We had a little time for fun.  Mostly we visited with family.  It’s been some time since a posting here at LAN.  So tonight I thought I would share some pics (from the Blackberry) just in case you missed them through the Twitter, and some comments on our travels…

At Boston Logan, I transferred over to Cape Air. They fly 8-seater Cesna aircraft all over New England.  What a blast!  I have never flown on a plane so small and now desire to do more of it.  The view from the plane is astounding, almost a 360 degree aerial view of everything.  We took off over the harbor and turned right over the downtown area.  And we had an amazing view of the Green Mountains all the way into New Hampshire.  Can’t wait for my next flight!  (Service was just as amazing too)

During the last conversation with my Grandmother in December she told me about Strawberry Shortcake.  “Now Tommy,” she said.  “In New York they make their shortcake over some kind of cake, sponge or white cake.  I’m sure your [maternal] Grandmother made shortcake in a similar fashion in the tradition of the southern way.  But us New Englanders make and prefer ‘Yankee’ strawberry shortcake.  We take fresh hot biscuits, cut them in half.  Spread butter so that it melts and goes into the biscuits,” she continued as she waved her frail hands demonstrating the spreading technique.  “Then we would slice fresh strawberries, pour those over the hot biscuit and top with fresh whipped cream”, finishing with a pinch of her index and middle fingers.  She had transported me back to her past and I could taste her desert.  We ate lots of Yankee Strawberry Shortcake through the weekend.  I can tell you not any of it was as good as Grandmother’s, although I never got to taste her creation in my lifetime.

Grandmother’s remains were laid to rest at Trinity Church in Cornish, New Hampshire.  The church was less than a mile from her home of 55+ years along the Connecticut River.  Built in 1808, the church cemetery is home to Revolutionaries and founders of the community.  The blackberry camera doesn’t do the church justice, but I think you get the general idea of the feel.

The cemetery at Trinity is small, perhaps 50 grave sites, most being from the late 1700′s through mid-1800′s.  The ornate carvings on the headstones was impressive.  We’re not sure of the type of stone used but whatever it is, it has stood the test of time and the innate detail is as prevalent today as it must have been then.

Chase is a big surname in Cornish New Hampshire as many a Chase, founders of Cornish and New Hampshire are buried there.  The above photo is the top of the marker for Jonathan Chase, a Revolutionary leader of New Hampshire militia that served under Horatio Gates.  As you can see from the marker, he was a Mason.  Fitting that Grandmother, an old Yankee whose Grandfathers were Revolutionaries and founders of Massachusetts would be resting in close proximity to others of her kind and caliber!  Grandmother’s home in Cornish by the way (not pictured) was a colonial home that hosted the first town council meeting in Cornish in the mid 1700′s.

I had never had a beer with my Aunt until this trip.  My father’s sister was such a good sport and demonstrated the Feary value of adventure when I suggested we stop.  Panovec had mentioned and got me to try a Harpoon a while back so I was curious.  We ended up having a blast sampling some suds and remembering Grandmother and Dad.  We even schemed up another reason to get back to Windsor and Cornish in the coming months.  More to come on that one at a later date…

I had a little travel snafu on the return leg to Virginia which left me with five hours in Boston to kill.  This is why I love Logan airport.  It’s only 20 minutes from downtown.  I took the train into State Street which pops you right out under the Old State House.  The Boston Massacre occurred just right around the corner.  Best part about getting off the train here was close proximity to good beer and seafood.  We spent the entire time consuming…

Cherry-stone and Little-neck Clams.  Not to forget oysters.  But the fresh clams is what I seek out first when coming to New England.  They are incredible.  So clean with the hint of sea salt that I can’t get enough.  Yum yum.

After several hours of fresh,on-tap Harpoon, too many shell-fishes to count, more fish at the airport waiting for a delayed evening flight, and good people watchin’ we boarded the jet back to Virginia.  As I watched the sky change in the air, I couldn’t help but think of the uncanny Revolutionary feel of the trip.  Here I was remembering Grandmother, surrounded by history, and then returning to another colony of the crown where there is just as much pre-1776 heritage as there is in New England.  It was kind of like our ancestors calling out, asking to be remembered… And then there was July 4.

We hope all are having a great summer…

At any pace, weather.  Yes, here we are in the Heart of Dixie (traditionally speaking of course) to only have 4-12 inches of snow.  Reports had 6-9 within the metro.  I gauged our depth to be 4″ here on Virginia Street.  Others emailed in stories of 11 or more inches on the western outskirts.  Nothing but City Dogs was open for lunch (sorry dear) and because of that we had a lousy Bloody Mary to end the day at another tavern up the street.

