RECOVERING FROM THE RENTAL SEASON

I have not written a current blog as we are just recovering from Saratoga Renter's Hell. We got out of our home three times; once for an unexpected weekend, once for the expected renters July 31st and then after a quick three hour turn around we came in and out on August 7th.  We just got back in the house on Sunday August 14th.  We remain unpacked as we wonder, "will we have to move out for Labor Day weekend."

That remains to be seen.  Meanwhile I am working on a blog entry on our trials and tribulations of moving out this year.  Should be out in a couple of days.

Enjoy!

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

A SARATOGA TRADITION

    It's that time of year again when Saratogians rent their homes to incoming ballet, track and summer fans.  The following article was my first published writing piece ever and describes our preparations and the exciting final 36 hours leading up to our exit the summer of 2009.  We just moved out of our home again and a new article is in the works.  Enjoy and if you are a homeowner who habitually rents out their home or first timers, please share your experiences.

    It is a yearly Saratoga phenomenon; when teems of local residents vacate their homes to rent to the summer crowds.  Hundreds of seemingly emotionally and financially stable Saratogians sign contracts, clean and de-clutter their homes and ultimately move out and find new digs while someone takes over their home.  While the financial rewards are considerable, home owners in many cases earn every penny as the preparations are intense and the homelessness inconvenient.

    Our family enters our sixth season of renting this summer and five out of six have been for the full season.  Preparations for the 2009 season start December of 2008, when our realtor contacts us to update our website information and confirm its accuracy.  One year we had a rental by January, but this year there are no bites until March.  First, we contact our 2007, 2008 gentlemen renters and they politely decline.  So we move ahead with new unknown summer renters.

    The time between March and April passes uneventfully as we sign leases, receive deposits and speak occasionally with the realtor.  Conversations with my friends who rent are frequently peppered with “Do you have someone yet?  Is it the same people as last year?  How long are you renting for?”  The rare bold question is “How much are they paying?”  No one is panicked in the spring.

    And then late June comes, the final payments are in, it occurs to one that you only have five weeks remaining in your home and you need to start sorting and cleaning.  We start by categorizing and recycling our children’s school papers as well as our own. Trips are made to the Salvation Army with clothing and we have our annual stoop sale.   The experience of annually ridding our home of unnecessary items is cathartic and welcome.

    My husband and I in early July start eyeing our teenage son’s room, anticipating and dreading the emotional and physical energy it will require to put his room in shape.  Up until fall of 2008, our two sons had shared a room and somehow the younger ones presence had kept the older one’s true self at bay.  But now, my older son has had full reign in the room, unplugged, unedited, undone.  Throughout the past nine months, we had issued daily warnings, comments and suggestions with unsatisfactory success.  We start him packing boxes the first week of July and we feel hopeful. 

    On Monday July 20^th, we have a family meeting to plan the next ten days to our exit on Tuesday July 28^th at 3pm.  I get out the chalkboard and we name our project “Operation Escape,” which goes at the top of the chalkboard.  Underneath our inspirational heading I list every day and what we need to accomplish each day.  In addition to packing ourselves up to live at my mom’s and de-cluttering our home, we include our to do list: return library books, banking, teaching, recycling and changing our mail.  Finally, we boldly list two ambitious projects we hope to accomplish prior to our exit - wash the exterior of the house and finish the taxes.  I am the eternal optimist.

    On the evening of July 20^th my husband’s family arrives from New York to help my husband with his sailboat and they go sailing on Tuesday.  Our “Operation Escape” chart is ignored and we reconfigure on Wednesday.  They depart Wednesday afternoon and we go back to fulltime work on the house. 

    Thursday morning, I walk with my neighbor who is also a habitual renter.    Although she does not have a chalkboard family list, she has her own personal to do list and cleaning the shower is one of three things on her list today.  Her efforts to ready the house will be thwarted by a houseful of company over the weekend and into Tuesday.    We check in over the next couple of days to commiserate and give the update.

    By Friday, we see progress.  We proudly get out our chart and are able to erase off the do list: playroom, my youngest son’s room, living room, and third floor. My teenage son’s room, although it has seen improvement, remains a source of stress and we are concerned that it could be our undoing.   Friday afternoon I cajole my sons and one of their friends to wash the house siding by our back garden entrance.  There is a fair amount of horsing around but they clean it well and we reward ourselves with root beer floats in the backyard.  It is a great Saratoga summer afternoon.  Life is good.

