I
I took my first vacation in four years recently. I took an entire week off of work over Thanksgiving and followed the same game plan as my last vacation: flying to New York City to visit my son Jonah, then taking the Metro North to Connecticut to visit my old friends Tom and Sue; then flying back out of Providence.
Here are some key words as back story: IU Co-op daycare, diapers, lice, dues; I 95 service plaza, OTR truck driver, son in school in NY, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving. You really can't get much better than this.
On my last vacation it was my daughter Shoshana and I, visiting her brother Jonah in the city first, then going on to New England to chill. She is now in England, which I am going to visit in January. My original plan was to fly to NY and visit for a day or so with Jonah, then go on to Europe, but Tom and Sue came into town last summer and said, “Remember the old times, remember Thanksgiving? Let's do it again.” I suddenly realized how utterly lame I was, giving Jonah a mere drive-by. He deserved so much more than that. So we did Thanksgiving again, in true fashion.
* * *
I love a window seat on an airplane, me and Georgia O'Keeffe. We took off from Indy, leaned, then climbed. I looked out the window and didn't so much see the shapes that I remember from maps (Talking Heads), it was more like Google Earth. I was looking down on Lake Monroe and that dense mat of green space I'm so proud of.
We rose through the layers, the ground still visible, but indistinct. I lost myself in the Michael Chabon novel I had on my Kindle. I looked out the window again later and realized we were over the mountains somewhere; Appalachia. There was a huge ridge, then little ridges, like waves running backward on the seashore of a different time frame. Then a river, and a city, Charleston, WV. I recognized it from the air by the shape of its freeways. As a truck driver I'd been on those freeways. On my way to Charlotte NC for a plane change I realized that I was following the course of the WV Turnpike, and that little mat of green space I was so proud of before lost all meaning next to the ridges of wooded mountain rising out of the haze, receding into the curve of the earth.
It was definitely the best view of mountains from the air that I've ever seen, and I've flown over the Rockies and the Sierras before. Michael Chabon and the Mysteries of Pittsburgh were forgotten. My neck was craned out the window. The sun followed us, always a hint of a rainbow in the lower right hand corner along with the hum of the engines. It would glint off of bodies of water and metal objects, adding sparkle to the view. At one point we paralleled the course of some mountain river that nevertheless ran fairly straight. The sun's reflection was like a flash flood of quicksilver moving at the speed of an airplane. I don't know if it was traveling upstream, or down.
We descended, metal objects became more numerous and neighborhoods and ball fields replaced the wooded ridges.. We banked again and the post modern skyline of Charlotte came into view. Phase one of the trip was successfully over.
* * *
Shortly into the second flight, from Charlotte to Newark, we crossed a front and the ground was lost behind a floor of cloud. The tops of clouds are cool, but you can only look at them for so long so I went back to my book. When I surfaced again I found that the cloud layer had broken up and that we'd apparently flown east, then up the coast. There was a lot of water below us. I can't be sure but I suspect we were over the Chesapeake Bay and Maryland's Eastern Shore. The ground was a patchwork of irregularly shaped elements. First, irregularly shaped islands, but the fields on those islands and the mainland were of all different forms, following, I suppose, the irregular topography. They were different colors too, some green, trees, some yellow or brown, winter fields and pasture. I swear, it looked just like a Jean Dubuffet painting.
Alternating between my book and the window I looked out again and saw that we were flying over a toy model of Philadelphia. There could be no mistaking those two pointy buildings. We began to descend over thickly settled terrain. Then there were the circles of oil storage and the semi conductor circuitry of warehouses, with the semi trailers the connections, and the warehouses chips. We followed the NJ Turnpike in. I don't know how many times I've driven down “transportation alley,” with the maritime port, the railroad, the turnpike, and the airport all contiguous with one another. I could see the huge cranes of the harbor off to one side with both Newark and New York ahead of us as we landed.
