Yuletide Metrowest Greetings!
Another year is about to close and these annual Holiday diatribes are beginning to take on a life of their own. It seems that now no one can say or do anything without thinking, "How will this be described in Mark's Christmas letter?" People tend to act more carefully when they realize history is taking note of their actions as they happen. Does this make things more or less interesting? You be the judge.
As it turns out, I think I saw more of the gang in more places this year than any year since graduation. Mostly through my own efforts, but others came out of the woodwork to do their part. Although still technically in 1992, Adam Wolsky called me up out of the blue after last year's letter went out to say he would be passing through town, with extra tickets for a Celtics-Knicks game. Adam became the first and so far only NU alumni (well, you know what I mean) to stay overnight at 24 Greenwood. The Knicks won, and he missed the first blizzard of the season by a week, not too shabby. Then Adam was off to Hartford to witness a Whalers game, and from there right back into the woodwork from whence he came, never to be seen or heard of again. We can only assume that radio personality Adam Lewis is still assaulting the airwaves somewhere in upstate New York, simulcasting on AM and FM for your listening pleasure.
This year began the previous December with the absolute worst winter I've witnessed in my eight years in the Northeast, although the natives insist that it's like this all the time and the previous seven years were the exceptions, which I find hard to believe. So much for global warming. Marlborough turned out to be a good place to observe global snowing, although the temperature rarely fell to 90-foot free fall into boiling tar, and never below sorority rush. We received approximately ten feet of snow all told, and I shoveled each and every inch, orthopedic surgery notwithstanding. Ironically, from September to this past February we had a friend staying with us at the house who had just moved up from Florida. It was fun for him for awhile, but it got old fast. Not surprisingly, Florida recently welcomed back one of its own. In the 52-year history of the Masterworks Chorale, only once before could anyone remember having to cancel a concert because of weather, and that was during the famed Blizzard of '78, when it actually wasn't the concert that was snowed out but a few rehearsals. Well, this winter not one but two concerts had to be postponed because of the storms themselves, both of which had started during the dress rehearsal and just never bothered to stop. For awhile, I began to question life at this latitude, and look fondly at the road map for hours on end.
Beth and I decided that rather than waiting for spring to come to us, we'd take a week and go looking for it. At the end of March, with several inches of snow still on the ground from that month's blizzard, we dropped the cat off at my mother-in-law's house and headed for the other Virginia (that is, the state). The object was twofold: check out some Civil War stuff, and visit the Kocher in Norfolk. On the way we stopped at Gettysburg and Antietam, spent a couple of days in DC, then circumnavigated the state, visiting Manassas, Shenandoah National Park (which was utterly fogbound), Charlottesville (Monticello), Appomattox, a couple of nights in Richmond, then on to Petersburg, Williamsburg, and ultimately Norfolk, where the aforementioned Iowan expatriate put us up for a few days. Phil's band, the Virginia Symphony, happened to be doing the Verdi Requiem that weekend (coincidence? I think not), with Maestro Koch as principal hautbois. Phil scored us great seats and the orchestra sounded great (although, tragically, the Masterworks Chorale six weeks later did it even better). In between rehearsals and accounting classes, Phil showed us around the greater Norfolk/Virginia Beach area, which was quite seasonable and pleasantly devoid of tourists, being by then the first of April. But, ultimately, our vacation was drawing to a close, and the one-day, twelve-hour jaunt back to Beantown awaited us. We took the Chesapeake bridge, through the Delmarva peninsula, and stopped for lunch at Dawn's place in Wilmington, Delaware. Dawn had recently revealed her location to me after years in hiding (presumably being pursued by extremist Muslims, ala Salman Rushdie), so we took her up on her offer to stop by for a visit and she made sure we got authentic Philadelphia steak sandwiches for lunch.
This year yielded another voice from the wilderness, the always-esteemed Doug Dirks, who had been AWOL for more years than I care to count. A Christmas card sent c/o his parents caught up with him and Rise in Dortmund, Germany, of all places, working for some software company (for free, as it turns out, although not by design). Sent a couple of sheaf-like letters back and forth, only to discover they had left scenic Germany and moved back to Boulder. But at least I know where he is, which leaves only Mr. Creighton as the Chingatchgook of this mailing list. Where's Natty Bumppo when you need him? At this point I'd settle for Sandeep.
The snow finally melted and spring was in the air and wedding plans of momentous proportions were being made in Chicago. After devising a combination wedding/home visit for September, my grandmother decided to turn 85 in July, and Mom put on a big birthday bash for her. I said we wouldn't attend, offering the excuse that we would be coming out two months later anyway, but gradually I changed my mind and without telling anyone but Jill (and Beth of course) I snuck out to Illinois for a long weekend and surprised everybody. Somewhere in there I had a morning to kill in Chicago, so I met up for lunch with no less a personage than Jim Andrews, who incidentally would like to take exception with last year's letter and argue that he is thinner and much better looking than the guy from thirtysomething.