    Apparently, we feel that we deserve a break and we go sailing for two full days on Saturday and Sunday July 25^th and 26^th.  We manage to not think about what waits for us at home and what extreme effort lies ahead on Monday and Tuesday.  Arriving home Sunday at 6pm, we unpack, accomplish a few more chores and hit the hay early to ready ourselves for the final 30 hours of “Operation Escape.”

    Monday July 27^th, finds my six year old, husband and I washing the siding on the front of the house by 9am.  My teenage son (the time management expert) refuses to help or work on his room as he says;” I have plenty of time.”  At one point my husband has his head in his hands and declares my eldest son’s room akin to kryptonite; he is weakened every time he enters the room.  I manage to get both my husband and son back on task.   A good friend hosts my younger son for the rest of the day for a play date.  We are grateful. 

    The rest of Monday passes in a blur as we continue to pack our clothes, clean out draws, closets, take down posters, box up toys, sort paper and earn a living teaching dance in between.  My mom comes by for my youngest to gather him for dinner and an overnight.  I take a short nap on my Saratoga porch, enjoying the breeze and mourning how much I will miss it.  All my clothes are packed by 4:20 and I am feeling good about my day until I receive a phone call from the realtor that the renters would like a full size bed in one of the bedrooms not the two twins.  What??   I had imagined the sheets and blankets I would use and how I would dress the beds.  All for naught.  My husband is teaching at the studio and I decide to deal with this when he comes home.

    I break the news to my son and husband around 6pm.  After considering our options, we decide to bring a futon mattress from the third floor down and put it on top of the antique twin beds pushed together.  It looks ridiculous as the mattress is not as wide as the two beds.  We had considered putting the two beds together but the mattresses are different heights.  Suddenly, I remember another twin mattress on the third floor in the Jacuzzi room and yes after my son measures the height, it will work.  I disappear downstairs as the guys heave mattresses up and down stairs.  In the end it works and it is decided that I will go and purchase king size sheets at Target the next day in my “spare time.”

    By evening we are in good shape, packed to travel, possessions are secured on the third floor and in the basement.  The kitchen remains the final frontier for Tuesday.  The cleaning people are scheduled to arrive at 9:30.  Our final night of sleep is short and with great enthusiasm and no energy we look forward to the “Final Day.” 

    D-Day, Tuesday July 28^th has arrived and we are working by seven with a piece of fruit to sustain us until breakfast at 10:45.  We manage to get my eldest son out of bed and working by 8:30 and his eyes are swollen from lack of sleep.  This is the first year that he is really involved in the exit process.  He resents the work, the change and what he sees as the intrusion.  My husband and I are holding up well. 

    I have set a goal for us to be off the second floor (bedrooms) completely so that the cleaning staff can clean easily, thoroughly and quickly.  The cleaning staff arrives at 10:00, starts on the third floor bath and we are off the second floor by 10:45 and take our breakfast break.  Every time we eat in the last two days, it has been an exercise in cleaning out the fridge.  This time is no different.  My son is not thrilled with his breakfast.

    Everything we are taking with us is piled in the dining room, adjacent to the kitchen and near the back door exit.  We are literally making our way out the door.  One of the renters shows up at noon, saying that she was told she could move in then.  I politely remind her that the lease says 3pm and that we need all the time allotted.  I escort her back to the front door, close the door and go back to work.

    And now for the kitchen and the fridge.  For how much room the fridge takes up in our home, it remains the most intense work area.  We sort food to be tossed, food to go into the cooler to be transported to my mom’s fridge, food to be moved to the downstairs fridge and then we repeat the process with the freezer.  I make decisions as to the foods’ destiny and my son and husband execute.  Then my son and husband take out every shelf and drawer and clean it in soapy water, rinse, dry and replace it.  My six year old calls from my mom’s missing us and asking if I could bring over his wallet, his money for the bank and his Buzz Light Year piggy bank.  I have remembered the first two and promise to do my best on the third.  We miss him too and will be reunited by 3:30.

    At some point, I head over to Target and purchase the king size sheets.  I make the trip in a succinct 35 minutes and they work great.  The cleaning people are efficient, pleasant and flexible and the five of us work around and with each other for the last two hours to make our 3pm goal.  We all are doing what it takes to get the job done.  In the morning, my son had the occasional breakdown that I got him through but now with 90 minutes left, there is no sign of that.  After every job is completed, he says, “What’s next?”  If only.

    At 2:53 the renter shows up again and I invite her to sit on the porch.  We are wiping the last counter, vacuuming the kitchen floor and straightening the last pillow. 

