Day 9 - A Brief Walk in the Woods and (Almost) The Most Expensive Beer in the World.

Today began with a bracing breath of chilly morning air as I emerged from beneath the tangle of blankets piled atop my bed.

Really chilly air.

Like, freeze your boogers kind of cold that normally happens outside in the middle of January.

Braving frostbite, I hopped out of bed and checked the thermometer in the hall.

48 degrees. I need to point out immediately that the arctic condition in the house were entirely my fault. The house has heat and it has windows that close - neither of which I had bothered to use last night.

It was invigorating! It was motivating! It was freakin' COLD!

I wrapped myself around a cup of coffee and sat out in the morning sun to thaw my extremities while I awaited the arrive of my good friends Steve and Sheila. Steve, in a rare day off from his life as a rock star, had offered to join me for a hike in the mountains.

He and his wife, Sheila would soon arrive to whisk me away from this dreary life of drudgery and toil I have been suffering through and deliver me to an entirely different sort of drudgery and toil; one that included steep, pointy rocks.

We were going on a hike up Welsh and Dickey Mountains.

Steve, me, and Sheila. Much like Clark Kent, Steve often wears his glasses out in public so he won't be swarmed by screaming mobs of fans. It's tough being a rock star.

We drove off to the trailhead and strapped on our small packs. The hike is a short one (so I'd been told) so we didn't need much in the way of supplies.

Steve, in fact, was able to fit all his stuff into this genuine Boy Scout pack from his youth. He was a bit concerned about how the zucchini muffins he had brought along would travel, but otherwise, it was perfect.

We weren't very far along the trail when it opened up into this stunning panorama.

The trail is more meticulously maintained than Disney World.

Small, bordered gardens dot the area.

The wide expanse of rock is almost dizzying.

And, seriously, who takes care of these little gardens? I kept poking around, looking for a garden elf or something. I was, to be honest, hoping to kidnap it and bring it home to tend to my own garden.

Unfortunately, there are simply too many places for those pesky elves to hide.

"I'll get you, you stupid elf!" I cried off into the sprawling wilderness. "You can't hide forever!" Steve suggested that perhaps I should have a muffin.

Steve, in addition to being a rock star, is a wonderful cook. His muffins, safely swaddled in the protective comforts of his Boy Scout pack, were intact and delicious.

Muffin - shown actual size, with mountain for scale. That Boy Scout pack is very roomy.

We continued on our way. I stopped only infrequently to shake bushes and underbrush in search of the elusive mountain garden elf. I figured that Steve could fit a whole community of them in his pack.

We passed many natural wonders along the way to the summit, many of them were elfin in nature, leading me to think that we were on the right track to capturing one.

An elf swimming hole. I searched the area for evidence that Barbie had been here the night before, but there was none.

A tunnel in the rock.

Obviously the beginning of an entire elf highway system.

Although it appears that they still have a lot of work left before they're ready for rush hour traffic.

We squeezed our way through this slender opening between two giant slabs of granite and I swear that Steve did not make any childish, immature "crack" jokes. And I swear that I didn't childishly and immaturely laugh at them. Sheila will attest to all of this.

We made a final desperate trek along an exposed slab of granite on our approach to the summit and lunch. It had been nearly 40 minutes since we'd eaten anything and we were reeling from the effects of starvation.

We finally arrived at the summit.

The beautiful view from the summit.

Steve, contemplating the splendor of nature.

Or, actually, airing out his armpits.

 After a delicious, gourmet lunch (peanut butter and jelly all around) we began our descent, my hopes for ever capturing a garden elf lowering with every foot we went down.
The last sign of elfery we saw along the path was this ancient tower, built, no doubt, by the ancestors of today's elves.

Elf Rock.

There were a few more splendid view along the way down.

Steve is NOT airing out his armpits this time. He's farting.

At the end of the hike, we piled into the car. I was slightly depressed by my total failure to capture and enslave an elf to do all my gardening, but Steve was elated at the fact that soon we would have beer.

Or, rather, he would have beer, as I still have several gallons of red wine to use up. In the words of Marge Simpson, "I know doctors say you should have two glasses of wine a day; I just can't drink that much."

And that saying is totally true for me; except for the word "can't".

We stopped at the small store in the center of Waterville Valley so Steve could buy himself a beer.

Here is the beer Steve bought, as well as the juice he bought for Sheila.

I offer this as a testament to what an amazing person Steve is and not, in any way, to speak ill of Waterville Valley or its merchants.