II
It's really easy to get into the city from EWR. There's a shuttle from the airport right to a NJ Transit station, and thence a train to Penn Station. From now on I'm always flying into Newark. I called Jonah from the platform, waiting for the train, He gave me directions to get to his apartment. I said I'd get a $20 metro card and he told me about a 7 day unlimited card for only $10 more. I did that, of course.
At Penn Station I got onto the A train platform, The train had just left so I tried to find a way over to the local platform, for the C and E. I couldn't see how to do it. I thought, "My card is unlimited for 7 days, I'll just go out and come back in on the local side.” I was getting my card out as I descended from the platform and it slipped out of my hand and went twirling over the railing onto the stairs on the other side, littered with spent cards. Keeping my eye on my card, my brand new $30 metrocard, I reached through the railing and retrieved it. I hoped that I had the right one anyway! There was only one other person ascending the stairs at the time. He eyed me and gave a wide berth. I'm just glad a herd of people weren't going by just then or it would have been impossible. I would have had to collect all of the spent cards and try them all.
Having averted that disaster I exited through the turnstile and tried to reenter at the local platform. The card reader said, "Card just used." I should have known, a precaution to prevent me from repeatedly swiping all my friends in, right? I called Jonah who said I could either wait 10 minutes or go to another station, I decided to walk down to the next station, a walk that would be enjoyable simply by the fact that I was in the City; better than just waiting around. I did enjoy walk, but was really tired of the clickety clack of my bag's wheels on the sidewalk by the time I got to the next station!
I met Jonah and his boyfriend Brandon on the corner of Delancy and Essex and we walked back over to his apartment to put my stuff away. He lives in a high rise apartment building this time, not like the walk ups he's lived in, or that modest apartment building in Brooklyn. It's a Stuyvesant style complex originally built to house garment workers. He's on the 20th floor in a cute little, insanely expensive two bedroom apartment with a view of the Manhattan Bridge and downtown Brooklyn. He doesn't have a lease and could save money by moving but it's like a full time job looking for an apartment in NY. He likes being in Manhattan and wouldn't find anything cheaper there anyway, so for now he's good with it.
Then we went out. My son knows me, he took me to a beer place first. They had 20 beers on tap from all over the world and coolers in the back with literally hundreds of choices in bottles and cans. I had an American Porter from an Alaskan brewery, then a Belgium something or other that turned out to be a surprise because it was dark and chocolaty, not at all what I expected from a Belgium, but it was really good. My aficionado friends will be peeved with me, I know, but I didn't take notes.
Next we went to another beer place, a brewery, where we had dinner. I had an Indiana Pale Ale. Brandon didn't know from IPA and thought it was always Indiana, not India. It too was a really good beer, and the food was good. All this time Jonah and I were talking and talking, reminiscing about old times, getting caught up on what's happening now, you know, everything. Poor Brandon was left on the sidelines but contributed occasionally. At one point Jonah apologized to him because he looked bored but Brandon said, no, not at all and proceeded to recount the entire thread of the most recent conversation. He was engaged.
I guess they've been a couple for about a year and a half. He's a really nice young man, I like him. He had to work the next day though, so we started thinking about calling it a night. They decided that we should head back to the neighborhood and have one last beer at their favorite bar. Jonah had treated at the first place and we went dutch at the brewery so I said that I'd get this last round. They said that depending on who was tending bar we might not have to pay at all. When we got over there hip hop was blasting out of the door, which apparently was uncharacteristic for this bar. They didn't think that any of their friends would be playing hip hop so we went down the block a ways to another bar but hip hop was being played there too. They liked the first bar better so we went back.
As soon as we walked in it was like "Jonah!!! Brandon!!!" Their friends were there, and behind the bar too. I watched closely and sure enough the drinks were free. I was introduced around and we settled into moving to the music and having semi shouted conversations. This one young woman was dancing and getting everyone else to dance, so I got to see Brandon doing some moves. Then she turned to me and I thought, "Oh shit, I'm on." I just started improvising. I was doing all this stuff with my upper body, I'm not even sure where this stuff was coming from, it wasn't like anything I usually do, then I finished with some footwork. I guess I nailed it because Jonah, who'd been sitting got up and shouted, "Yeah, I'm loving it!" and started dancing too. We ended up staying for several more beers.
