Tavern On The Green

While reading the business section of the Boston Globe this morning, I saw a large picture of Tavern On The Green, an American Institution requiring no caption for recognition, as far as I'm concerned.

I was stunned when I read that tomorrow night, New Year's Eve, will be the restaurants last night serving, as on New Year's Day they will close. Forever.

When I was a kid, just a little girl with stars in my eyes, my Grandmother, Mother and Aunts took my girl cousins and me to one or the other of two places when we were visiting Grammy in Manhattan. They were the Palm Court at the Plaza Hotel, and Tavern On The Green. They did this because both places served High Tea, an important ritual of my grandmother's. A ritual that each generation of females in her family was expected to know how to comport ourselves during. Or to at least endure in a ladylike fashion. For as long Grammy lived.

We'd go to the greenhouse-like Tavern on the snowiest days in winter, and on the most beautiful of summer days. I vividly recall the first time that they brought us there. Aside from the fact that I was supremely uncomfortable in my Capezio's, and long curly hair that was supposed to be 'flowing' down my back, but was more likely stuck inside the collar of my dress, as I was used to Keds and ponytails; what I remember most are the glistening fairie lights, something that I'd never seen when it wasn't Christmas before, and it made me tingle all over. It made me want to laugh.

I remember walking into the main dining room for the first time, and stopping dead at the top of the steps. My mouth must have been open as Mama was signaling me, and then finally calling my name because I wasn't moving.

What I have since realized is that the gaudiest, almost circus like decor, was to me absolutely stunning. I'd never seen anything like it, and if this was what enduring High Tea with my snipey cousins meant, I was all for it!


As it had long been for my mother's family, The Tavern On The Green went on to be the place for me. Where all important celebrations were held, all that I had anything to say about anyway.


Other than the Waldorf, where the '400' (as New Yorkers referred to High Society in the early part of the 20th Century), continued to hold their annual Christmas Cotillian, aka Debutante Ball; and the P laza, where one of my daughters rebelled and chose to have her Christmas time wedding reception,  because the decorations were going to look nicer, and they did. However 'The Tavern' as it came to be known in my family and, I expect, many others, has always been my first choice.

Beginning with my own parent's wedding on December 26, 1953,The Tavern was the site of several family wedding receptions held in their Terrace Room, even some wedding ceremonies; including one of my daughters, and well, the first of my own (3) weddings. In fact, if you were a member of my generation, especially a girl, and you chose another place to hold your wedding reception, you had to be quite well prepared for the grilling that came from your parents and their's, regarding the merits of The Tavern, and it's history in our family.

It was the place where we celebrated all important birthdays, Grammy's 85th birthday party, and my 40th birthday surprise party were held there. Had I known about this impending debacle, I can say with absolute certainty that I'd have changed my mind about not making such a big deal of my birthday (yesterday) this year, and, as long as the party was there, I'd have set my vanity aside, and let them do it to me again as I turned 55.

The Tavern holds a great many LC Tiffany pieces, shades that hang from the ceiling; and in the bar, an enormous glass mural made by LC Tiffany himself for The Tavern itself. Now, all of the Tiffany peices, and many other beautiful and historical objects including Waterford and Baccarat chandeliers, are being auctioned off by Guernsey's Auction House, January 13-15th.

In 1973, Warner LeRoy took over the lease for The Tavern. Warner was the son of a producer of The Wizard of Oz. Until his death in 2001, Warner searched the globe for whimsical treasures with which to decorate The Tavern. There was also a bit of Oz in the Tavern if you looked. It made perfect sense that the marble and cement carvings of the lonely Lion and many of Oz' other characters were scattered about willy nilly. Warner had imagination; Warner also had a few of Oz' original props, it has been said that for a time he even had the Ruby slippers.

In spite of The Tavern's decor, whether people liked it or not, whether they felt it was a tourist trap or not, The Tavern was once the highest grossing restaurant in this country, plating more than 700,000 meals a year.

THE CEILING AT THE PALM COURT

The Plaza is partially a condominuim complex now, you can still have a wedding reception there if you like red, as the Grand Ballroom has been renovated with the use of many large red drapes. More importantly, the Palm Court continues to regale us with it's sumptous atmosphere and string quartet, it may be the one remaining place in the city where a 'decent' High Tea can be had.

