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Thursday, September 21, 2006 It's Thursday, the weekend looms. The last few days have whipped by, I find myself still thinking about last weekend, spent in the Hudson Valley visiting friends, family. The short recap: spent Friday night in Nyack at the home of my best buddy and his clan. Hadn't seen them in three years, a long time considering their daughters are five and eight-years-old. Passed the night in a small, comfy room on the third floor of their funky old home. Woke at dawn, the room's walls streaked with red from an intense sunrise, early a.m. light streaming through curtainless windows. Drove up to Poughkeepsie later in the day for my nephew's wedding. Encountered folks there I hadn't seen in 30 years, some -- individuals who, like me, had been excessively young during my time in that part of the world -- looking very different (though I could still see their youthful version actively alive in the present version), others looking grayer, nothing more. All of them a pleasure to see, including my brother's family, essentially the only remaining family I have in this life. (Not exactly true, that -- relatives of both my parents are out there, but we have little connection, are not in touch.) Began the return drive home shortly after 9:30 p.m., mostly following two-lanes north along New York's eastern edge, into Vermont, through Bennington and Rutland, passing through small towns, villages, the roads generally empty, most houses dark. Pulled into the garage here at 2:30 a.m., went directly to bed, leaving all my stuff in the car. Woke up four or five hours later with part of an old Randy Newman song going through my head: Last night I had a dream, you were in it and I was in it with you. And everyone that you know and everyone that I know was in my dream. I saw a vampire. I saw a ghost. And everybody scared me but you scared me the most. In the dream I had last night, in the dream I had last night, in my dream. Hmmmm. The long recap: Early Friday morning, as the September sun began creeping slowly into view, I dragged my sleepy carcass out from under the covers, pulled on clothes, packed the car, headed into town. A brief stop for caffeine, a longer stop at the gym, then I pointed the car toward the interstate and began the long drive south. Overcast skies thinned as I put distance between me and Montpelier, by the time I skirted White River Junction, sunlight had broken through, feeling very nice. I hadn't done a long drive since June and don't find the idea of getting into the car for hours at a time hugely appealing, having done far too many long hauls in earlier years. This day, though, the miles passed easily. Before I knew it, I was by Brattleboro and into Massachusetts, traffic growing steadily heavier as the road extended south, a trend that intensified in Springfield, maxing out in Hartford. There is nothing like navigating highways crowded with aggressive, whacked-out drivers to make the point of how relatively civilized Vermont roads are. (Passed in Mass.: The French King Bridge The Bridge of Flowers) During all this, for some reason, my bladder slipped into high production mode, necessitating hourly stops to dump the ballast. Why? Got me. The source of all that liquid was a mystery. I only knew I had to deal with it, hoping things would calm down sometime soon. (They did.) New York State, me changing from 84 to 684, then to the Saw Mill Parkway, a green roller coaster of a road, the drivers generally kinder, gentler. And then onto the Thruway and across the Tappan Zee Bridge, the only stop-and-go traffic of the trip, a huge percentage of the vehicles around me enormous, hulking SUV's. (What gives with all the rolling fortresses? Not to mention all the accidents-waiting-to-happen busy blabbing into cellphones as they drive.) And then Nyack. The sunshine had disappeared back between Springfield and Hartford, the skies growing progressively darker, rain beginning along the Sawmill. By the time I pulled up in front of my friends' home, drizzle had become heavy showers. The house lay dark, empty -- no one answered my plaintive knock, I retreated to the car. Ten, fifteen minutes later a vehicle pulled into the driveway, my buddy's wife, M., got out, ran into the house, followed a minute later by the older of their two daughters. The younger daughter emerged from their car as I got out of mine, we ran up onto the porch together. The last time she'd seen me: 3+ years ago, when she was a two-year-old. She had no memory of me, retreated to the safety of her mother's arms (understandable given that it must felt like a stranger had just invaded her home). M. began making dinner, the girls swept in and out of the kitchen, conversation going in all directions. The house had seen plenty of changes since the last time I'd been there, close to three and a half years earlier. At times I wandered out of the kitchen to inspect the first floor's living areas, absorbing the differences. For instance, a piano had appeared in one room. A wall that had once featured a print by Calder had become a small photo gallery -- friends, family, places G. & M. have been. The TV had disappeared, in its place was G.&M.'s small chanting altar. (They're Buddhists.) The kitchen had been redone since my last visit, I ogled new, impressively high-tech appliances. I never use ice cubes, found myself using the front-display icemaker over and over. Cubes. Crushed ice. Filtered water. Damn. G. got home from work to general jubilation. Still looked like the guy I've known for far too many years. Dinner followed -- pork, corn on the cob (brought from Vermont), and some pretty tasty rice & beans. The first rice & beans I'd had in a while, good enough to get me remembering similar mounds of rice/beans eaten in other places, in particular the stupendous, dirt cheap fare served at a little latino joint on Canal Street in Manhattan, a place I went to as often as I could the last time I lived in N.Y.C. (far too many years ago now -- long enough ago that I was married, so far the one and only time I've found myself in a matrimonial state in this life o' mine). [continued in next entry] España, te echo de menos. rws 6:29 PM [+]
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