We said goodnight to Brandon then Jonah and I got a couple tall boy IPAs in a can for a nightcap in his apartment. His roommate was still out so we didn't have to be quiet. We continued our ongoing conversation, finished our beers and went to sleep.
* * *
That was Saturday night and Jonah had to work on Monday, as well as having just gotten over a cold, so we kept it low key Sunday. We took the train down to World Trade Center Plaza to look at that, then walked down to Battery Park. Then we came back to the neighborhood and had lunch at Jonah's favorite restaurant, my treat. Afterward we came back to the apartment and played Mortal Kombat where he mostly kicked my ass, then turned on Law & Order. Jonah fell asleep on the couch and I went in the bedroom and took a little nap. Brandon came over later. They'd talked about cooking but it wasn't going to happen so we went out to eat. Then Brandon went back to Brooklyn and Jonah and I got some beer to drink at home. We continued our conversation about everything, then called it an early night.
III
I stayed in bed Monday morning until Jonah and his roommate were off to work, so as not to be in their way. Once they were gone I got up an prepared myself for my first day alone in the city. There were several art exhibits that I wanted to see, two at the Met and one at the MOMA, but museums are closed on Mondays, of course. My plan for the day was to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge to my old haunt in Dumbo, an area that I'd chanced on during an earlier visit, where I'd made friends and had returned to several times before. I didn't want to do that until early afternoon though, so I set out first to take care of some business.
I went up to Grand Central Station to arrange our trip to Connecticut for Thanksgiving, to get train schedules and tickets for the three of us since Brandon was coming with. That went so smoothly that it was still too early to head east so I exited the station and just started walking along 42nd St. "What is that grand neoclassical building up there?" I wondered. It turned out to be the NY Public Library. I imagined that the architecture would be cool, with some cavernous cathedral like central room or something, so I crossed over and entered.
I was actually coming in at a side, or back entrance and was confronted with a labyrinth of marble clad vaulted passageways and stair cases, I found myself going up, and up again. I finally crested into the kind of room I was imagining, high and vaulted with foreshortened paintings on the ceiling of gods and angels, and it turns out that wasn't even the main room. The real treat, though was an exhibit of the prints of J.M.W. Turner and Thomas Moran hanging in the high wide hall that bisects the building; free and open to the public whenever the library is open, including Monday.
I'd heard of Moran but Turner was one of the greats. Called “the painter of light” his atmospheric paintings border at times on pure abstraction, before there was even Impressionism. But these were prints, not paintings, and with the Turners strictly etchings, a medium that lends itself more to delineation rather than atmospheric effect; yet they were incredibly atmospheric. Turner made me see a rainbow, arching past the edge of a distant storm, in black and white. Moran was awesome, don't get me wrong, but he was a follower of Turner, rather than a contemporary. To my mind the show was all about Turner.
It was still a bit early when I emerged from the Library into the City again, and since I found that I'd forgotten my camera I went back to Jonah's apartment. My next destination was the Brooklyn Bridge so it was on the way, and with a seven day unlimited metro card there was no worry of a spent fare. I wasn't sure if the doorman was going to give me grief but he just nodded politely as I passed on my way to the elevators.
* * *
I really lucked out with the weather. It was a gorgeous sun shiny day with temperatures in the mid 60's. It had been a bit humid in the city, but out over the water was just beautiful. On the other side of the bridge I headed north and west, back toward the water. It had been so long since I'd been there that I overshot my mark on Water Street and had to backtrack. And then there I was, where I used to be. Much has changed down there, but that little corner of it was still similar to what I remembered, though of course none of the people I knew back then were still there, or I didn't see them anyway.
