We had not been to Bob and Terry's new home in Westerly, Rhode Island, and found a charming house perched on a hill overlooking Weekapaug Beach in that town.

But, until you saw the house from the back, you could not get a grasp of just how large it is (Leo got lost this morning and I had to rescue him). Cool by Miami standards, it was sunny and the air delightfully crisp. So were the cocktails--which in typical New England fashion--started flowing at 1 PM and there was a deck for every new cocktail hour. We also noted that I had woefully under-packed for the number of "costume changes" needed; we may need to go into town to shop.

We took the Jeep and tooled around all of Westerly today for the enlightenment of Mr. Astor. No stranger to Victorian architecture (being from San Francisco), my baby was impressed by the magnitude of everything: the size of the homes, the acreage they sat on, and the abundance of woodlands. We drove by all the places I used to get drunk at; nothing has changed and, indeed, he now knows why I call it The Land That Time Forgot.