The house looks pristine; no signs of clutter, plenty of sparkle and ready for inspection.

My husband, son and I take everything out to the van and come back in to welcome the renters.  By this time, the other two renters are gathering on the front porch and I welcome them in at 3:03pm.  

    I thank and pay the wonderful cleaning people and then take up my job as tour guide.  The women seemed pleased as I show them around, explain appliances and go over security.  My husband takes over the technology part of the tour and exchanges phone numbers.  I give the garden tour as I will be watering while in town at my mom’s and they will be in charge while we travel.

    We climb into the car and head over to my mom’s, a mere mile away, and look forward to showers and lunch.  I know for a fact that I smell and look like I smell.  The renters looked surprised when I said we were professional dancers.  We arrive at my mom’s, gather our younger son in our arms and have sandwiches and showers. My husband heads out the door an hour later to teach at 5pm.  I am in awe of his stamina and calm.  I opt to go out to dinner with my mom and the kids.

    A week has gone by since our dramatic exit and now we experience the aftermath of our move.  Currently the checkbook, my younger son’s socks, my bathing suit bottoms and some cash are still at large.  We manage to miss my son’s eye appointment twice, have yet to complete the taxes and make my mother cry within three days of our arrival.  However, like a new mom who vows never to go through childbirth again, we have forgotten the pain and are readying ourselves for next year’s rental.

           

           

           

Diane L. Lachtrupp

           

           

           

GLUTEN-FREE UPDATES FOR SARATOGA RESTAURANTS AND WISH LIST

In earlier blogs, I talked about where to shop for gluten and dairy free products as well as restaurants that I have frequented that offer gluten-free entrees.  Here are a few updates to add to my previous listings.

Limoncello Restaurant at 1 Ballston Avenue in Saratoga Springs is now offering a variety of gluten – free pastas on their menu.  I have been asking them for awhile and it paid off.  Thanks!!

Mama Mia’s Pizza and Café at 185 Ballston Ave in Saratoga Springs has offered gluten – free pasta and pizza for some time now and has added gluten – free tiramisu to their menu.  Dessert for everyone.

Chianti Restaurant at 18 Division St. in Saratoga now has gluten-free pasta.  An opportunity to try all their great pasta toppings.

Beverly’s Restaurant at 47 Phila Street in Saratoga has added gluten –free baguette.  How much fun is that?  I had breakfast there last month and instead of just home fries, I was able to also have bread in the form of a gluten-free baguette.

Fifty South at 2128 Doubleday Avenue on Route 50 has been a maverick in the food allergy arena offering up gluten-free pastas and breads as well as being flexible in general.  What I did not know is that have gluten-free pancakes.  Excellent.

Wish – list!!  Now I know I have two arms and two legs, good hearing, 20/20 with my contacts, can still outrun my children (8 and 15) and have a lot to be grateful for physically, BUT if someone could invent some dairy – free brie, blue cheese, parmesan or mozzarella (remember, I am also allergic to soy) - I would be eternally grateful and probably five pounds heavier.  That is the only upside to being allergic to gluten, dairy and soy – it keeps your weight down about 8 pounds.

If I had a choice of my allergies – I would have soy first, gluten second and dairy third.  Unfortunately, I am the least allergic to soy and my allergies to dairy and gluten are very strong.  Although I do enjoy tofu and miso soup, I am not building one of my dinner parties around it.  As to gluten, I feel that there have been quite a few solid substitutes - corn, brown rice and quinoa pasta, brown rice and millet/flax bread, brown rice quesadillas, corn cereals and many wonderful flours to cook with.  AND NOW – with baguette – I am over the moon.  French, crusty, soft on the inside and fun to say.

Clearly – I need something to go with my baguette and brie is the first thing that comes to mind along with a strong Bordeaux. So far, the cheese substitutes that do not include soy are limited. 

To expand on my cheese desires, it would be fantastic if restaurants would keep a block of rice cheese on hand.  It comes in cheddar and mozzarella.  It is not interesting by itself, but melted you now have expanded the number of dishes that you could sell to a dairy –free customer.  Now you can make a panini, a pasta dish with melted cheese or a chicken parmesan.  The rice cheese can be frozen and either grated or sliced to suit your dish. 

Now many people are not allergic to soy like me, so keeping a little soy cheese on hand is a good idea as well.  Stop by Four Seasons at lunch time and take a look at some of the wonderful things they do with soy cheese in their plentiful lunch buffet.

Know any updates for restaurants offering gluten and dairy –free food or stores that are offering gluten and dairy – free products.  Please – let me know.