I had a nice lunch in the bar I used to frequent, then went next door to Jacques Torres' chocolatier shop. They make the best chocolate confections. There was a line all the way back to the door and I thought, “Man, these guys have really gotten popular.” Soon a woman came down the line with a tray of samples and I realized that I'd had the good fortune to get there just as a tour was passing through. She offered me a sample and I declined saying that I wasn't part of the tour. She said, “Go ahead, you have to stand in line behind us.” So you see, it truly was good fortune. She came back several times with more sample trays and I was able to eat my fill before I'd even purchased anything, and could save what I bought for later.
After that I went down to the waterfront and kicked around a little, watching the boats, the birds, the people, and the waves lapping the mossy rocks along the shore. then headed to the F train, which just happens to be the same line that Jonah lives off of. I was feeling the need for a nap. Once again though, it having been so long, like maybe ten years or something, I overshot the subway station. The neighborhood I was in started getting a little sketchy, the way that the City can, and I realized that those weren't Stuyvesant style apartment blocks, but Projects. I knew I'd gone too far, but hadn't seen the metro station. There was group of men standing outside of a drugstore. Maybe not the folks you would think of asking directions of, but there was a woman school crossing guard with them and it seemed safe enough, and in broad daylight. They were all very nice, and helpful. I'd known that there was something significant about Jay Street when I'd passed it; like maybe the York Street Station should be called the Jay Street Station?
The evening was low key again, being another work night for Jonah. We didn't see Brandon and I can't even remember what we did for dinner, then got some beers and chilled at home. It was wonderful though, being with my son. Shannon, Jonah's roommate was out and we sat on the couch and talked and talked. It having been so long since I'd seen him, four years, and the last time being with his sister present, which did alter the tone of the communication, I was afraid that he'd drifted farther and farther away from his old dad, that maybe we wouldn't even have anything to say to each other. Thankfully it was just the opposite. I really like the man that he's become. At one point we were discussing vast things, solving all the worlds problems and I thought that we were in agreement, but Jonah was adamant that I just didn't understand what he was saying. I'm not sure if it was the pigheadedness of age, or shortsighted youthful exuberance that led to that misunderstanding. Probably I just missed what he was trying to say.
IV
I played by the same game plan Tuesday, laying abed until I had the apartment to myself, then leisurely preparing myself for the day. I did a lot of walking on Tuesday. I started out walking Jonah's old neighborhoods in the East Village, to see again the buildings that housed what I used to call “my Manhattan apartments,” since I was paying the bills back then, when Jonah was in school. Believe me, I had plenty of opportunity to sleep at my Manhattan apartments, being an over the road truck driver. I think that I was one of a very few if not the only Midwestern truck driver that actually asked to be sent to the North East, where the traffic is hell and the roads were originally laid out as cow paths in the Seventeenth Century.
Then I spent 5 hours walking around the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It's a huge labyrinthine building. There were two exhibits that I specifically wanted to see, A collection of cubism never before shown publicly, and Cezanne's portraits of his wife. It was my stated intention not to get a museum map, nor to ask directions to either of the shows, but to wander instead, stopping to look at whatever caught my eye until I discovered the shows on my own.
Madame Cezanne presented herself almost immediately, a compact little show of paintings and drawings, sometimes just a page of a sketchbook that had her face along with other studies. Very few of the paintings were highly finished and some decidedly unfinished. It was interesting but I don't think that anyone who was new to Cezanne could have understood his depth or importance from them.
Then I wandered, oh did I wander; through the Middle Ages, the Classical World, the Ancient Near East, the Far East, Oceania, into European painting and finally Impressionism, Post Impressionism, Modernism and Contemporary. I had to be close to the Cubism show, right? But then the trail turned cold again and I found myself outside the entrance to "Assyria to Iberia," a show dedicated to the Ancient Near East and its influence on all of the Mediterranean civilizations through the Phoenicians. One of the things that had most moved me in my earlier wanderings was the Ancient Near East, those huge winged lions guarding the Ishtar Gate, so I went in. Awesome. The great, terrible and beautiful Ancient World.