Which by the way was one of the most productive days we’ve had at work in years.  The office was closed and my commute was one of the most smooth in recent memory.  Just one floor down on the elevator found me smack dab in the middle of an office with just me and my keyboard.  And because the new digs has style, a server full of music in which my contribution to date has been DMB Live from St. Louis 2008 was awaiting Bill Gates’ latest version of media player to fill the orifices of the old tobacco warehouse we call “career space.”

The DMB reminded me of Tracey, her hair flowing like… well we may want to take pause to reflect on hair et. al within the confines of my cranium.  BUT, we have our DMB tickets requested for the Summer Tour and now await the good word on whether we get our tickets, the location of our seats, and which shows we can actually make.  Mr. Panovec and I have conspired to attend both Virginia shows in August.  We also have a pair requested for the Lou show in June.  Anyone want to tailgate?  Let your fingers do the walking and let’s connect!

As mentioned above, Mr. Hooks is now writing for Baseball Digest and we couldn’t be happier to watch him flower.  He had an intro post on the new site and try like hell we did but couldn’t comment to introduce our self back to him (new site glitches I suppose).  So we leave you this second of March with our intro back to Baseball Digest’s newest writer/Cardinals Editor (you may want to read his post first):

As we head the calls of the vixen of the night through our second floor ceiling of the Hill Building in historic Shockoe Slip, we think and reminisce on our life in St. Louis, Missouri.  Oh how the Baseball Gods must be randy at the thought of another opening day ceremony in splendid Busch (to be named InBev) Stadium along the life-blood of Americana, the Mississippi.  As a transplanted Southerner who has tucked his tail to return to the land of the big pigskin and smokehouse, to this we can attest:  IF there was ever an American community so transfixed on and devoted to the patient game of baseball it is the Gateway City.  To no ends are the Bulldogs of Georgia or the Cubs of Chi-town as passionate of their teams as those in St. Louis of their Cardinals.  To be in St. Louis is to sync your heartbeat to the Cardinal roller coaster of tradition, success, and divide.  In other words if you can’t love baseball, move, leave, hang it up.  Living in St. Louis sucks if you can’t live, learn, and love with the ways of Cardinal Baseball.  There’s nothing else.  Here’s to you, the truest of all St. Louis baseball writers.  Salut St. Louis!

It didn’t dawn on me how much we love our home until Thursday.  I provided some assistance to Tracey in getting some things cleaned up to take pictures.  I started building a web site to support the sale yesterday (still in progress) and the sadness of leaving this place hit me like a ton of bricks.  I was looking at the pictures taken two years ago when closing and recalling the feeling of being in the home.  I was eating meals here, mowing the lawn here, drinking brews here way before the girls arrived.  This has been our castle, our safety zone when things haven’t been quite right anywhere else.

I have to say the best part of being in St. Louis the last 20 months has been going to school.  Now that it is winding down (graduation is May), I’m starting to realize just how much stability school has provided.  It’s been a routine, something to count on.  I remember thinking that WashU felt more like a family than Auburn ever has.  Sounds corny but Auburn really hasn’t given me anything that I haven’t discovered on my own.  WashU has given me a lifetime of validation and new beginnings.

I set a goal to be the best resource I could be, to help any person in need at my former employer.  I leave knowing that goal was accomplished.  My heart pours open for the people where we were working.  They continue to go through change and the most challenging change of all may be looming just over the next sunrise.  We still offer our help in any way and hope we can offer guidance from afar.

So off we go… I couldn’t think of any other song to convey my feelings this morning than the Counting Crows “Holiday In Spain.”  Maybe not the best tune but I like the “fly away to somewhere new” reference.

So where is somewhere new? Well it’s kind of a familiar feel.  Check this out:  In Staunton, Virginia we worked in the historic district out of a reconstruction era warehouse.  Our boss lived in an apartment upstairs.  We did lots of work in the pub after 5pm across a cobble stone street.  Our office manager was named Amanda.  Remember?

In Richmond, we’ll be working in the old historic district in an old tobacco warehouse converted to offices.  I’ll be living in an apartment above the office.  There happens to be a cobble stone street with a pub on the other side where it’s rumored employees continue their workdays after 5pm.  Our office manager is named Amanda.

Dead serious.  You can’t make this stuff up.

Here’s another one to file away in the “everything happens for a reason” category… You know that while Dad was sick last year we had made the decision to move back to be closer to him.  He didn’t know that we were interviewing because we didn’t want him to get his hopes up, reasoning it would be much better to surprise him with the news.  Obviously we never had the chance to tell him.  But what you may not know is Dad collected frogs.  He had tons of them from every part of the world.  It wasn’t until after we had accepted the new job and were reviewing some collateral that we noticed… the new company’s mascot is a frog.  We like to at least think that somewhere Dad is having a big laugh, slapping us on the back, and telling us to “give ‘em hell”.

And we will…

No goodbyes for St. Louis.  Virginia, we’re comin’ home.