Feeling quite cosmopolitan, in August Beth and I drove down to Washington DC, this time staying with some long lost relatives from whom I had shmoozed an invitation at Grandma's party. We spent a leisurely couple of days in Vienna (Virginia, that is), went to Alexandria (Virginia, that is), checked out the recently reopened Freer Gallery, saw the Barnes exhibit, stuff like that. On the way back, stopped by scenic Clifton, NJ, and dined at the Kevin residence.
At last, September came, and the above-referenced momentously proportioned Scheu/Pollock wedding was imminent. Beth and I had planned on driving out, but, still not recovered from the much shorter drive to DC and back, we concluded that, as Beavis & Butt-Head would say, "Driving sucks." So we flew to Chicago and rented a car and had a much easier time of it. The fact that I had just received a whopping settlement check from Bertucci's insurance company made it easier still. Spent a few days at home and visited with the grandmothers, then went up to Chi-Town for the Big Event. The ceremony seemed to be attended primarily by children under the age of five, who were completely silent until people started walking down the aisle. Saw Wendy Prober, who greeted me like a long-lost relative and was just dying to ask, "Whatever happened to Ben Pohn?" When I told her she did not seem surprised. Still the same old Wendy, and if I'm not mistaken, Steve, I believe she's still available. We sat at a table at an extremely loud reception with the ever-present Nancy and Lee, as well as Jennifer's former sorority roommates, Dana and Karen. Karen's husband, whose name is Bill, was also there (an aside: it's bad enough that I continue to meet people with the same names as people I already know, but when they start to pair off in the same combinations I must protest. How many Bill-and-Karen's does the world need?)
Since the wedding was on Friday night, Jennifer had planned a weekend of festivities for the out-of-town attendees. This included an architectural cruise on the Chicago River, and a trip to Second City. Wendy had by this time whisked herself back to Lala-land, but we still had the company of the ubiquitous Kevins of Clifton. The boat tour was great, and the comedy thing was a lot of fun (although so dark and crowded that at one point Nancy put her hand on the wrong person's knee, blush, blush). The cosmic irony of this trip is that if right now you're thinking, "hey, you were in town and you didn't call me?" my answer is that -- I blew you off! Better luck next time! Anyway, the newlyweds were soon on their way to New Mexico, and Beth and I saw another vacation come to an end.
Somewhere shortly after that, back in Marlborough, we had a brief visit from the Stone Family, who are perilously close to becoming the Stone Brood. They were in the neighborhood for a wedding, and spent a few days up here (although not with us -- apparently having kids is a cult thing where once you've got a couple you can only stay with people who also have them). Since Bill and Karen were so extremely paranoid about anything they said or did making it into this letter, I'll let them off easy and only say that Elizabeth (who is 3 now if you can believe it) is adorable (Hannah, being six weeks old, was too young to be adorable, but I'm sure by now she is), and that my new theory is Karen and Katie Couric were separated at birth. Bill can also tell you more than you'd ever want to know about this whole Lorena Bobbit thing, but then, it's his job. I think I'll stick with computers.
This having four weeks off every year is such a burden! At this point we'd already taken two trips and still had almost two weeks left to use. Ended up just wasting a week in November sitting around the house. During the course of the week, however, we did find time to drive down to New York for a couple of days to check out the big Miro exhibit at the MOMA, and ate dinner with, you guessed it, the always available Nancy & Lee. Tried to get ahold of Tony, but was unceremoniously snubbed. Obviously he's still smarting from last year's NU-BC debacle.
Although the Wildcats didn't make it anywhere near us this year, we were in Chicago the weekend they trounced Boston College. If not for that humiliating defeat, pundits here are convinced that BC would be heading to something a little more presitigious than the Carquest Bowl on New Year's Day. While we were in the Windy City, we drove up to Evanston and stopped in the student bookstore at Norris. I bought a hat and a jacket and a big sweatshirt, all the things I couldn't afford to buy when I went there, so the next time the 'Cats come through I'll be ready. The question is, will they?
I've droned on for a page and a half and have said little about life in Marlborough, which gives you an idea of what there is to say. Beth's been doing some art stuff and even getting paid for some of it, which is a step in the right direction. Meanwhile, I made $160 playing the piano this year. Not much, but better than the last seven years. Combined, even. Next year should be a banner year in Bartlettdom, but pardon me if I don't elaborate. Tentative plans are for next May to swing through Stonehill country while we're out in the Midwest to see my brother finally graduate from ISU, and we figure on ending up in Chicago for Memorial Day weekend. My harebrained idea is that we should all congregate there and stay with various friends or relatives and just spend a couple of days catching up without having to go to any weddings or get dressed up and just watch Monty on Jeopardy or have a WhoFest or check out the new Comiskey or something. Jim and his cronies all go to Nantucket for a week, for Christ's sake, the least we could do is rendezvous in Chicago for a wienie roast or something. Think about it. You may be hearing from me. In the meantime, now that I know where just about everybody is, please don't go wandering off without telling me. And have a Happy New Year and Merry Christmas!