After that it was starting to get late and my feet were sore. I was on the verge of asking where the cubism show was when lo and behold I saw it. It was an interesting show. Nothing monumentally important but definitely some nice pieces. I learned more about Gris, who I'd never really studied before, and also learned that it was the influence of the Italian Futurists that got Picasso and Braque to introduce color back into their pallets. Did I know that before and forgot, or how did I miss that? I think I knew it but had forgotten.
The show was from the private collection of Leonard A. Lauder. This rich bastard collected all these works with the express intention of donating them to a museum one day, which he is now doing; donating them to the Met. With a heart like that I shouldn't call him a bastard, should I? Almost as interesting as the show itself, though, were pictures of Mr. Lauder's home, or one of them anyway. These pictures hung on the walls, above the sofa and in the hallway. How awesome would that be to live day in and day out with art like that? I wondered briefly if he ever regretted his gift, thinking how bare those walls would be. But what was I thinking, I'm sure he immediately refilled that space with something equally sublime.
Having fulfilled my goals I went back to the Impressionist wing. I knew that they have three galleries devoted to Degas; his paintings, his pastels and his sculpture, but I hadn't seen him yet. After some more pleasant wandering, back through galleries I'd already been in, giving me a chance to deepen that experience I found Degas, and finally felt satisfied. I was on my way toward the exit when I remembered an exhibit of mourning cloths that Jonah told me about, at the Costume Institute. This time I did ask. It was all the way over on the other side of the building past ancient Egypt. I just did a quick walk through of Egypt and the exhibit since Jonah would be getting out of work soon and we had dinner plans with Shannon's mother.
* * *
From the tidbits I'd picked up along the way Lisa was nothing like I'd anticipated. I was expecting a high society fashionista, instead she came in wearing jeans and immediately communicated how down to earth she was. She saw me, put out her hand and said, “You must be Dad.” I didn't know how down to earth until the car ride, though. We were heading to a pizza place on Avenue C, essentially retracing the path that I'd walked that morning, but there was some kind of a situation up ahead on Houston Street with lots of flashing lights. We had time to talk before we had to find a parking place.
It turned out that Lisa had grown up in the neighborhood, at a time when the Lower East Side was a very different beast than it is today. Not only, but she was the daughter of a barkeep, lived above the bar which is still in operation to this day though no longer in her family. Her connections had helped Shannon buy the apartment when they first went public, at a much lower price than would have been possible, or within Shannon's means later. I wish I could remember more of what she said about the neighborhood, but one thing does stand out: a neon sign hanging off the corner of a building saying KATZ. “Best pastrami sandwich in New York,” Lisa said. Information like that is to die for.
V
Wednesday dawned, my last day in New York. Before I left the apartment I gathered all my things and packed my bag. Then I deflated and folded the air mattress that I'd been using, folded the sheets and searched for traces of myself to make disappear. I was ready to leave, all I had to do was come back to the flat and grab my bag.
Up until now my breakfasts had been left overs from the lunch before but I'd eaten at the Met on Tuesday and wouldn't have wanted to carry food around with me even if I'd had any left. So I decided to check out the doughnut shop Jonah had pointed out. Lisa had recommended it too, asking if I'd eaten there yet.
They featured three varieties: glazed, cake, and creme filled, with a number of interesting flavors of each. I saved my receipt so that I could remember what I'd had but have long since lost that. I tried one of each of the kinds. I know that the glazed had dark chocolate icing, the cake was orange and something, but I don't recall what the creme filled was except that there was hazelnut in it. They were all very good, and a rich cappuccino set the flavors off wonderfully. I don't usually eat doughnuts, but these were superb. I dreaded the sugar crash that I feared would come though.
