One of my jags — and not a very high-brow one — was more than 20 years ago on a drive home from work. At the time, San Geraldo and I both worked at Yale University in New Haven, Connecticut. We lived in "the country," 15 miles east, in the town of Guilford (established 1639).
|HOME, AT THE TIME|
(ALL PHOTOS COURTESY OF GOOGLE MAPS.)
On this particular afternoon, we had decided to drive home via the country highway instead of the Connecticut Turnpike. We were driving through North Branford. Along the way was a sign for "Doody's Farm Fresh Eggs." Set back a bit from the road was the old farmhouse. (To see my first mention of Doody's — click here.)
|CHURCH-LIKE STAINED GLASS WINDOWS.|
FITTING FOR THE OFFICE OF SAN GERALDO.
As we passed Doody's Farm, I saw a woman removing mail from the roadside mail box. The woman wore what looked like a practical and plain farm dress, which was covered by a large old-fashioned flowered apron.
I turned to San Geraldo, who was driving, and said, "That's Trudy Doody."
"How do you know her name?" he asked. But the light bulb went on over his head. And he groaned, "Oh no."
"She's married to Rudy Doody and they have a son and daughter, Ludy and Judy."
"OK, Mitchell. I get it."
"Ludy married Tooty Gilhoody. The family doesn't like her much. She can be a bit snooty."
"Judy is now married to Yehudi Menudi."
"She was first married to a Mr. Moody. She dumped him for being a bit too broody."
"Mitchell, if you don't stop right now, I'm going to pull over and you can walk home!"
|STILL 15 MILES (24KM) TO HOME...|
"Just one more,"I insisted. "Judy and Yehudi just had a new little Doody..."
I rushed on, "I don't know the baby's name, but I've heard she's a real cutie patootie."
I sat back and smiled.
I haven't even told San Geraldo about my recent discovery of a Doody who has a restaurant near the original farm. She's apparently quite the foodie. (Sadly, her name is Emma.)