Home Stretch

New friends are silver, but old friends are gold. That’s what my mother always said.  And as in so many other ways, time has proven her wise beyond her years.

Nora and I were in Chapel Hill last week for a gathering to mark the 40th anniversary of my graduation from UNC.  (Truth in advertising: I’m actually an honorary member of the class of ’78; I was on the five-year plan.)  My more diligent friends had organized a dinner at Provence, a wonderful little place in Carrboro specializing in “southern” French cuisine.  Highly recommended (get the fish).

Before heading out, we had invited everyone to come to our under construction house to have a glass of wine on the porch. We were lucky with the weather; it was sunny and warm.  I had borrowed some plastic chairs from my brother and we set them out, with a couple of saw horses and a piece of sheetrock serving as a makeshift bar.  The porch floor was covered with plastic, but the ceiling was painted and most of the columns were in place. A cloud of dust rolling up the lane announced new arrivals. Car wheels on a gravel road.

It turned out to be an outstanding proof of concept: the porch works.

As to the house in general, a lot had happened since our last visit.  The well was in (185 feet deep, 65 gallons/minute of flow.  Both good numbers.) Electricity established. Geothermal wells dug, with HVAC to be operational shortly.  Cabinet boxes in place in the kitchen and bathrooms.  Chimney finished.  Exterior mostly painted (and Nora was happy with the color).

That said, the finish date of June 1 is looking highly dubious. There’s a lot still to do.

After a toast or two, a tour of the house, and a discussion of the pros and cons of beekeeping (“more work than cats, less work than dogs,” said one of our friends who has a hive), we caravanned to the restaurant, located in a charming old Carrboro mill house.  The executive chef was fittingly named “Baptist” though he hailed from the Netherlands, not south Alabama.

As the evening progressed, the talk turned, as it will, to times gone by. In those days, giants bestrode the earth, as we all know.  But the best line was a reprise from our 25th anniversary dinner, one cribbed from the Burt Lancaster character in Louis Malle’s 1980 film, Atlantic City.  Lancaster plays an aging, small time hood named Lou.  Susan Sarandon is a damaged ingenue looking for a new start. There’s a bit of voyeurism.  Lemons are involved.

At one point, Lancaster is standing on the boardwalk, reminiscing to a young punk who’s new to town.  He turns to gaze out over the waves, but it’s not the tide, it’s the past that’s pulling him under.

“The Atlantic Ocean was something then,” he says to the kid. “Yes, you should have seen the Atlantic Ocean in those days.”

Exactly.