They Eyed Me, Suspiciously

My older one has often said that this would never be a “home” to her.   Memories, sure.   Pleasant enough to visit, but: “what is the New Paltz area to me?”  Unlike her younger sister, she’s unlikely to ever do more than visit.  Water wears down stone, as I pointed out on the rail trail into town, where the rushing current has carved itself a smooth channel through the slate.  “Let’s head up to Rosendale for a lunch.  They have a vegetarian restaurant there that you’ll probably dig.”  My wife, the younger one, my stepson and his wife had all headed down into the city and we’d been left alone.

The Rosendale Café is there at the end of Main St, before the road begins to climb.  I hadn’t thought of it, but they have a big lot for parking which is a big help.  Pulling in I shared a yarn with my older-one about the last time I’d been here.  Her mother and I had gone into a neighboring gallery after dining on salads and humous at the “Rosendale Café, last August.  Inside, my wife, considering how she might profile the work of aspiring artists she works with in China asked the innocent question: “Do you need an art degree to post your work in here?”  The man and the woman who were there, holding down the fort, were aghast: “I don’t have a degree.  If you think you are an artist, then you are an artist!”  And then they eyed me, suspiciously. 

We had a fine lunch and an even better chat.  I remember so clearly when it suddenly became lovely to converse with my mother, parental pressure, parental artifice removed, the need to dodge and escape receded.  We could begin to be friends. And so I learned about her first semester and all that she cared to share with me, listening and trying to absorb. 

She didn’t need to see the art gallery next door nor the place that pickles kimchi.   We drove up and over the ridge that the Rosendale Trestle spans and off into the woods.  Route 213 out of Rosendale wasn’t something I’d ever driven before and winding along the Rondout Creek, along the mountains it wasn’t hard to invoke a bit of the discovery we’d normally savor in Abydos or Tbilisi.  High Falls seemed a cool little town.  So did Stone Ridge with all the lovely old wooden buildings.  I didn’t know where we were going but by the time I reached Accord it seemed like it was time to head back up over the mountain that otherwise looked down on us in New Paltz. 

Sometimes in dreams I imagine myself going beyond a known boundary and discovering something remarkable and new.  For example: l lived on Pitt St. for many years in my twenties.  It is Avenue C, below Houston.  I often have dreams where I discover a way into Avenue F and Avenue E and a marvelous and necessarily cool extension of Alphabet City that was there all the time.  Today was a bit like that.

Saturday 12/28/19                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

Impressions Were Being Formed

Maplewood, New Jersey.  I’ve never been.  Heading there today.  My little brother has a place down there with his wife and their three-year-old son, and we’re driving there today to celebrate Christmas with them.   I hadn’t realized it was nearly all the way to Newark Airport.  It took a full ninety minutes for us to drive down. 

It’s wonderful to have three-year-old you need to buy Christmas gifts for.  Indeed, his parents always insist: “nothing for us!”  (I made donation to WFMU, my favorite radio station, which happens to be there in New Jersey on their behalf.)  But for hm, I could port myself to my own backyard at that age and the world’s I used to build with trucks and road graders. 

I bought Tonka Trucks for my daughters too, when they were three.  They quickly turned them into baby carriages for their dolls, Rico and LeeRon who could be led around and now, deposited.  My sister brought the trucks I’d bought her son a decade ago, as well, so soon my younger nephew suddenly a convey of large, convincing vehicles, where before he’d had none. 

He wanted to show me his room.  He had a great room.  He wanted to show me his parent’s room as well, where he sometimes slept and the upstairs bathroom too.  And during dinner, which was delicious and so thoughtfully presented, he would come up to me to want to show me something and though I wanted on the one hand to sit and relax and enjoy my meal I always got up to join him after only a moments reflection as though I could feel how impressions were being formed and I wanted to afford him unconditional attention. 

I also gave him a close-and-play record player this year and the vinyl for “The Beatles 67’ to 70’,” a brand-new copy of the original compilation that was always lying around in our house when I was that age.  There was no way he’d listen today, but perhaps his parents will help him to do so later.  I wrote to him and told him with all earnestness that they were my best friends and that I hoped they would also be friends of his, as well.  

Friday, 12/27/19                                        

I Yell Out Dunr

My stepdad wasn’t impressed.  We tried to employ his help on our jigsaw puzzle last night during Christmas dinner.  I’d bought a fifteen-hundred-piece rendering of Van Gogh’s ‘Peach Blossoms,” along with all the presents, so we could have something to work on together.  My wife reminded me too late,  to ask my folks to bring over a deck of cards.  Playing the simple Chinese game of dunr the night before had been high tone.   I yell out "dunr" a lot when I win.

We’d gotten the outer rim done and now we were confronting the arduous task of all those pink and white blossoms and as he sat down to lend his hand he noticed that my older one was assembling things upside down according to the match the coordinating letters, which were printed on the underside of all the pieces.  To him this seemed a bit like cheating.  To us though it proved an important steel-rail to steady my daughters into doing enough of the map so they became obsessed and wouldn’t stop. 

Today we crowded around, determined to finish things.  Even with the letters, it takes forever to find what you’re looking for.   But it certainly helps.  I had a mound of H’s and Y’s and X’s near me, trying to find the other pieces that shared two letters, like Y and Z.  Then you need to look for particularly odd shapes and find run one piece after another trying to find the female for the twisted, spade male of the H-piece you have in your hand.

Late in the evening it became clear that we’d finish soon.  And when we did we discovered that we were missing three pieces of blue sky.  How much time had we wasted trying every piece twice, trying to fit that shape?  And when it was done, the three pieces of sky notwithstanding, we were glad to have finished and consider our work.  It held together nicely.  It had its own fragile beauty, the missing bits notwithstanding, and we’d let it sit here now, so we cold admire it a while, but soon we’d put it away.  It was simply a convincing way to work on something together for a while. 

Thursday 12/26/19