{"id":291,"date":"2007-09-19T18:20:19","date_gmt":"2007-09-19T22:20:19","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.summerofjim.com\/2007\/09\/19\/twice-recognized\/"},"modified":"2007-09-19T18:20:19","modified_gmt":"2007-09-19T22:20:19","slug":"twice-recognized","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/summerofjim.com\/?p=291","title":{"rendered":"Twice Recognized"},"content":{"rendered":"

The only invention as perfect as the English Sonnet…<\/em> he knew little of sonnets.\u00a0 “Shakespeare wrote them,” he thought.\u00a0 “But\u00a0I know a fair amount about Martinis”.\u00a0 And that is to what the great American writer of letters, H.L. Mencken\u00a0was referring,\u00a0when drawing a comparison to that\u00a0form of literature… The Dry Martini, as perfect as an English Sonnet.<\/em> <\/p>\n

It was a September afternoon to cherish… blue sky, dry air, beautiful sun\u00a0charting its path\u00a0to the far\u00a0hills.\u00a0 He loved this time of the year best… still\u00a0pleasant enough to\u00a0enjoy the warmth of outdoors, the beauty of the change in color just around the corner… the stiff cold just beyond that.\u00a0 Maybe it was a bit early in the day to be mixing a Martini… this wouldn’t be the first time that he began the cocktail hour<\/em> well before<\/u> the sun set over the yard arm.<\/em><\/p>\n

“I enjoy the decadence<\/em> of beginning the evening <\/em>earlier<\/u> in the day,” he thought to as he poured a healthy\u00a0amount of Tanqueray Gin into his pitcher.\u00a0 Plenty of ice to chill the Gin to a piercing cold.\u00a0 A dollop of Noilly Pratt Dry Vermouth to complete the liquid portion of the recipe.\u00a0 A rapid stir, that increased to a vigorous stir <\/em>(his Ex would\u00a0have said\u00a0that it was a transfer in aggression,<\/em> while he maintained that it was a display of exuberance).\u00a0 When condensation developed on the pitcher, he knew that preparations were nearly complete.\u00a0 He retrieved an “up” glass from the freezer (one of four placed there,\u00a0a memory of the day when four Martinis seemed to be an appropriate number).\u00a0 <\/p>\n

He strained the\u00a0icy liquid\u00a0into his frozen glass, and added 3 tomolives… <\/em>he had a ceremonial<\/em> first sip to confirm its excellence, and<\/strong> to reduce the chance of spillage.. and then he repaired to the deck.\u00a0 He positioned himself in the far corner to take full advantage of the sun and closed his eyes.\u00a0 He heard the wind rushing thru the trees, opened his eyes and took a second sip.<\/p>\n

Tomolives… that was courtesy of his Mother.\u00a0 In the Winter, she would set up “shop” in Sanibel, Florida.\u00a0 A tiny house where she retreated to “re-coup” away from everyone.\u00a0 She loved the sun, she picked shells… and of course, she wrote.\u00a0 She would say that her best writing took place there.\u00a0 Dierdre of Timmy’s Nook, would take her out\u00a0in a boat to the small Inn at the Cabbage Key for lunch.\u00a0 The signature garnish of the Inn was a tomolive… <\/em>a tiny green tomato, the size of an olive, and then pickled.\u00a0 Tomolives made their appearance on every sandwich plate… and, and of course in every Dry Martini.\u00a0 Eve Fleischner (nom de plume, <\/em>Eve Porterhouse)\u00a0who never sipped a Martini in her life… still, knew a good thing when she saw it.<\/p>\n

It was like that… his Mother always took note of the small details.\u00a0 Maybe that is why she was such a good writer.\u00a0 And it didn’t take much for her to connect this “insignificant” garnish to her middle child.\u00a0 Once that connection was made there was no stopping her.\u00a0 Above the objection of Dierdre, she insisted on being introduced to the Owner of the Inn… and then, so introduced, pleasantries aside, she asked for a favor… <\/em>she wanted to buy<\/em> a jar of tomolives to give to her son.<\/p>\n

The owner, gracious, said that it would be his pleasure to give <\/em>her a jar.\u00a0 And that was the way she acquired her first <\/em>jar of tomolives.<\/p>\n

This little scenario repeated each Winter.\u00a0 Dierde and his Mother would take the 15 minute boat ride to the Cabbage Key for lunch… and his Mother would always return to Sanibel with a jar of tomolives for\u00a0its eventual use in his piercingly <\/em>cold Dry Martinis.\u00a0 The scenario repeated, that is, ’til the day that the owner of the Inn gave her the name of\u00a0his distributor in Ft. Meyers… and that suited his Mother just fine.\u00a0 She loved wholesalers.\u00a0 Now, when she returned to Connecticut… she had not a <\/em>jar of tomolives; but a case.<\/em><\/p>\n

He would tell his Ex that they had just “landed in the shit.”\u00a0 He would have to tell her that it was just an expression<\/em>… landing in the shit was a good<\/u> thing.<\/p>\n

He loved listening to the wind.\u00a0 Wind pressing against the panes in a blizzard… or wind moving thru the leaves as it did this day.\u00a0 Although he didn’t sail, he could imagine the sound that it would make filling the canvas… and that thought\u00a0made him smile, too.\u00a0 Smile, as he bit into his first tomolive.\u00a0 He loved the snap <\/em>of the first bite, its sour flavor complemented the botanicals of the Gin.\u00a0 “You had to love Mom”, he said out loud, although no one was there to hear his words.<\/p>\n

