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Bootie's
Pamela and I flew out in driving rain from Dulles at o-dark thirty on Friday the 13th . We arrived in Boston under dreary skies in raw weather after an hour-long, very bumpy flight. We picked up our rental car and Pamela drove us into downtown Boston. A big city on the East coast under gray skies can look very uninviting. After sitting in nearly standstill traffic, we made it to Boston Common. From there, Pamela took us to Newberry Street. Pamela attended college in the Beantown so she knew it well. We walked a few blocks along this upscale shopping street but it was too early for most of the shops to be open. I wonder how these shops stay afloat: their leases must be exorbitant, they have very expensive inventories, people are rarely in them, I never see people buying when they are, and they have sporadic hours at best.
We wondered down the street through a drizzle and dampness that was riding on the gnashing teeth of the biting wind that gusts up in this latitude. It incised right through my sweaters straight for my arthritic joints. I suddenly realized Autumn definitely comes earlier here and could see why Bostonians scowl so much. Since no shoppes were open at this hour, we walked until we came to the McDonald's of cafes, Starbuck's coffee. Nothing like a hot coffee, er, excuse me, doppio to warm the blood. It seems they could replace the staff with robots in these places. The regimented system lends itself to such automation. The level of active involvement by the Generation X'ers that work there could easily be emulated by a simple PLC program to perform PID control. But I guess the robot couldn't correct customers on the Starbuck's coffee "newspeak" with the same smirks that only a starving artist can produce.
Once fueled by our coffee, crosswords and reading about the plight of the poor private school college kids who had small dorm rooms ("I'll only fit half my furs in this tiny closet"), we ventured back to the car to drive over to Copley Square for some of that favorite American pastime, hitting the mall. We wandered in and out of the upscale shops such as Gucci (which does have nice stuff) then after Mallatosis set in we decided to hit the road. People in New England know how to drive aggressive and fast. Sure beats the pokie-pokes down here in the plantation. Must be because all the Baptists here know they got a eternity coming up. In New England everyone scampers to beat the long Winter ahead, I guess.
We drove along in the now driving rain out of Mass. and into New Hampshire. Not knowing where to stop for lunch, we continued into rippling countryside as the rain began to abate. The gray stuck right with us, though. We came across a small town exit after we exited onto the Interstate that pointed toward our final destination. This small town had a quaint country brewpub and restaurant with an expansive view of the rolling hills. They served up a warming lunch that cut back the bone chill that was in the damp air. We got back on the freeway and continued along for a couple hours into more and more hills covered with trees. Growing thickets of evergreens alluded to the beauty that was in store for us as we ventured on.
It was approaching early afternoon as the rain stopped and the thick gray was thinning to allow brighter light as we crossed over into Vermont at our exit. We pulled off into the picture postcard of Norwich, Vermont. Our inn, the Norwich Inn, was just off the main common in the town, across from the church where Chris and Chip were to have "their day." We got in and were "greeted" by the office manager who stated the room wouldn't be available until 3:00P.M. No checking if it was ready, no nothing of the sort. A female Grinch who I guess was one of those former New Yorkers that give the Big Apple its bad rep for personality. We all know the type, the person that moves out of NYC because they can't take it, then they complain for the rest of their life how nothing comes close to New York. Well, she had her way and that was it. So immediately we didn't feel bad about "taking over" the Inn and letting our wild bunch have a free run of the place.
Pamela and I imposed on the Grinch to ask room numbers of our friends but they were all either out or had not checked in yet. So we took off with map in hand to seek out antiques. We drove along the west bank of the Connecticut river that defines the border between Vermont and New Hampshire. I was sorry we didn't have bikes or motorbikes to ride as the scenery and the Vermont roads were spectacular. We arrived at an old farmhouse converted into an antique shop. Unfortunately, the antiques were more schlock than chic. So we headed back to the Inn since it was almost time to check-in. We checked in and went up to the room to catch a little nap.
We woke after an hour's nap (we had been up since 5:00AM) at about 5:00PM. I played with TV to find the most inane show on then we got ready for the rehearsal dinner. Our friends began to show up so we all got together for drinks at the bar then proceeded to the back rooms at the Inn to our friend's room we dubbed the "Viper Room." This quickly became party central: drinks, junk food, pizza and rambunctiousness was all prevalent here.
After getting in the right frame of mind, we piled into the rental cars and proceeded over to the rehearsal dinner in a driving rain. The dinner was just across the river on the campus of Dartmouth College. It was held at the Dartmouth Outing Boathouse, a wonderful stone house overlooking Occorn Pond on a remote part at the North edge of the campus. The building and pond were surrounded by stately old oak and maple trees that towered above and enveloped the building. These trees and the mist that was thick in the air added to that cocoon-like feeling one gets when involved with an intimate setting of close friends and family. The bond of love between the soon-to-be-wed was reflected in everyone there.
After the entire party squeezed on to the rear stone porch of the edifice for a few drinks, we had a scrumptious dinner of Lobster tail, complete with all the horsing around with the bibs that were provided. Then Mike C. and I wandered off to waft sweet aromas brewing under the house as the ladies all headed off the front verandah (I don't know if they're called that in such a "Yankee" place) for cigarettes.
The party re-gathered for some very heartfelt toasts and a slideshow roast for Chris and Chip. We all roared after this and then headed back to the Norwich Inn and the Viper room to re-stoke the coals of frivolity.
We turned in and slept like rocks then I wandered down to breakfast at about nine. I met up with the gang who were ordering already so I joined in and got a great New England breakfast with Vermont maple syrup (when in Rome...) while we re-counted the evening's events. After lounging and refilling on coffee, we set plans for the pre-event day of shopping, set up our re-group times, synchronized our watches and off we went. I visited the Viper Room to check the state of things and wake up a little more then it was off to the showers.