Manhattan is changing. I wonder what my grandmother would think. She'd no doubt be scandalized by the very idea that while her building remains a landmark, FAO Schwartz and Rumplemeyer's are gone. Meaning that her poor great grandchildren won't have the experience of her legendary pre-Christmas torture outings to Best and Company (kid's department store, now long gone); where we had to sit in bumper seats to get our hair cut while Grammy supervised. Then the boys went one way for suits, and we went to the dress department and were fluffed and primped and turned in the velvet and taffeta creations that were to be our Christmas clothes, and we never ever walked out of that store without a new pair of Capezio's. The day of torture always ended at Rumplemeyer's Ice Cream Parlor (above), decorated with pink ticking wallpaper, teddy bears, whimsical lights, genuine ice cream parlor seating, and giant lollypops; and meant to sooth our terrified little minds with Whatever ice cream concoction a kid could dream up! 


As time marches on, and fate would have it, the 25 million dollar renovation on The Tavern is expected to commence in late January, so that it's new owner, Dean Poll of Loeb Boathouse fame, who may or may not use the original name (with it's estimated value of 19 million dollars); can start capitalizing on his new 20 year lease.

Perhaps The Tavern was a circus, one of a very special kind, as seen through the unjaded eyes of a little girl with Capezio's and long curly hair. Now the mother of five adults, and who, at the age of 51,  freaked out when FAO Schwartz closed it's 5th Ave store.



Each of these places of my childhood, hold dear, fanciful and certainly magnified memories; and, as I watch each establishment change hands, perhaps close, I feel a tug at my heart. They were special times, and I was a very lucky little girl. I suppose the price of the luxury of having known these places so well, is the sadness that I feel when they go away.

The Tavern is special. The icing on the cake for me, and will always be remembered by me as the Glass Fairie Land with gigantic Animals, and Walls of many colors, walls that my Uncle Joe told me were made of diamonds, emeralds and rubies (above).

So, today I'll call my cousin Susie and lament and laugh and share memories that are only so dear to us. I owe a great deal to these places, for they gave me the happiest days of my childhood, and I loved them dearly.

The BEST Christmas Present EVER!

