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Thursday, November 17, 2016

“NOOOO PRRROBLEMMMM!”


Sunday, TLW (The Little Woman) and I decided to cease our normal Sunday activities of reading the newspapers, watching talking heads and staring at our electronic babysitters and go for the gold, that is: get the Hell out of the house for a change. We obviously enjoy each other’s company since there hasn’t been a death threat to either one of us from the other since we are married, in over 45 years!

If you are a fan of TURN, the TV story of General George Washington’s spy ring on Long Island, you know how convoluted the process of spying on the British was during the Revolutionary War.
Although Washington never won a battle on Long Island, it could be because he slept all over the island, so irate husbands probably had him on the run and he never got a chance to formulate a decent battle plan. But we put this all aside and decided to visit Raynham Hall Museum in Oyster Bay, a place that was part of the story here on the Island that anchored part of the spy ring for America and was the headquarters of the British who quartered troops in the house itself.


“Home of George Washington’s intelligence operative Robert Townsend, Raynham Hall is a time capsule of Long Island life in the 18th and 19th centuries. Purchased by Robert’s father Samuel around 1740 and expanded from a two-over-two farm house into a four-over-four townhouse whose land extended down to the bay and for acres all around, the Townsend family homestead was named Raynham Hall by Samuel’s grandson, Samuel, when he renovated it according to the Victorian taste of his own time, in the mid-19th century. Having shed most of its surrounding property around the turn of the twentieth century, the house’s final transformation came in the 1940s with the removal of the Victorian elements from the front part of the house, which was then restored back to its original Colonial appearance, but retaining the Victorian rear addition.”

And so, you have it, the guts of this blog in a quote!

After two hours of standing and listening to a great docent tells us so much fascinating history, we got hungry. Yes, that happens and so we drove towards our home and decided to stop along the way and find a place to eat. TLW remembered an Italian restaurant we visited years ago with the kids, not fancy and the food wasn’t bad.

As we were escorted to our table, this little girl jumped out from the shadows of the room with menus in hand and announced: “Hi! My name is Kathy and I will be taking care of you today. Care for a beverage to start?”

Now in anything Italian you want to be careful about. The words: “taking care of you” in such places could have many meanings. There is service, then there is contracts, like the one they put out on the St. Valentine’s Day massacre. One sure way to know if the place is run by the mob would be an item on the menu: Broken Leg of Lamb.

TLW gave her order of a Merlot, and I countered with a John Adams since I was still living in the era of the Revolution.

“NOOOO PRRROBLEMMMM!” said our little caretaker and off she went.

About twenty minutes later I started to wonder where she went for these drinks. I mentioned this to TLW who agreed it seemed to be taking a long time. Suddenly, like an apparition she appeared and seemed flustered.

“I have to apologize, but we don’t have any more of your request,” she said to TLW who promptly gave her another choice.

“NOOOO PRRROBLEMMMM!” she said once again.

We settled in to wait for our drinks when ten minutes later who returns flustered again? Why of course, little miss caretaker.

Looking at me she begins once again: “I am so SORRY, but we don’t have anymore Sam Adams! Would you like to try a pumpkin brew instead?” Why not, because we all knew it was:

“NOOOO PRRROBLEMMMM!”



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