first real steps today, so it won't be long now. (With his general level of activity, I am dreading the weeks to come.)

may 25

coventry, rhode island

Nicholas Paul Adamoli turns one-year-old today. Yesterday we celebrated his birthday together with Sarah Shea's. Sarah's father, Denny, managed to avoid the whole performance by participating in the traditional sailing races to and from Block Island. Guess where I'd rather be.

may 22

coventry, rhode island

As some of you may know, Tim Shea and Pam Johnson have been looking for a new house. (If you'd been anywhere near them the past few weeks, believe me, you'd know.) Well today, their offer was accepted, and assuming all goes well, they'll be new home owners by June. (See the house here.)

may 20

coventry, rhode island

Well, it's been over six months since I've updated this column. That would seem to indicate that things are pretty busy around here (or that absolutely nothing has happened around here since last November). Actually, quite a bit has happened since last November, but since I'm not feeling very ambitious at the moment, I think I'll leave all that as a mystery and just pick up with the present.

After what seemed an eternity of rainy days, spring has arrived with a vengeance, and it seems every form of vegetation around the house is exploding into bloom. This year's tulips were the biggest I've seen. They're finished now, but the azaleas look like giant pink clouds, and the rhododendrons are in a race to see which color finishes opening first. (The way things look now, I'm betting on the purple to win, the pink to place, and the white to show.) The wisteria is already dripping blossoms, and the holly bushes are in love.

There is nothing I enjoy more this time of year than darting through the beds with my snips — and my martini — creating more work for the gardener. (About halfway through my third martini I start believing I was Fredrick Law Olmstead in a previous life.)

Everything — at least outside — is ready for the season opening Memorial Day weekend when we'll celebrate Nick's first birthday. Suzie's white shoes are polished, and even the weather is predicted to cooperate. I recognize a small bias, but I think Nick is about the cutest toddler in memory. He is in constant motion, causing the nanny to complain that she is losing weight just running after him. He has only recently taken his first tentative steps, but on all fours he's greased lightning. Most importantly, his favorite person in the whole world is Da Da!