Paradisaical

Paradisaical is an adjective meaning of, like, or befitting paradise. 

Cindy and Giovanni’s farm is paradisaical.

Paradise is a noun with one meaning being an ideal or idyllic place or state. The yurt – closest road is a dirt path, the closest neighbors are a mile away, there's nothing around but apple and pear orchards, grape vines, TREES and a winding river – yeah this qualifies as paradise.

Did ya know? There ain’t no WiFi in paradise. In fact, I couldn’t even get a signal on my phone. I confess that , at first, I experienced a moment of disquiet. But, but, BUT what if I need to know if DC got a drenching rainstorm that washed out Preznint Midget Dicktator’s heinous, authoritarian squandering of taxpayer money (OUR money) all to celebrate his twisted worldview and bloated, diseased ego.

See, this is why I gotta get out in nature and go WiFi-less more often.

Yesterday morning, after a brill, uninterrupted night’s sleep I took a wee walk around before Ten and I ventured into the tiny town of Randolph where big prep was afoot for the big July 4rth parade. Though I’ve a hell of a time celebrating America – what with the concentration camps and all the other sins and grotesqueries – this was sweet. Like a nostalgia laden Norman Rockwell painting.

Cindy, Giovanni, Ten and I hit the library book sale where, for a whopping $2, I picked up a hardcover Orhan Pamuk that I hadn’t read before AND a Saul Bellow short story collection. And then we were off. We had reservations for the night at the French King Motel near Erving, MA. I’ve long wanted to check out this little roadway inn and the restaurant. It’s located on a hillside, surrounded by trees with the big beautiful Connecticut River below – an idyllic setting.

I figured this morning, before the heat got too bad, we’d walk across the bridge over the river, take some pics and then head down to the Bookmill in nearby Montague.

BUT, when we got to the motel we found the door to the office open but nobody home. Same for the restaurant. We waited (mebbe the proprietor had to hit the head or have a smoke?) and then we waited some more. Maybe we’re early? (it was after one though) The Bookmill was open for biz so we drove over there. Ten called the motel to see what was up. Yes, the owner was around or would be once we finished buying MORE used books. He wasn't. Again we waited. He finally showed only to tell us that, by the way, the restaurant's closed for the day.

A few things:

1. We'd made reservations here weeks in advance. Do NOT make me wait an  hour and a half to check in, especially not in 90 degree heat. 
2. The reason for the restaurant being shut last minute? He told us that it was his wife's mother's birthday. Huh, you'd think he would have known that when he posted the Fourth of July hours on the website. 
3. Lastly, the cute little hotel pool, which I REALLY wanted to float in, was at best one quarter full. I expect it hadn't been cleaned since, mebbe, last summer too.

My fantasy of this joint was sadly at odds with reality. We took a hard pass and motored home.

Coco was thrilled to see us home early though and, HEY, it’s all about her, right?

Cocodoesn't like the heat either