JANUARY 2012

2011 was a special year of special events. Highlights will be the subject of future blog posts.  The winter of 2011 proved to be unforgiving, but for an aging hockey player with a Canadian wife born in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, it passed with lots of adventure shared with our family next door and daughter Jenny a short drive away.

Here I sit New Year’s Day 2012 wondering what the year ahead holds, anxious about our oldest grandson Graham’s (age 12) second bone lengthening surgery scheduled for January 5th in Florida, and proud of the way our family has pulled together to support him.

Here is a “greatest hit” from the Rider family from 2011.  Hope the year ahead brings as many good memories for our family and for yours.  If you have a fun family story to share, please send it along to me and I will post it here.  Cheers, George

THANKSGIVING DAY DINNER 2011

For most all of us, Thanksgiving Day has its own rhythm, a family gathering replete with a sumptuous turkey dinner, football on TV and maybe dozing off in an overstuffed chair after lunch or dinner

My Grandfather always hosted Thanksgiving. Mother and my aunt took turns hosting Christmas and New Year’s gatherings. The four grandsons, stepped down in two-year increments, were seated at a card table in Gramp’s parlor. As the years went by, one at a time by age, we were promoted to the main table in the dining room, a passage to adulthood, a coveted rite.

Rarely in my almost 80 years do I remember the celebration occurring in a place other than a home setting.

Thanksgiving Day 1956, I was serving aboard the Destroyer USS Abbot (DD- 629) with my brother Ken, patrolling in the Eastern Mediterranean with another US Destroyer and two British Destroyers. Nasser had blocked the Suez Canal and things were tense in the area. Two days before Thanksgiving we fueled from the aircraft carrier Coral Sea. We took on supplies and fresh movies by high line. We had sailed from Newport, RI on November 6th. The turkeys and makings of Thanksgiving dinner, the movies and ice cream came aboard compliments of the carrier.

We were on station Thanksgiving Day. Without missing a beat, the ship’s cooks and wardroom stewards put on one of the best turkey dinners I can ever remember, complete with all the vegetables, stuffing, pies and ice cream 300 hungry sailors, chiefs and officers could devour.

I was the luckiest guy aboard. I got to eat my dinner with my brother and several other officers off watch, and had a chance to view most of “Casablanca” before heading to the bridge to relieve the OOD.

I remembered these Thanksgivings of yore earlier this fall, as we geared up for the holiday season. The older I get, the more I dread occasions that interrupt a comfortable routine. With our son and his family living right next door, I assumed that the special day would be like last year and the year before, four grandchildren buzzing in and out of our house, a fire going and a late afternoon dinner next door with Dorothy and daughter-in-law Paulette sharing the preparations.

Graham announced the week before that he had made reservations at a farm an hour’s drive north in Connecticut. Why? I thought, but didn’t ask. I didn’t want to be branded old “fuddy-duddy.”

I quietly Googled the Golden Lamb Buttery, Bush Hill Road, Brooklyn, CT. My curiosity got the better of me. I learned that Bob and Virginia “Jimmie” Booth opened the Golden Lamb Buttery in 1963. Jimmie was a civil engineer and worked at Pratt and Whitney during WWII. She later became a buyer for Lord and Taylor in NYC and Europe before becoming the Buttery’s chef. Bob, the owner, was a Navy fighter pilot in WWII and owner of Hillandale Handweavers. In 2008 their granddaughter Katie became the proprietor.

Quoting from the brochure, “In the quiet corner of Connecticut lies the quaint New England town of Brooklyn. High on a hill, a secret hideaway called ‘The Golden Lamb’ is nestled among thousands of acres of pristine fields and stone walls — for those who have a flair for the finest.”

Rarely does similar prose prove to be accurate. In this case, if anything the description proved to be understated. I found myself warming to the prospect of Thanksgiving off site!

We drove about an hour from our home in Essex arriving an hour early for our 4:30pm dinner reservation. Graham and Paulette and the four grandchildren had gone ahead. As we turned off the main road and headed up the long approach to the large red barn at the top of the hill, we passed through acres of fields dotted with cows, sheep and horses grazing. The barn’s deck commands a scenic view of the pond and acre upon acre of neatly trimmed fields sloping in every direction.

The barn is filled with antiques, memorabilia, and family treasures. Cocktails were served as guests arrived and congregated in various seating areas in the spacious barn. A piano player added to the festive atmosphere. Just prior to being seated for dinner the guests were treated to an old-fashioned hayride complete with a guitarist.

Dinner time! We were led through a tiny 50’s kitchen where the dinner was being prepared, to our table in the largest of three dining rooms. A roaring fire and coveys of attentive waitresses set about serving an incredible dinner with special soups and an array of homegrown vegetable treats to go with a choice of turkey or lamb and a fine selection of wines and deserts that made calorie counters jettison their regimens. The charming talented lady guitarist went from table to table playing requests from Kern to present day songwriters.

Just as I recalled earlier — the rite of passage I experienced when I was very young and promoted to the grownup’s table — so too did the three grandsons also experience their own rite of passage that night.

Bradley, age ten excused himself to go to the bathroom shortly after finishing his dinner. Everyone else at the table was either talking or downing the last delicious bites of dinner.

There was a lull in the conversation. I asked the guitarist to play, “Till There Was You.” I noticed that Bradley had returned and was whispering something in older brother Graham’s (age 12) ear. They excused themselves and motioned to Duncan age 7 to follow them. We paid little attention, as the guitarist was still entertaining.

Graham Sr. after an interval excused himself and went to see what his sons were up to. On his way through the kitchen, Katie the proprietor stopped him and apologized. The three boys were in the small men’s room just off the kitchen, usually used by the staff. She said that they were still in the bathroom and that they had entered before she could stop them and direct them to the men’s room in the waiting area. As Graham was explaining to us what had just occurred, I suddenly remembered the picture directly over the toilet. Of course, I hardly took notice of the naked lady looking away with her back facing me directly, as I went about my business. She was leaning on her left elbow allowing an unobstructed view of her perfectly formed, ample left breast tantalizingly suspended, capped by a perky, reddish-pink nipple.

I was not privy to what was said in the huddle that occurred with Graham Sr. when the three boys emerged from their viewing, but whatever it was, was after the fact, no penalties were assessed. The story will be told and told again and again as they grow older. Thanksgiving Day 2011 was a wonderful happening – one none of us will forget (though perhaps for different reasons)!

George S.K. Rider