Steve went to the counter to pay for the beer and the juice. the lady rang up these two items and got a total of $15.49.

Steve, to his credit, did not, as I would have, stood, dumbfounded that 22 oz. beer could possibly cost over $12 (the juice was $3). He did not scream. He did not cry, He did not lose control of any of his bodily functions. He did not even whimper as he bravely took out his wallet, peeled off a 20, and handed it over.

We trudged bravely out the door and it was Sheila who gave voice to the two words we were all thinking. The first was "Holy". The second was naughty.

Steve shrugged and we went back to my place to have snacks and drinks. Steve claims that he has spent more on a beer, but he had to travel all the way to Paris to do it.

Soon, our day was over and they were on their way and I had another Open Studio to host.

"Host" being my word for "Sit there and look awkward while people look through my stuff."

As I was paking my things into the car to go set up at The Curious George Cottage, I got a phone call from Maryellen, asking if I had eaten. When I said that I hadn't, she very kindly asked me to join her and her husband David at a restaurant that was conveniently located between where I wa standing and CJ's Cottage.

The timing would be tight, but it was a very kind offer and I was happy to join them.

We had a lovely talk over appetizers and, just as they were cleared off the table, I realized that I really had to go if I was going to be set up in time for a 7:00 Open Studio. They kindly offered to have my meal wrapped up and to deliver it to the Cottage.

I thanked them and raced over to the Cottage and did manage to have everything ready to go before 7:00.

See? I'm a professional at this. Although setting up would have been easier with the help of a few dozen conscripted Garden Elves.

This is work I've done while here.

This is even more work I've done while here.

This is me, sitting in front of a shelf of Curious George books.

This is me and David, pretending that we are deep in thought, contemplating my work.

The night wound down and people made their way homeward. I did the same, my doggy-bag of baked haddock gently beckoning me toward the kitchen.

I packed up and headed home for dinner, a dinner that was delicious, but would have been even more enjoyable had I some elves to help with the dishes.

I may go hiking again tomorrow. And if I do, I'm bringing a net.

Day 6 - Drinkin' with Curious George. But not really.

 Day 6 of my Residency at The Rey Center was a delightful family reunion filled with pizza, wine, and delightful eggplant calzones.

By which, I mean that I was filled with those things.

Part of the fun I get to have while in residence is to hold open studio hours where people can wander through The Curious George Cottage and ask me questions like, "Hey. How do I get a parking pass?"

I had spent the morning with Kerri and Alex, who had arrived the night before. Alex to escape from homework, however briefly; and Kerri, to flutter through the house where I've been staying and neaten and arrange everything to the point that now I have no idea where anything is.

I suspect I'll be wearing the same socks for the next 8 days because I can't find ANYTHING.

My mom and daughter, Tori arrived later in the morning. 

Tori quietly pulled me aside to ask me about the lone purple chair I wrote about the other day. "What beach were you at?" she asked, holding up her iPod to show me this picture:

I'm calling Shenanigans on the town of Waterville Valley. They're messing with me and the beach chairs.

With the house full of my loving family, I left.

I had to bring my stuff to The Curious George Cottage, where the open studio was planned for 2:00.

Alex very kindly accompanied me and helped me arrange things as I liked them until Kerri arrived to re-arrange them.

I thought it looked nice.

Some of the artwork I've been working on over the past week.

A wide open space for the throngs of people who would soon be arriving.

Nice right? LEAVE IT ALONE, KERRI!

My sketchbooks, for people to paw through.

My books, for people to buy. In bulk, I hope.

I had the forethought to bring my iPod and a speaker.  I thought I should fill the space with the soothing sounds of Slayer, Napalm Death, and Cannibal Corpse as people wandered through.

I rethought that idea and opted for some reggae music instead, in keeping with the "Curious George Go to Da Islands, Mon" book that I wish had been written.

The room was arranged, the music was playing, and I realized that I hadn't even considered making food available. As I was not really willing to share the half eaten bag of baby carrots in my fridge, I peeked into the fridge at The Curious George Cottage.

I'm not sure if this is some sort of organizational secret, but I'd like to share with you the contents of the fridge at Margret and H.A. Rey's Cottage:

Alcohol and condiments. This looks exactly like our fridge in college. Except ours didn't have condiments. Or wine. Or that seltzer water stuff. But otherwise - exactly the same.

