From My Post Road Window / Nicholas Troilo

A few weeks ago, my friend Vijay and I met for a Saturday morning coffee. We had a project to discuss. We sat at the common table at the new coffee house on Grove Street and just into our conversation, the Dolcetti boys came in. They joined us at the table.

They had two guests and a secret. They wouldn't -- I mean downright refused -- to introduce their guests to me and while we joked and kidded about what they were up to, they played their purpose close to the chest.

Their holding their secret from me, reminded me how easy it is to disconnect. I left the coffee shop that morning thinking that surely everyone in Darien should know what the Dolcetti boys are up to. How could I not know and how could I find out?

Back in the 1980s our family lived in Wilton. Our three children went to private schools -- the boys to Fairfield Prep; my daughter to the Convent of the Sacred Heart in Greenwich. I had an office in White Plains but I traveled a great deal of the time. I was rarely at home.

We belonged to the Redding Country Club. We shopped in New Canaan. We went out in Westport and Greenwich. We banked in New York and we read New York papers. And even though we officially belonged to and financially supported our Wilton Catholic parish, we most often went to Sunday Mass in New Canaan or Norwalk. I don't know why.

I do know that in the 20 or so years that I lived in Wilton the only connection I ever felt was with The Village Market. Their fried chicken defined the taste of the town. Otherwise, Wilton and I never connected. When we moved, I easily said goodbye. Wilton just never felt like home.

I imagine that a good number of men and women have the same sort of disconnect with where they live. A working man or woman with high school age kids in private schools and an office in New York who is called to travel is pretty ordinary in Fairfield County. And for those folks, knowing the traffic patterns for quick getaways in small city airports throughout the United States is probably more relevant then knowing how or when weekday traffic is tied up on the Main Street of their bedroom town. It is just too darn hard to stay connected with the town in which you live when you spend so many hours away.

But in 1990 my life changed and that change brought me to Darien. I worked close to home and I worked with family. When I traveled it was mostly for vacation. My kids had graduated college, lived independently, worked with me and I immersed myself in suburban life. I became connected to where I lived and worked.

I liked all the things about being in Darien every day. I knew the UPS and FedEx drivers by name and I knew what time they passed my Post Road window. I knew the mailman by name and what time to expect the mail.

I knew which local businesses were succeeding and which were having a rough time. I knew what was happening at the Darien Arts Center and the Darien Community Association. I knew what was happening in P&Z and what was happening in the Office of the First Selectman. I knew who was calling the shots in both political parties and I knew who was in the know and who was not.

I knew who was being naughty when their husbands where out of town and I knew which husbands were being naughty with the nanny. I knew who was being nice, too. I knew which "charity ladies" to avoid -- just avoid. But I also I knew which charity checks I had to write and which I could easily pass on until another day.

But now the disconnect is starting to happen to me, again. For the past 18 months my work has taken me into New York much more often than I am called to be in Darien. And while my view is quite significantly enlarged, I miss the integration that having a daily look from my Post Road window brought.

Don't get me wrong. If I could afford to buy a town house with a nice backyard garden on New York's West 11th Street I would do it in a minute. And right now, since I mostly commute at off-peak times, having an hour and a seat to myself with the morning papers and crossword in; a good book and a beer or two home; and a smiling (well sometimes) wife to meet me at the end of the day for dinner, is a treat. I like it.

I never had a daytime life in Wilton so I don't now miss daily life there. But I did have a daytime life in Darien and I'm missing it. I miss not knowing what the darn Dolcetti boys have up their sleeves. Stuff like that.

I guess I'll have to do some digging to find things out. I still have a source or two that keeps me in tune with Darien. And still, on occasion, I'm back in Wilton's Village Market to snag a piece of their defining fried chicken .

I never totally disconnect. Never totally disconnect.