Breakfast over I bundled up and headed out the door on my way to the Museum of Modern Art, the MOMA. Tuesday had been chiller than that beautiful Monday, but Wednesday was downright cold, and it was raining. By the time that I emerged from under ground at Rockefeller Center the rain had congealed into sleet, and I was walking straight into the wind. No matter, I could brave a few elements on my way to see Matisse's cut-outs.
When I got there it seemed as though the museum was a giant vacuum sucking people in from all directions. There was a jostling crowd just to get through the doors. A woman caught the back of my heel with her baby stroller three times before I turned around to give her a hard look and she apologized. It was chaos, people milling everywhere so I asked an usher where to go for tickets and was directed to a long snaking line. I joined the cue. It wasn't long before the guy in front of me smacked me with the huge day pack hanging off his shoulder as he turned to engage another member of his party. Then it happened again, he was oblivious. We never got to whack number three, where I actually say something because I overheard a conversation with another usher that informed me that I was in the line for people who already had tickets. To get in the line to buy tickets I had to go back outside. So I did, and glad to be rid of Mr. French Speaking Backpack Slinger too.
The line was three quarters of a block long. I was really discouraged by the crowd, and probably suffering that sugar crash I'd anticipated. When I got to the end I kept on walking, then turned up toward the park, into the wind and the sleet again. I love the MOMA and wanted to stand in front of Monet's Waterlily Triptych once again. I also really wanted to see Matisse's cutouts, badly, but on that score it was a timed show and with such a crowd I might stand in line for an hour only to find that there weren't any available openings at a time that would work for me. I should have planned ahead and purchased my tickets online. There was a train to catch that evening and I still had to go back to the apartment for my bag.
So the MOMA was a bust, but the City called me. It was to be my last day there and I felt like walking her streets some more. My first stop would be Central Park. I bought a five dollar umbrella from a vendor on the street and was much more comfortable. I kept having to switch which hand held it though, but by the time that I thought of purchasing a cheap pair of gloves as well I was already in the park, alone. The weather being what it was I had the park to myself. What a change from the crowd that I'd just escaped.
I enjoyed the walk but it soon became apparent that it would be unsustainable. I'd brought a pair of long johns but having anticipated being indoors all day I hadn't worn them. It wasn't long before everything below the protective aegis of the umbrella was soaked and I was chilled. I decided to visit the Museum of Natural History and moved over to the west side of the park. After awhile I thought to myself that I might be getting close and should leave the park itself and walk along the street so as not to miss the museum. The park there was lower than street level and when I climbed the granite steps lo and behold I was directly across from my destination. I gave myself a pat on the back. It was almost like I knew where I was or something, a nice change after my tourist faux pas at the museum.
The exhibits distracted me from my discomfort and it wasn't long until I was dry, warm and happy again. I wandered the Museum of Natural History as I had wandered the Metropolitan, passing through the regions of the world, their flora and fauna and the different social systems indigenous to each. I probably spent the most time in Africa, looking at the tribal masks, and later again looking at totem carvings and masks from the Pacific Northwest. I reflected on how amid all those wonders of nature it was art and culture that grabbed my attention, once again. Then I wandered through prehistory, then went to outer space and ending up under the ocean. There was more to discover, I'm sure, but it was getting late and I thought it prudent to start making my way back to Jonah's and my luggage, and from there to Grand Central.
I exited the subway at the Broadway-Lafayette station to walk down Houston Street. I was after a pastrami sandwich. I wasn't sure of the cross street but I didn't think I could miss a big sign saying RITZ hanging off the corner of a building, and yet I did. I walked all the way to within sight of the FDR, the end of Houston. It was still sleeting and the wind had picked up. I tried to keep my umbrella pointed into the gale but the wind would sometimes whip around and spring it backwards. The trusty thing always went back into place though, I didn't have to abandon it on the sidewalk like so many others had. I must have passed the restaurant while wrestling with the wind or something.
