Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Brad greeted us in his Nantucket Reds.

Ethan Bradshaw Covington, III, is nothing if not well-bred. He bemoaned property upkeep but proudly showed off the gleam left by professional cleaners and, judging by the sharp smell of latex, some interior painters. He offered condolences over my mother’s death and the gentleman in him kept conversation to stock prices, problematic Canada geese and pride in Ethan having chosen his alma mater for graduate work.
Johanna Lawrence Wheeler, The Chick Palace

“’Tea Time.’” (Johanna and I) said in unison and climbed.

We sipped up there on the Chick Palace roof and talked about family, tearless reminisces this time. Back in the bad old days, the four of us had occasionally contemplated winterizing our cottages into year-round getaways to take advantage of the foliage or even the Pocono Mountains ski slopes.

On the other hand, a marriage on the skids does not get back on track via isolated converted summer places with vintage everything from plumbing to wiring. Where mechanical engineer Gordon Wheeler can tinker endlessly with projects, financial analyst Ex-ex Covington gets stir crazy.

Ethan Bradshaw Covington, III, is a beaten path kind of guy and Lake Allamuchy has always been too far off of it, too far from Wall Street, Ligonier, the Hamptons, or, as it has turned out, that West Village brownstone. I pondered his new-found attitude about our jointly owned digs and this new stew he’d set to simmering.

Lilly Drinkwater Covington, The Chick Palace


Three Dilemmas, Two friends and One Deserted Tree House

during a simmering summer on Lake Allamuchy

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