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

THE ALLURE OF THE FAMILY SOCK FIGHT

        No parent can resist the allure of a sock fight.  They are indeed good, clean, rousting family fun.  First of all, everyone is encouraged to throw something regardless of age or experience, secondly what you are throwing is soft and less likely to injure another family member or your home; and now for the allure part.  I’m torn as to which is more satisfying – pummeling my spouse with a sock or pummeling my children.  It’s a toss-up and something I’m willing to work through – with time.

HISTORY   Sock fights were a part of my upbringing.  On Thursday nights, when my mother was at choir rehearsal and my dad was in charge, my brother and I would go at it.  Our upstairs hallway was ideal.  He set up his fort in front of his bedroom door and I set up mine in front of the opposing attic door.  Socks were then gathered and hurled at each other for at least a good hour.  An hour later, we had exercised, gotten out any frustrations and screamed in terror before my father figured out what was going on and my mother arrived home.

        I introduced sock fights to my crew about two years ago.  Everyone enjoys them, but they are a particular favorite of my eight year old and myself.  Might I add that we have the preferred long hallway that lends itself to the perfect battlefield.  The long corridor defines the parameters of the battle and decreases home destruction.

        My younger son and I are usually on the same team; we start by setting up our fort comprised of a laundry basket filled with summer towels as our base.  Next, we add several layers of pillows and put blankets on top to secure the linens underneath. Its width is a foot less than the hallway’s width to allow for quick entrances and exits.  My husband and older son are left to build their fort out of whatever’s left and their lack of attention to fort building detail shows- their fort is the first to fall.



weapon of choice - pre-rolled



  Next we gather socks and make sure that they are rolled up. We prefer natural fibers like cotton and wool.  Leave the nylon socks in the drawer.  They may have great patterns and panache but we prefer the bulky winter wool socks and adult athletic cotton socks.  Then when everyone’s fort and ammo are readied, someone yells go and the battle commences.  At first, people keep behind their own fort alternating throwing and ducking.  As ammunition runs low my younger son is usually the first one to rush out and reload.  He runs down the hall, gathering thrown socks and runs back leaping over the fort (hurdle style)    immediately ready for the next throw.

       While my younger son and I are all business, (aiming, ducking, throwing, jumping, running) my older son and husband bring theatricality to the sock fight.  They respond in a cartoonish fashion to each and every sock that hits its mark with grunts and groans and dramatic “Oofs,”  “Aahs” and “Dang its.”  Their outbursts greatly add to the thrill of the battle.  Admittedly, my younger son and I are very competitive which could account for our lack of vocalization and our attention to the task at hand which clearly is –Hit the opposing team ( Daddy and Joey)with as many punishing socks as possible.

       Ambushes are allowed but not encouraged.  My husband’s and my bedroom has two doors (fifteen feet apart -which the opposing forts are built near) and affords teams opportunities to run behind enemy lines and throw socks at our backs.  For the most part, we try to keep our battleground between us.

AFTERMATH  I cannot deny that an aftermath exists but steps can be taken to lessen it.  Missing socks is perhaps your biggest downfall.  Socks have a tendency to come undone during flight and impact and stopping the battle to repair all ammo is well – boring.  Chaos and intensity must prevail not neuroticism.   We do occasionally call a brief time-out to retrieve and repair but not to a fault.  So – it is likely that for the next week, you will be wondering where your favorite argyles have gone or most likely your athletic socks will have been rewrapped with your children’s.

       As to destruction of property; we have yet to experience that.  We do take a few precautions and remove any art on the walls or any vases behind us that might see action.  Naturally each team is responsible for dissembling their own fort and attempting to gather up all socks.

BENEFIT REVIEW

Health - After a good sock fight, everyone is most likely sweating and smiling.  You have increased the accuracy of your throwing arm, raised your heart rate, used your legs for all the up and down, and certainly had some good belly laughs.  Without a doubt, something outrageous will occur during the fight (socks ending up in unusual places, two socks colliding midflight – whatever) and everyone’s happiness meter will be up.  Although I am no psychologist, I can’t help but think that a little soft violence within a family unit can be healthy.  Remember, I am still working through which is more satisfying – a sock thrown by me that hits my husband or my sons.  I did a quick survey amongst friends as to their satisfaction level in pummeling spouses versus children and the results were embarrassingly overwhelmingly leaning towards the spouses.  Perhaps I should be the embarrassed one as I am still considering my children as satisfying targets.