You have all heard me carry on about my bah humbug husband. King of all scrooges, who beginning on the day after we put it up forgets to water the tree, thereby letting me know in his well practiced passive aggressive manner that he's had just about enough already.
Funny thing though, he never, and I mean, never ever fights with anyone when putting the lights on the tree; something that I've recently overheard my friends at the gym discussing.
Admittedly, when Christmas morning comes, he is right there; and he always gets me good presents. Only once a kitchen appliance, and that was at my request when we didn't have a lot of money and I desperately needed it for my fledgling scone business. So he asked his mother to go in on a really fine, top of the line professional mixer for me, and, once again managed to blow my mind!
Since his Dad passed away the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, Bob seems to have softened a bit, and perhaps it's the shocking sense of our own mortality that losing a parent really slams into us that is doing this to him.
He has actually begun to discuss hanging the art (much of which was painted for us by his father, who was a physician and a fabulous artist!) that we've yet to put up in our new house (that we've lived in since April and have truly been too busy to do much to) and bringing the bookcases up to the library loft and filling them with our greatly treasured first editions and his Civil War collection.
I fell in love with Bob's good, kind and remarkably generous heart, so it's nice for all of us (including Bob) to have a break from his evil twin, and who, by a mere suggestion of Bob's vindictive, unforgiving sister that was aimed at me; and instead, began to slowly and deliberately torture him has been lurking in the shadows of our marriage for the last 18 months, and whom I know is taking it's toll on my husband. 
I also find it comforting because after we finish moving in, in accordance with our pattern, we'll have the great cleanup, and after we finish doing that we go and buy the tree!
When our kids were young for a few Christmases we went to a tree farm, which are abundant here in Maine; we had incredible hot chocolate, tramped through the snowy woods and cut our tree down, so maybe because Caleb and Bob's good twin are both here now.....!! Although I am beginning to wonder where the snow is...
Lately, I've been particularly crippled by my optomistic idealism.
I think that for a series of reasons, not in the least Caleb our four year old grandson in residence, my husband is coming around.
The biggest surprise, a glimmer that this reprieve was upon us, happened a couple of days ago.
My oldest daughter who lives in CT with her husband and new baby, has a kitten that she has been saving for Caleb, which I haven't been able to get down there to pick up and she can't get here, we both have too much work to do currently and can't find the time. On Tuesday (today is Thursday) she called our house and spoke to Bob about the kitten, saying that our devious and evidently precocious little Lily, her 8 month old daughter is not only crawling but beginning to walk from the coffee table to the sofa and back, and is all over the place and into absolutely everything. So much so, that her parents no longer feel that it's such a safe thing to keep a highly energetic and not very well litter trained kitten in residence.
She told Bob that she had other people who were interested in the kitten and if we couldn't come get him now she wanted permission to give him away.
She is a kind, very thoughtful person, and would never just get rid of something that she'd promised to her nephew. Especially an irreplaceable pet. 
In any case, on Tuesday Caleb and I were traveling to Brunswick, ME to see our doctor, whom we have kept even though he is now located 2.5 hours away because he is the only doc who seems to be able to treat me without having to use drugs that contraindicate one another; and for Caleb because of his issues with abandonment and safety, and his apparent trust for his buddy, 'Dr. Dave' (and his nurses who always have a new hardcover story book for him).
So I was happily driving south on Rte 1 chattering away about what Christmas decorations that Caleb could see, and I was tickled and laughing once again at his apparent new awareness of what this holiday means to all kids-TOYS!
As we were enroute, Bob called me and asked me about the cat, saying that he felt that since we are dog people what Caleb should have was a puppy that he could learn to care for and who would be his companion, sleep on his bed, the whole deal. 
We are really and truly dog people, and we haven't had a dog since we left CA three and a half years ago, and gave Reilly, our german shephard/rhodesian ridgeback, to a good friend so that he could remain in the milder climate that he was born into. Three years or so is a long time for us not to have a dog.
I have always had dogs, and so did Bob until he married his first wife who didn't care for them, something that he has told me more than once chould have qualified as his first clue!
Anyway, I agreed and called my daughter and told her. So she is giving the kitten to someone else, and I thought that at some point after Christmas we'd discuss what kind of dog we wanted and where we'd get it. I was excited!
That night as he came to bed, he had one of our laptops in hand (we each have one for writing (work), and we share a 'recreational' computer, for things like Hulu, watching DVDs, downloading music and bringing along on non work related trips, to keep them that way!).
As he got into bed, which is always a ritual for him, he still had this computer in his hands. So, I finally asked him what the heck he was doing. No working in bed is a deal that we have and one that we have always followed to the letter, so I didn't think that he was going to write.
He wasn't. In fact, I think that he took the entire afternoon 'off' in pursuit of a puppy; because he opened 'our' computer and got online to show me an absolutely adorable 8 week old Aussie Shepherd that he'd found somewhere in Virginia.
She is female, multi colored in a "sub" breed known as 'blue' which may be because she has the most incredibly intense navy blue eyes with what appear to be flecks of silver in them!
She is a beautiful long haired dog, who is probably going to reach adulthood at about 30 pounds and maybe 30 inches tall and grow no larger, and, since we are sticklers for non smelly dogs, she'll be clean, so she'll be fluffy and really, really soft! As Australian Shephards evidently have quite good, though some can be excitable, dispositions and all of them love to cuddle, soft is good!
He found her through the association that cares for this specific breed so we both knew that she'd had what shots she needed by 8 weeks and would be neutered and have a chip inserted before we got her, if we get her.
For this particular association,  one must responsibly qualify to own one of 'their' dogs, which is something else that makes us feel that we don't have to get her a physical before we buy her.

