Today meets yesterday

          Our New Jersey Thanksgiving began with the traditional family gathering for the meal, but on the second day we truly visited the past by checking out grandson #1’s new digs.

          An acquaintance of our daughter and SIL is part owner of a nearby family compound, with a main house, stables, assorted barns and possibly two other houses. EGG #1 (i.e. the oldest grand) and his girlfriend had just rented the old caretaker’s house. Sounds very grand, doesn’t it? Except it’s 250 years old, the original wide openings in front and back now filled in with stone and doors. The two-foot-thick openings were there because at one point they used to drive the wagons in, toss the hay up to the second floor, and drive out again.

          Rustic is the key word here, but the history of the place was still fascinating.

         

           You can see the marks in the hand-hewn beams and the floor boards upstairs are improbably wide.

 

      Still, it’s heated with one woodstove smack in the middle of the downstairs – a true awakening for a 23-year-old who grew up in suburbia. (There are a few weird electric panels here and there, but I shudder at what electric would cost.) 

          We also noted a few rat traps outside as we walked in, but to be fair, they are living on a farm. And a few extra visitors might liven up things for their two house cats.

          Ah, to be young!

          Apparently we weren’t destined to shake off history yet because on the road home that day we pulled off the highway into a small New York town for a late lunch.

Somehow, we miraculously stumbled onto this place, built in 1759. 

There they were again – the whitewashed walls, the massive beams overhead.

 

         Too bad we were on the road.

 It was an Irish-themed gastro pub and while the food was spectacular, we had to set aside the drinks menu, with its amazing beer and long lists of imported Scotch and whisky, which ran to seven pages.

         

Bye Bye Bean

 

   

     So you can just forget about those dewy-eyed golden retriever puppies splayed all over your L.L. Bean catalogues. Or maybe continue to order, but beware of any credit card offers linked to them.

Knees and Pecan Pie

Fact: overcooked pecan pie is almost toffee

          Nothing makes you appreciate a full-on Thanksgiving spread more than 50 years of cranking one out single-handed. 

Victory and Virtue

 

You wouldn’t think there was anything behind that black panel at the top of my microwave, would you? In fact, the panel doesn’t even look as though it would come off, but it does. I needed to change the filter, but couldn’t remember for the life of me how to get at it.

Anti-Social

 

     

    Well, that was interesting. On Monday I dashed off a quick entry about the Crime Bake writers’ conference and in return reeled in a comment from its headline speaker. 

Weekend Crime Spree

 

I began Crime Bake, the conference for mystery writers, with a master class chaired by Barbara Ross. With twelve mystery novels, a number of novellas, and umpteen Agatha nominations, she was definitely the right person for this class called ‘What I’ve learned along the way.’

Mystery Trek

          “I’ll sign up for pep squad if you do.” Or maybe it all starts with those posse trips to the ladies room when we travel in packs, as though the path ran through an active minefield rather than a series of booths full of people enjoying pizza.