Environment - Sock fights are green:  no electricity, no technology and no cost.  In short, they are a cheap evening or rainy day afternoon activity.

Parenting – Your  “cool” factor as a parent goes way up in your child’s eyes.  Mom and Dad throwing things in the house – excellent.  And I believe that your own “cool” factor goes way up in your own mind.  In the days following your sock fight, when you are finding socks in unexpected places around your home, it triggers memories of what a great time you all had together as a family and that you, disciplinarian, caregiver and guider of young life, were in there battling with the best of them.  With the warm weather upon us, I’m sensing that “Sock Fights Alfresco” are soon at hand.

       I’m hoping to hear from people regarding their own sock fight experiences and hope to inspire first timers to this family activity.

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

MOTHER'S DAY CONFINEMENT

 I awoke on Mother’s day 2011 at 7:30 and ready to face the day.  My husband and  younger  son were in NYC,  scheduled to meet up with us later and my older son was asleep next to me in my husband’s  and my bed.  We had gotten in late last night after a long day at a chorale competition in Massachusetts and I wanted my son to get some sleep.  Normally on Mother’s Day, I am greeted around 8am in my room by my two sons, my husband and a tray full of breakfast.  But today, with the main orchestrators out of town and a teenager in charge I had decided to stay flexible .

                After reading until  8:15, I quietly got up, got dressed, stuffed a few dollars in my pocket and headed out into my Saratoga mother’s day sunshine to walk and enjoy the views.  Maybe I’ll run into some friends as I stroll around the neighborhood.  As luck would have it, after a  mere half mile into my walk, my friend Monica is sitting on her porch with her sister –in –law.  I join them for a ten minute chat and then head on my way.  My walk turns into a bit of a jog and I stop off at the Five Points corner store for some decaf.  I try to buy the Times to accompany my decaf, but hadn’t counted on it costing $6 and don’t have enough.  I half expect the guy next to me to pick up the difference – (After all it is Mother’s Day) but that doesn’t happen.  No matter.  It’s Mother’s Day and my mood shall not be compromised.

                As I head down Clark st. towards home, another neighbor, Jeff, addresses me from his porch and I stroll over and take a seat with my decaf.  Soon his wife Margo joins me and I find myself involved in another ten minute chat.  At 9:10, I excuse myself and head home to White Street.

 I enter the back door cautiously not wanting to appear to anxious or to disturb my older son in the kitchen preparing my breakfast in bed.  No sign of him cooking, just Sponge Bob on the tele.  I walk into the living room casually and address  him using my most relaxed tone

“Good morning Joey.”

“Hey mom,”  Long pause.

“Well, I’ll be upstairs,”

“Huh?”

I’ll be upstairs” I say with an underlying tone meaning- “I’m now available for whatever you have planned.”

“Okay.” No eye contact.  Boy he’s good.

On my way back through the kitchen to the stairs I spot a half of grapefruit on the counter.  Aha. I have caught him.  I know that I didn’t leave it there and there is no way that he cut a grapefruit for himself.  I head upstairs at 9:20 with a knowing smirk on my face.

By 9:55, I am desperately bored; I’ve picked up my clothes, I’ve filed away some papers, I lifted my five pound weights, I snuck downstairs twice – once for a gluten free muffin and once for a sharpie to aid my filing tasks.  I’m tempted to call my husband but don’t want to appear like I care whether there are plans or not.  I sneak down one set of stairs one more time and peak into the kitchen to see if there is any action.  I feel like a kid on Christmas Eve trying to catch Santa.  I commit to waiting until  10 am when there is a break in the Sponge Bob action. 

I decide to water the plants and as I am watering a plant near the front stairs, I hear my son go out for the paper.   What!!  Now he is reading the comics.  My lack of need for a plan has turned into me questioning my motherhood.  I quickly review the last few days that Joey and I have spent alone together while Johnny and younger son whoop it up in NYC. 

Let’s see – Friday night we had dinner at an Italian restaurant and we played Spit and Go Fish at the table.  He seemed to be enjoying a high level of contentment.  Upon arriving home, I let him pick the movies and we watched “Taken” with Liam Neeson  in bed.  Good – Good.

