CHAPTER 1:

PAVAROTTI CHECKS OUT MY DIGS!

(Or)

Ring My ...Chimes!



AN AOL NEWS ITEM ON 09/06/07 carried announcement of the passing of Luciano Pavarotti - the Great Italian singer.   A great loss, as they say, indeed.  Years back, our family always listened to the "Three Tenors" whenever they did one of their shows. Italian singing and Italian Opera at its best.  

Which brings me to my own little "Pavarottian" anecdote here...  

Back in the early '90's, my late wife, Millie, and I decided to sell our suburban CT home at Redding Ridge, CT,  and retire to Florida.  (That's two bad mistakes in one decision, so to speak: 1) to sell that great place we had, and 2) to come to Florida...)  

Anyhow, we put it on the market and not long after, one bitter, cold, snowy day in January, the realtor called and said "I would like to show your house this afternoon."  

So we said, "Fine! Okay by us! What time will you be here?"  

She said, "Oh, in couple hours - and by the way, I think you should know that the buyer prospect is ...Luciano Pavarotti!"  

(LOL!  I'm not kidding , Gang - True Story!)  

So in about an hour they showed up.  Stepped into our foyer (which was rather large anyhow) - and this guy seemed to literally fill it up!  I can't remember if he had an assistant, a wife or anyone with him.  The realtor lady was there, of course, and she was already fussing about or over him.  It seems he had a sore throat or a tickle or something or was afraid he might "catch" same or something and anyway he had this huge, gorgeous white muffler all wrapped around his neck and declned to remove same even in the house...  

So then the next problem was how was he to "see" the place - since we had about five acres of woods and meadows, an orchard grove, a big barn outback and my log cabin as well way back in the woods.  There was about two feet of wind-blown snow and drifts all over...  To get around our "farmstead" required boots at least, and some stamina into the bargain...LOL  

Thus, it was decided instead, that I would get my (4-wheel drive) Grand Cherokee out of the garage and drive around front through the drifts and pick the Great Man up at the front door and drive him around the place for a looksee.  And this is what I did.  (I had one of the earliest Grand Cherokees - the great big ones - fire engine red it was and my pride and joy - but I sold it not long after as it was the greatest gas hog you ever saw!  And this back when gas was not only costly, it was often non-existant at the pump!).  

Pavarotti heaved his bulk into the passenger seat and we "four wheeled" about our place.  He was congenial enough and no difficulty understanding him (I usually have terrible time with even the slightest of accents...).  Then they left.  Never heard another thing (so presumeably he bought a place elsewhere - I have no idea).  But this realtor was a real hotshot and she ultimately did sell our place (but not to any celebrity! LOL!).


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NOW AT THE RISK of being thought a hopeless yarn-spinner here, there is even a bon mot to add to this anecdote:  Some weeks later, this same realtor called, and said she had another prospect she would like to bring over.  Same thing: we said fine, okay - we'll be here.  

Then she added, "By the way, and just so you know, it is Meat Loaf.

I said, "What? Meat Loaf? What is that?"  

She said she had to run, and hung up.  Millie was there and I turned and said "Who or what is Meat Loaf?"  

She shrugged her shoulders.  It just happened that one of our kids (hers or mine - forget which) was home that weekend from college or whatever and overheard me.  "Meat Loaf!" I heard this loud squeal.   

"Meat Loaf is coming to OUR house?  OmiGod...!!!"  

And on the spot I got a quick summary orientation to bop, or rap, or whatever late-teens thing music is or was, etc. etc. and just what an esteemed place this Mr. Meat Loaf held in that arcane domain!  

(Sigh...)  

A short while later, there was a knock at the door ....and here stood the Realtor Lady with her charge: a sort of beefy-faced looking dude (See above).  In a shapeless overcoat almost to his ankles.  All I really remember actually, is that though there was still snow on the ground, he had no socks on at all: just barefooted in an old pair of sneakers.  Then Mr. Meat Loaf and the Realtor toured our castle and departed.  Never heard more from him either.  I trust he ultimately found congenial digs somewhere though...
 

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Well, what' s old age for, Gang, if not to reminisce? (And btw, my son advises that I actually called the Realtor Lady the following day to ream her out over bringing such a scruffy dude to our doorstep - suggesting to her that maybe all he wanted was to "case" the joint...! Ahhh, Me...)

Now, here we are, Naomi and I, currently looking for properties in maybe Texas (I actually grew up there) or maybe even the mountain states of TN, NC, and GA, etc.  And maybe we will "luck out" and soon... which is most to be desired because we are both at breaking point here.  But I get homesick for the old stand too, and grand as Texas can (sometimes!) be, and the gorgeous mountains and all in the Southern Appalachians (any and ALL of them superior to this nitwit Florida!), it still comes back to me in the "...stilly, dark nights" the truth of the old observation up that way that "When you leave New York (Metro area - includes suburban CT and parts of NJ, too) ... you don't really go anywhere!" 

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