His Mother had taught him long ago to notice things… to be aware of the details.\u00a0 <\/em>Appreciating the details would lead to a greater understanding\u00a0of the larger things in life, she told him.\u00a0 Maybe that is why Eve Porterhouse was such a terrific writer of mysteries.\u00a0 He mulled this over as he reached the halfway mark in his Martini… meaning it was time for tomolive #2.<\/p>\n

She would say to him that you can pass something, or someone, several times without taking note… it could be a farm stand, the person who delivers the mail, a new friend, anything… So the first time you recognize the special qualities of something it doesn’t really count… it’s simply the newness <\/em>of the idea that creates the impression.\u00a0 It’s the second<\/em> recognition that’s important.\u00a0 Now you take on the understanding<\/em> of what makes that something special.<\/p>\n

She would take him down the driveway to their garage.\u00a0 It was a place that he knew well.\u00a0 He practiced layups by the hour on the hoop that was mounted on the garage.\u00a0 She pointed out the lilac tree in the Gordon’s yard that overhung our drive.\u00a0 By agreement, Mom was entitled to clip any lilac flowering on our side of the fence.\u00a0 He had barely taken notice of the tree.\u00a0 Now they approached.\u00a0 She asked him to close his eyes, which he did.\u00a0 Now she directed him to smell <\/em>the lilac in the air.\u00a0 Now<\/em> you will remember it she said… whenever you smell lilac you will be returned to this place.<\/p>\n

It was some 15 years ago when he, along with his older Sister & younger\u00a0Sister had to sell the house on Alston Avenue after their Mother’s passing.\u00a0 His Sister, 11 years his Senior had remembered living on Orange St., and Beer St. before that.\u00a0 But to his younger Sister and himself… the house on Alston Avenue would be home.\u00a0 <\/em>The one home they knew.<\/p>\n

Yes, there was an emotional tug as they divided the artifacts of the old house between the families.\u00a0 Their Father had long since passed, and their Mother had turned the home into a quasi-museum… items collected over a lifetime.\u00a0 She continued to write to her very end in\u00a0the small studio in the rear of the home… chain smoking as she typed on a Smith-Corona.\u00a0 His Father had encouraged<\/u> her to smoke… smoking seen as a sophisticated activity in the 1920s.<\/p>\n

As they turned the keys over to the Realtor, he looked at the basketball hoop above the garage, thinking of the solitary hours he would engage in imaginary games of basketball… one would think he would have been better at basketball than he was… He wondered whether he would ever be able to come back to this street again.<\/p>\n

He neared the completion of his Martini… took a look at the horses grazing easily in the farm\u00a0on the far side of the stone wall\u00a0and\u00a0considered the possibility of building <\/em>a second Martini; but thought the better of it.\u00a0 The days of multi-Martinis had long passed.<\/p>\n

His thoughts returned to the home on Alston Avenue.\u00a0 He and his older Sister had just visited it the day before.\u00a0 Or, technically, what was left of it<\/em>.\u00a0 She had received a call from an old neighbor that the house had burned “to the ground”.\u00a0 And he knew that he had to return to the street one more time for a visit… a visit his younger Sister couldn’t bear to make.<\/p>\n

When\u00a0he joined his older Sister\u00a0there, the ruins lay mostly still.\u00a0 The houses on either side were left totally untouched by the conflagration.\u00a0 A charred and burned hulk was all that remained of the structure that had been his “only” childhood home.\u00a0 He looked down the drive, the garage was untouched as well; but the hoop had been taken down by one of the previous owners.<\/p>\n

They had looked\u00a0at the wreck thru some tears that smeared their faces, and she finally cut the silence, “it probably started in Mom’s office, the cigarette smoke imbedded in the walls… it just took 15 years to ignite…”\u00a0 And they shared a small laugh… a laugh that opened the door to other recollections.<\/p>\n

The time he fell asleep in the third floor closet and everyone panicked when he couldn’t be found, the time\u00a0their little Sister\u00a0found their Dad’s saxophone in the basement and thought it was a monster… the stories rolled on, each nook and crevice seemed home to a specific tale.<\/p>\n

If he thought that the treasures <\/em>of the home had been the only thing that mattered, he now knew that he had been mistaken.<\/p>\n

The Martini, now finished… only the last tomolive remained in the base of the glass.\u00a0 Tomolives that he now purchased on a direct basis from the manufacturer in Arkansas.\u00a0 He closed his eyes yet again to feel the combination of sun and breeze on his face.\u00a0 The artwork, the figurines, furnishings, the knick-knacks that were spread to three homes… and would be spread further still in\u00a0succeeding generations had special value… but it was the “nooks and crevices” of the home that vouchsafed special memories.\u00a0 If he didn’t\u00a0recognize it well enough 15 years ago when they turned the keys over to the new owners, he\u00a0recognized and understood\u00a0it now.\u00a0 He had wrongly assumed a permanence<\/em> to those nooks and crevices.<\/p>\n

He gazed at\u00a0tomolive #3, then closed his eyes\u00a0and tried to summon the memory of the lilac tree in the afternoon breeze.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The only invention as perfect as the English Sonnet… he knew little of sonnets.\u00a0 “Shakespeare wrote them,” he thought.\u00a0 “But\u00a0I know a fair amount about Martinis”.\u00a0 And that is to what the great American writer of letters, H.L. Mencken\u00a0was referring,\u00a0when … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[15],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-291","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-stories-brief-tales"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/summerofjim.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/291","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/summerofjim.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/summerofjim.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/summerofjim.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/summerofjim.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=291"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/summerofjim.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/291\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/summerofjim.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=291"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/summerofjim.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=291"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/summerofjim.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=291"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}