The next day I chaperoned a trip to a competition and Six Flags from 7am until 10:15 pm.  As a chaperone, I asked only for one ride – the bumper cars- and let the four boys I was in charge of choose the rest of the day. I was not a pushover, as I instituted a few checks and balances to make sure each boy’s choices were acknowledged.  There was that time I jumped over the stanchion by the picture taking booth with Scooby Doo and some other animal  and the employee said “Ma’am – could you please not jump over the ropes”  Okay that was mildly embarrassing.  Let’s see – we all had ice cream, I purchased some fries for us to share while they waited in line for the ride Pandemonium.  Thoughtful!!  I let them all get air brush tattoos (nothing unseemly) and I got one too on my lower back and bent over to show everyone – Hmmm- May be that was the defining moment and the reason there was no breakfast  before me.

The phone rings and brings me out of my review session.  My husband and younger son in unison shout –“Happy Mother’s Day.”  We talk for a moment before I urgently whisper to my husband.

“What’s the plan?  It’s 10:10 and breakfast is nowhere in sight.  I’m fine without it but we need to leave about 11:30 and I need to know what is going on.”  My nonchalant tone is now gone.

My husband says that there is a plan and he will call my older son on his cell.  At 10:20, I have exhausted myself and decide to take a nap and see what happens.  I dose briefly and wake up at 11:40 noting that my situation has not improved.  I call my husband who says that my son is not answering his phone.  We decide that I should just move on and start the day.  Still on the phone, I head down the stairs to the unchanged kitchen and as my gaze shifts left, I see a plate in the dining table containing a half a grapefruit, a handful of gluten free cereal and  glass of water.  Surrounding the food are three family photos.  Wow – not the repast I had imagined but I was thought of, I was considered, I am someone’s mother.

I say a quick goodbye to Johnny, and go into the living room and say casually but directly.

“So Joey, is that food for me in the dining room.”

“Yeah mom, I’ve been waiting for you to notice.”  Deep breath on my part.

“I was waiting upstairs, so let’s eat.”

Joey follows me into the dining room and waits as I scarf down my breakfast.  He hands me a bag with three great gifts; two books on King Arthur and Sir Lancelot ( I love all that is Avalon and Arthur) and the DVD of “Romancing the Stone.”  I am pleased, my blood sugar is stabilizing and Joey seems happy but incredulous that I had not appeared sooner.

My bedroom level confinement ended, Joey and I prepare for the rest of Mother’s day.  I manage to get twelve minutes of gardening out of him and he succeeds  in hiding my gifts from me as we travel south in the car to meet my husband, younger son and in-laws for Mother’s Day.  A cool customer, he gets the job done and I had a great Mother’s Day.

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez 

KIDS AT CHIANTIS - A NATURAL FIT

Upon finding ourselves on our own one Friday evening last May, my seven year old son Lucas and I decided to go out for dinner.  I posed two different restaurants to him and after a brief consideration Lucas announced Chianti as his choice.  As he is an occasional fan of the cooking channel and a fine cook with a discerning palate, I did not question his decision. ;; It was a fine spring evening and we headed off on foot from our White Street home;  an easy 15 minute walk with a few minutes budgeted in for a young man’s wanderings.

                When we arrived at Chianti we were treated as always with smiles of warmth and recognition.  I said it would be dinner for two and presented my young companion.  Debora Zecchini, the general manager/ hostess, warned that it would be forty-five minutes to an hour for a table, but upon seeing my young dinner guest, suggested that we could be seated immediately at the Chef’s Counter in front of us.  Lucas and I nodded in agreement and Debora showed us to our seats.  The counter has three seats adjacent to the kitchen that affords its diners a perfect view of the busy kitchen.

                Presently, our server Michele appeared with smiles and words of welcome.  As we have been there on a number of occasions, being remembered by the staff is always fun for my kids.  Lucas made his drink selection of cranberry and orange juice combined and I ordered water and a glass of 2008 Salviano Turlo.  It is a Super Tuscan and is all at once complex and deeply satisfying after a mom’s long week.   After looking over the menu, my son was inspired by the cooks before us and announced that he was going to start cooking.  Upon his bread plate he combined olive oil with balsamic vinegar and added a dash of salt.  After which he dipped his bread, with great satisfaction into his creation and relished his good life: dipped bread, alone time with mom and pasta on the horizon. 

                Being seated near the kitchen prompted another inspiration for my son, and he spotted the dish that he would order.  Upon Michele’s return with our drinks, Lucas was ready and ordered pasta with prosciutto in a pink sauce, Mezzanine all Vodka.  Michele treated him with respect and took his order seriously.  He felt validated as a real diner.  I ordered a Insalate Semplice and Pollo Al Limone Candito.