"They can eat later," I mumbled sitting down to await the thronging masses who would soon be arriving.

The first arrival was a slightly bewildered gentleman asking where he might buy a parking pass.

"A what now?" I asked.

"A parking pass," he sighed, indicating the parking lot. "You know. A parking pass."

"I don't know," I answered. "I don't work here. I'm the Artist in Residence."

[A note to the Rey Center AIR Committee: maybe future Artists in Residence could get a sash or a cape or a scepter to wield during the residency. Just a thought. A darn good one.]

"Yeah, but they said I could get it here. I'm pretty sure I get it here."

"Maybe," I said. "But not from me."

I sent him on his way, but he kept eying me suspiciously, as if I was hoarding all the parking passes.

I resumed my wait for the thronging masses.

Soon another vehicle pulled into the lot. I hunched over my drawing board and tried to look like a real, live artist.

"I don't know where to get parking passes," I grumbled as the guy walked in.

"What the heck are you talking about?" asked my brother, Pat.

"Hey!" I cried, jumping up to properly greet him. "I'm in charge of parking in town now. I should be mayor by next week."

"They have a mayor here?" he asked.

"Not yet."

As it turns out, the Open Studio was more of a family reunion. My parents, my brother, my wife and my kids were there. A teacher friend showed up with his son and I was very flattered to see them all.

It was quiet, but fun.

When it ended, I packed everything up and we headed back to my temporary home. I was showing my family the beautiful deck out behind Cris and Len's house when the skies opened up and we had to scramble back inside.

I suspect that Chris and Len are going to start sitting on their deck awaiting the next entertainingly stupid thing I might do. Yesterday, I went out on one of the balconies to ask Chris a question as she worked in her garden. As I turned to go back inside, I realized that I had locked myself out. Faced with the choice of humiliating myself by asking for help and hurling myself off the 3rd floor balcony, I opted for humiliation, fearing that if I jumped, the resulting splatter might ruin Chris's lovely landscaping.

We dried off and all headed down to The Rey Center where there was a reception followed by a talk.
A talk given by me.

The idea behind holding the reception first, I suspect, was to lure people in and lush them up with wine in the hope that they wouldn't run screaming from the room when I started talking.

The reception was a lot of fun and I didn't get locked out or rained on or anything.

This is Julie. She and her mom, Susan drove all the way to the reception so I could sign Julia's book. Again. I had already signed it twice. This third signing is a new record for me and entitles Julia to join the exclusive "Threefer Club" with all the benefits due to members.

How cool is this? Denise, the mastermind behind the marketing for The Rey Center scoured my website, found my favorite food and made eggplant calzones. Better still - the leftovers are in my fridge as I type!

Don't forget to eat your veggies! See how she used artwork from my website? Oh, she'll be hearing from my lawyers.

This is Denise, the creator of eggplant deliciousness. I included this photo so my lawyers can identify her.

People gathered for free food.

But they tried to escape when they found out I was going to talk.

Tough luck, Dad. The doors are LOCKED. Have a seat.

People realized that there was no escape so they each grabbed a bottle of wine and settled in for the long haul. This is Birdie, who introduced Maryellen.

Maryellen said embarrassingly nice things about me and introduced Margaret.

Margaret came up and we danced briefly. I'm sorry about your toes, Margaret.

Even after I trod all over her toes, Margaret very kindly gave me this CD and book of poems by Leonard Emery, the gentleman whose gravestone I thought was so wonderful the other day. Thanks!

Margaret introduce Chris, who gave me my check and kept her iron-like grip on my shoulder when I tried to run out the door with the money. My son was very disappointed that I wasn't given a huge novelty check like lottery winners. Maybe they can do that next year. It will go nicely with the sash.

A few minutes into my presentation the projector farted out and I had to use my own equipment. Thank goodness I had it or we all would have had to huddle around my laptop. That would have been terrible because I probably had wicked eggplant breath.

This is what I look like when presenting and, apparently, imitating The Statue of Liberty.

Alex, being thrilled.

After the talk, I woke everyone in the audience up and we made our way back home. The folks at the Rey Center were kind enough to send me on my way with some tasty food and even more wine. I do enjoy some red wine on occasion, but I'm running out of room on the counter.

This is getting ridiculous. I'm still working on my first little box of wine. I'm really going to have to step up the drinking while here.

Tired after a hard day of visiting, laughing, eating, and collecting wine, I went to bed and dreamed about eggplant calzones and purple chairs.