The two of us were literally bouncing up and down on our bed, shushing one another constantly because we were excited and Caleb's bedroom is directly across the hallway from us, although I don't think that there was any waking up of this febrile, post flu shot child on that particular night.
As soon as I agreed-which in reality means much more like 'fell in love with' to this puppy, Bob sent an email to the association for the approval application, explaining our deep interest in 'Annie' (ironically Caleb's Mom's name too!), the adorable little charmer of the intense blue eyes. He told them about our history with canines, how many different breeds we'd owned between the two of us (ranging from German Shephards to St. Bernards (who, believe it or not, was my dog, Elizabeth) to three mangy rescued mutts and one mix Rhodesian Ridgeback, we're not fancy, we just love dogs!), and why we have decided to have a dog of this size now, telling them that we have a four year old grandson who is living with us and dearly needs, requires, a dog to grow up with!Just as soon as we get that application we'll turn it around, because I believe that Bob also told them that if possible we'd like to make this happen for Caleb for Christmas!
We haven't received word from the association yet, and if not today, I will begin to harass them as only I can. We have decided that we definately want this dog for Caleb, and again, that we want her for Christmas!
When my husband and I agree on any idea it tends to take on a life of it's own, and, as complete agreement is a rare thing in our house, it's very exciting and a lot of fun! 
After we closed the computer, we both went to sleep and I certainly woke up a bit happier than usual the next morning.
Caleb knew that something was up as Gammy and Bob don't generally even look at one another in the morning, let alone talk to each other!
OH, how I dislike having secrets like this one, those that you just can't tell anyone lest the Irish Jinxrechaun comes for a long visit. Believe me, noone needs him at Christmas!
I don't exactly recall at what point this occured on Wednesday, but all of a sudden it hit me, and hard, that my Scrooge in residence was actually doing something really cool for a little kid for Christmas, and was willing to shell out the green to make it happen!
I realized that he must have immediately begun looking for a puppy after we spoke on the phone on Tuesday, as it is a long process, and Bob is a perfectionist like no other. I also realized that in spite of his love for large dogs, specifically shephards of the german variety, because of two bad experiences with those dogs' misbehavior I told him some time ago that I just couldn't have another large dog.
I love Cocker Spaniels, and I really love Bassett Hounds. One of the first dogs that my kids ever really, really fell in love with was a bassett puppy that my last husband and I brought home to them when they were just starting elementary school. When we got him, we were told that he had Parvo Virus and that it would affect his lifespan, that most people put dogs with Parvo down, but he was so cute and we then knew that he was also desperately in need of a safe home, so we took him, and we had him for a good five years. He was intelligent, stubborn, noble, loyal and he just loved us. The affection was deep and it was mutual, when he died, my children and I were devastated; bcause while Webster may have been smart, stubborn and affectionate, he put up with having his hair cut and his long ears pulled; eyes poked and all of the attendant torture that comes with having an 8 year old boy as your primary companion, and he did it with nobility and generosity. I truly loved him.
As it happens Bob doesn't share my affection (because he's never had a bassett, they say that once you fall in love with one, you never go back unless you have to!) so we have compromised on a dog of medium size, of a gentle and highly intelligent, trainable breed.
I am just bowled over, excited, surprised and I even have moments when I feel fleetingly loved. It is as though the curmudgeon has been tied up and thrown in a closet. I know that Bob gets that way only because of random fear that he appears to have inherited from his father, some of it is irrational and some very real.
We are just beginning to pay off an enormous debt, and because he is the man, the provider, because he has also got 60 years of testosterone in his system, aka Testosterone Poisoning, (I swear it exists!) he worries about keeping it all together; and now the poor guy gets to worry about being paid by enough clients before Christmas so that we can truly have Christmas. Two of his largest clients are slow to pay in good months, he (and I) fears that it will not get better, but worse with the holidays looming. That if they are tight on money, they will keep what they do have for themselves and not pay their bills until January. That is a real fear, however, I have assured him that if he stays on these guys for the next few days he may actually get paid, and that if he just comes out with the truth and lets them know that he has a family with a small child who believes in Santa Claus, and that we won't have any Christmas unless he gets paid, he'll increase those odds exponentially; because essentially they are good guys, one a new father himself, and because although his self esteem issues disallow him this assurance, he is a very good writer, he's been working with both of them for a long time knows what they want, and delivers it on deadline every time. Whether he realizes it or not, they don't want to lose him. Taking away his Christmas, if they are the kind of people that I believe they are, might affect their relationships with Bob so negatively that Bob's work could drastically change, that they may even lose him altogether.
But the poor guy just doesn't see that, he sees fear.
It strikes me as interesting that even though I am so often upset with him for whatever reason, when he does something really kind and generous for a little boy whom I love with all my heart and who has already been badly hurt in his short little life, I am suddenly reminded that the Bob whom I married is still in there, and that in spite of all of life's mean little (or big) tricks that we have lived through together, however strange or scary, the bonds of marriage after you are no longer great looking, when your face is falling and your waist is thickening, are as strong as they ever were. Actually, stronger; and that realization, is a far better gift than getting a puppy for Christmas when you're a little boy,
The guy who has always given me really good presents for Christmas and my birthday has just topped himself.
Because this is the sweetest Christmas present ever!