                Normally while waiting for our food in a restaurant, we engage in a napkin folding contest, but tonight with the kitchen before us we had plenty of activities to fill our time.  From our handy position, we identified the salad station, the pasta area and determined who the head chef was.  In the deeper recesses of the kitchen we witnessed the burst of flames as a steak entered the grill.  Waiters and waitresses  dodged incoming customers and hurried to pick up food from the counter.  We were at the epicenter of Chiantis and loving it.

                My salad arrives and Lucas and I share the delicious plate of  greens. The Insalate Semplice is an organic field of greens with grape tomatoes, grana padano and Chianti’s special dressing.   Normally a ranch dressing fan, Lucas clearly enjoys the balsamic and olive oil based dressing.  While eating our salads, we were treated to the birthday song, sung loudly and with gusto at a nearby table by the wait staff and most notably the owner  David Zecchini.   The song is being  sung in Italian and we join in singing.  My son has taken to singing it at home loudly,  passionately and with operatic styling. 

                After the song, David spots us and comes over to say hello.  He converses with both of us asking Lucas how school is going and how our dance company is doing.   Our food arrives and David excuses himself to visit with other customers.  He appears to speak to everyone  whether they are first timers or regulars like us.

                Lucas digs into his plate of pink sauced creamy pasta with a touch of fresh tarragon, I into my Pollo Al Limone Candito.  My delicious  dish is a chicken breast pan roasted with lemon juice, shallots and candied lemon zest.   It’s light savory flavor compliments the spring weather and Lucas sneaks a bite.   For a full ten minutes my son is completely committed to the plate in front of him and does not speak or move.  Most meals at home are spent reminding him to stay seated and continue to eat.   But here and now, he maintains his seated position and is a well mannered and appreciative customer.  We enjoy our meal together.

                After awhile, Lucas slows his pace and Michele comes over to check on us.  We assure her that everything is great but we might need to take some home.  He says he can eat a little more and she comes back for our plates in a few minutes.  And now, the requisite trip to the rest room.  As we pass tables on our way people regard us with a mix of surprise and smiles.  Children are not common here but certainly welcome.

                When we return, Michele greets us with a complimentary dish of ice cream.  In the past, waiters have brought desserts  to the kids saying that it was a reward for their good behavior.  We took it at face value, but also felt that it meant “Come back again with the kids.”  Lucas who moments before, had told us he was full, looks at me with a shrug and well - goes at his ice cream with the same attention he gave his pasta.  As he is truly enjoying his dessert, I manage to only negotiate a taste or two from his bowl.  I sit back, finish my wine and wonder at my terrific evening with my young date.

                Finally, he looks at me and announces he can eat no more as he has consumed beverage, bread, salad, pasta and dessert.  I think we’re done here and we ask Michele for the check.  Lucas helps me look over and pay the check  and we head out with a final farewell from Michele and Debora.  Back out on Division St., we start our stroll home sated, happy and relaxed.

                Epilogue:  The secret to  our successful evening at a nice restaurant  with children is a combination of the restaurant and  family practices.  Our children are not the shy retiring sort and give us a run for our money at home but manage to put on their public face when we are out.  In addition they  have gone out to restaurants since they were very young and know what’s expected. Couple that with a fun welcoming atmosphere at Chiantis and the kids are happy to rise to the occasion.  They feel  a warm welcome at Chiantis and are treated with respect as valued customers and not just as appendages of us.  The message comes across  as “This is a nice restaurant and we know you will behave , but go ahead  be yourself, make a little noise, enjoy.”    Although it is certainly fun to dine out only with  adults, we are also grateful that we can enjoy an elegant evening out with the kids.

                Don’t know where to start in transitioning your children out of a “Friendly’s” evening?  Try Chiantis – believe me your children will know the difference and the boisterous atmosphere will  make them feel at home.  No kids menu but plenty of delicious kid friendly food that will prepare them to not always expect a kids menu but that everything on the menu is for them.

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

               

               

ON SNORKELING - ON BONDING - ON BEAUTY



Spotted eagle ray viewed by author and family

       Parrot fish, tile fish, spotted eagle rays, southern sting rays, fan coral and brain coral are just a few of the wondrous splendors that we witnessed this past week when snorkeling off the coast of Culebra.  Culebra is a small remote island off the coast of Puerto Rico with pristine beaches and a protected coral reef. What makes the snorkeling here even more precious is that no hiring of a boat was necessary; we simply walked to the beach by our rustic villa, donned our masks and flippers and entered the water.  With the warm water only at our knees, we were able to crouch down, enter the water and immediately we were privy to an exquisite underwater scene.