We re-grouped and headed over across the river into Hanover, NH, the little town adjacent to Dartmouth. It was all very picture perfect. It was slightly different in New Hampshire (vs. Vermont). Vermont definitely has a more "earthy" feel. New Hampshire is more white-bred. People in Vermont dress from L.L Bean, people in New Hampshire must shop at Chadwick's or Brooks Brothers. But such is the ever-widening dichotomy that is America. How well the river exemplified the divining line.
We stopped in one of the many shops Chris and Chip put on their wonderfully detailed "script" for their weekend. It was a small upscale vintage and designer clothing shop run by a wonderful tall dark, handsome man. I was with my wife Pamela and Pamela C. Its always so fun to parade around with my wife and all her beautiful friends. Men always wonder what the heck a doofus like me must have. I'll never show and tell, publicly, for free, that is. The ladies spent a minute or two on the designer floor then proceeded up to the vintage clothing floor (phew!, my AMEX was buzzing anxiously). My Pamela picked out some really unique French Army uniform articles then she had them rung up, (she's so good to me, she never ever pressures me to buy her things so its makes it easy to offer when I can swing it - we're a great team and I'm a lucky fool!). We got a chance to talk to the owner while he rang Pamela's purchases up. He bought the building for a song by offering its space to "the Grange" for their weekly meetings. The Grange is some sort of Farmer's co-op union as I understand it, I'm not too good with these rural things.
We then headed back to the Norwich to get ready for the event. The prior day's rain and gray gave way to brilliant sunshine on their day. As I've heard it, rain the day before is indicative of how many children they will have, rain the day of the wedding is a symbol of how many tears the relationship will see. So far, they were on track for a great life together.
We all readied then met at the bar for some pick-me-ups. Then we headed across the street to the ceremony, at the last minute of course, Brownian motion always rules a crowd of more than four it seems.
The setting was again picture perfect. A quaint white church on the town common with a late summer festival going on. Chris was stunning and the ceremony was everything one could want in a traditional celebration. Mr. Bimba is a humble, soft-spoken man with I believe strong religious convictions. A family friend who delivered the ceremony (it was not unlike a small sermon) was none other than the Rev. Billy Graham's brother, I believe.
We poured out afterward and watched the bridesmaids head off in a '39 Woody and Chris and Chip rode in a open Model A. Very classy. We all headed back to the Viper Room to prep prior to heading the nine miles over to the Bimba's house where the reception was. We caravaned over driving on picturesque country roads and arrived at what looked to be a large nature reserve in Etna, NH. This turned out to be the lower 40 of the Bimba estate. None of us realized that they were just that wealthy. We walked up the mile long driveway and found the garden party in full swing already. The Bimba's spared no expense, on the party and their mansion and grounds. It was like a movie. After enjoying the grounds surrounding the house for a length of time sufficient for everyone to become settled in and really enjoy the setting, the wedding party directed us down to a tent large enough for three-rings where the seating was laid out over the grass. A Blues band played while we ambled in, ready for another great meal. Mini-dramas happened over friends who forgot to RSVP but these resourceful producers took it in stride and found seating of guests who failed to show, the fools they were.
We eat, drank, and danced into the night and wandered out occasionally to enjoy the stars. After the wedding wound down, we loaded up the cars with the boisterous bunch and proceeded along the dark country roads back to the Norwich. Rana was following me and ditched me at the first chance to pass. I guess I do drive like an old man, on unfamiliar roads, anyway.
We all made it back to the Norwich and proceeded to the bar to continue the festivities. Chip's gang that flew in from Chicago was also assembling there so we had Washington, New York and the Windy City folks mingling with local Vermonters. A fun time had by all. The Viper Room was also in full swing again with pizza deliveries and impromptu room service from the bar flowing in at a steady rate. The night finally wound down after 1:00A.M. for us, with the Chicago gang keeping the bar roaring until well after the two A.M. last call.
The next morning we all rose slowly and checked out to begin a day of shopping in the area before rolling back to Logan for our flights home. My Pamela, Pamela C. and myself drove down to the quaint little town of Woodstock, VT, about 30 minutes south of Norwich. There were a couple "antique malls" along the way that provided fun diversion and built up a hankerin' for lunch. After Pamela C. got a find on a unique 50's style streamlined chrome telephone, we headed into the town proper for lunch. We found a great old dark wood-lined restaurant that served a hardy brunch. I got the french toast to be sure I could get some more of that maple syrup. The ladies got lighter fare and we chatted about the previous evening's events over a leisurely lunch.
We then walked it off a bit with a stroll through the town. We wandered into a vintage clothing store that was right next to a babbling brook that only could be found in such a quaint state.
After this bout of shopping, we got back in the car and decided to leave this beautiful area and head back to (un)civilization. I got a little confused on what route to take so I followed my male intuition. This is never a good thing. So I got us going down the wrong interstate, but I had the good sense to pull off at a gas station and buy a map. This put us in the correct direction. It was scenic beauty driving on back roads of New Hampshire on our way to the correct Interstate. After about an hour, the familiar blue JCT sign came up, letting me know I could stop concentrating on where we were at and focus on just driving.
I drove back into Boston with ease as the ladies catnapped. We crawled through typical Boston traffic out to Logan and dropped the car off. After Pamela C. attempted and almost succeeded to finesse getting on our earlier flight, we had a forgettable airport dinner and then Pamela C. left us to seek out her terminal. Our flight home was as I like them, completely nominal, as we say in the rocket business. We got back at dusk to return our Sunday snuggle, thinking warm thoughts of cool New England.