       I have snorkeled before, but had never seen such a fully developed reef system that was home to so many different types of marine animal and plant life.  We snorkeled three times; the first was right off the beach where we lounged around having lunch and playing card games.  The water was very shallow in this area and hosted an array of small colorful fish, brilliant yellows, transparent fish and my favorite the cobalt blue and canary yellow angel fish.  Not sure which type of angel but the fin structure fit the picture in our snorkeling guide.

       Our next adventure involved a five minute walk along the rocky beach to reach a section that was deeper into the reef.  Well worth the effort.  Love the idea of putting my belongings on a shore with no other sole in sight and entering this underwater universe.  This adventure was beyond my hopes as we swam through, around and over the complex reef system teeming with animal and plant life. 

       With the help of our fins and the buoying effect of the salt, we hardly had to swim but instead can move along at a relaxing pace, that is non-threatening to the sea life and allows us to observe the wonders before us.  Johnny and I swim side by side, shoulder to shoulder, frequently pointing out a plant or fish we find remarkable. In fact, everything seems remarkable.  It is private, it is only us and it is bonding.

       Bonding because of the wonders we are seeing alone together but I suspect the potential danger plays a role as well.  Despite being overwhelmed visually, we are always aware of our surroundings.  We check Johnny’s watch before entering the water to monitor our progress in relation to the current.  Although we are not near any boats, we do pop our heads up when we hear a motor running to check its proximity.  Everything kept its distance but we stay aware.  We have checked with local people ahead of time to see if there are any marine life that could be dangerous to us and told there are no dangerous fish but beware of stepping on one of the abundant sea urchins.  Other snorkelers have told us of rays they have seen and we hope to see one despite our nervousness at encountering on.  Soon,  Johnny points out a ray floating above us to the right and later another one resting on the sea bottom.  Either a ballyhoo or hound fish swims near us and gives us a start as it strongly resembles a barracuda, but we have heard rumors of the barracuda look- alikes that swim there and we relax. 

       It is later in the day than we expected to go, the current is kicking up and we have to exit the water over rocks, so we head back in after a half hour.  We are not disappointed by the shortness of our trip as it is so jam-packed with more marine life than we could have hoped for.  Upon exiting, we vow to bring the children and grandmothers back tomorrow.

       Despite our passionate descriptions of what we have just experienced, we are only able to persuade one out of two children and one out of two grandmothers to join us on another snorkeling expedition the next day .  Around 3:30pm on Friday, we leave our villa to head down to the beach and then walk along the shore to our spot.  After securing everyone’s equipment, we awkwardly enter the water over the rocks with our fins on, but happily we are soon graceful, again as we immerse ourselves in the warm water.  Again, I am in awe of how quickly life changes.  We are not viewing an empty sandy ocean bottom but one that is filled with purple fan coral and schools of brilliant fish as soon as we submerge our heads.  Close to shore we catch sight of a twenty inch pastel parrot fish with yellow lips.



Parrot fish spotted near shore



       The day before, Johnny and I had more or less headed into new territory soon after entering the water, but we see that our eight year old and Johnny’s mom are quite satisfied to explore the immediate area.  We follow suit and enjoy my son’s frequent pointing and excitement.  Already we have experienced the same water in a new way – through their eyes.  Johnny’s mom is not as relaxed or enamored as our son and decides to exit the water but says it was great.  We ask our son, if he would like to go out further and he agrees.  The three of us move side by side, connected like mer people. More joy surges through my body. 

       Like yesterday, we are cognizant of our surroundings and have to frequently go above to adjust masks, blow out water and check for motor boats.  It is a little overcast, less clear and it looks like a ray may not appear until I suddenly see one fifteen feet below us partially buried in the sand.  We give it some space and decide to head back.  As I am debating which two reefs to go between to exit the water, Johnny suddenly taps me on the shoulder and points to a glorious spotted eagle ray to our right.  It is a periwinkle blue with white spots features a six foot wing span and has a five foot tail.  We give it a wide berth and observe its underwater flight.  It makes me a little nervous and I start heading for the exit.  This sighting made my week.  Not that coffee on the ocean view deck, or naps with a Caribbean breeze, or fresh fish for dinner, or pristine white beaches have been a cross to bear but this,   this …… creature was a privilege to behold.  I am humbled.

Diane Lachtrupp Martinez

PS - Although all pictures I have seen of spotted eagle rays show them as dark brown, the one we saw had a bluish/purplish cast.

Spotted Eagle Ray and Parrot Fish photos from this web site

www.flmnh.ufl.edu/fish/gallery/descript/seray/seray.html