When I told Jonah about it later he pointed out that the sign actually says KATZ, not RITZ, but still, a neon sign hanging off of the corner of a building with a four letter word ending in Z? I should have seen it. All that I can say is that everything looks different at night. Jonah just shrugged his shoulders and said, “Something to look forward to the next time you come.” I like the way he thinks.
I still needed something to eat. I wished that I knew where Jonah's favorite restaurant was, where we'd eaten on Sunday, but I doubted I could find it and I was running out of time so I chose a Mexican place catty-corner from Jonah's building. It was good. I told Jonah about it and he concurred, he'd eaten there before. I still had a little time so I ordered another beer, chatted with the young woman behind the bar and watched the soccer game on the big screen TV. Then I went back to Jonah's for the last time, grabbed my bag, said goodbye to the apartment, and headed for Grand Central Station.
* * *
I got there a little after 5:00 pm, before either Jonah or Brandon, and scoped out the trains. I identified the next four that we could take, which is as far ahead as the board went at that time. The first two were on the upper level, the second two the lower. Jonah got there just a little before the second train was scheduled to leave. We waited awhile, then I heard them say something over the loudspeaker about the 6:05 to New Haven track to be announced shortly. New Haven was our destination, where we would transfer to the Shore Line East. I looked at the board and sure enough the track number had been removed. Then, about 6:03 they announced the track for the 6:05 to New Haven, which was the same track that it had been scheduled to be on before. Brandon wasn't there yet anyway, so it didn't matter.
He arrived well before the next train, the 6:30 was due to leave and we went downstairs to board. I stopped and bought a water. Jonah and Brandon each bought tall boy beers so I thought, “What the hell,” and bought one too. When we got to the platform there wasn't a train there to board. We asked some of the other passengers standing about if we were in the right place and were, so we walked down a ways and opened our beers. Jonah and Brandon discussed their respective days at work.
The loudspeaker crackled that the track for the 6:30 to New Haven would be announced shortly. A few people left the platform then but I wasn't worried, I'd seen this trick before. Along about 6:25 a train began easing itself into the berth. “It's about time,” I thought. Then everything happened in quick succession. It must have been 6:27 or 28 when I noticed that there were crowds of people behind the doors of that train, waiting for them to open. The loudspeaker came on and announced that the 6:30 to New Haven was now boarding on track 19 on the upper level, just as the train doors opened and the crowds poured out. We, and everyone else still standing on the platform grabbed our luggage and ran.
Imagine it, running, with luggage and an open beer through Grand Central Station during rush hour on the busiest travel day of the year. I cut someone off at one point and happened to drop my bag handle just at that moment. I muttered "fuck," grabbed the bag by the strap and sprinted up the stairs two at a time hoping that would pass for an apology. This was New York, after all. We made the train on time and even found seats all together. I'd left my trusty $5:00 umbrella behind but no matter, Jonah had grabbed it.
V
Madison Connecticut.
I like to describe Madison's location thus: If you're traveling up I 95 out of New York the traffic is heavy until you get through the near permanent backup in New Haven, after that though the road reduces to a mere four lanes and it's smooth sailing until you get to New London, where traffic becomes heavy again, all the way through Providence and into Boston. About halfway through that pleasant little stretch is the town of Madison, on the shores of Long Island Sound. There are actually two Connecticuts. There is the urban blight welfare Connecticut, and the quaint down home Connecticut where famous writers retire. Madison is definitely in the quaint category.
So, back on I 95, there is a service plaza between the two exits which will take you to Madison. My friends' property backs up to that service plaza. Once upon a time I could park my truck and walk through a soccer field to get to their door, but they built condos in the soccer field and I was reduced to climbing the fence. They leaned an old shipping palette against the fence to be my ladder down. They said it was still there, in my honor, and while there I took a gander out back. Sure enough, it was there, though I'm not sure I'd want to trust my weight to it anymore, after all these years.
I think you can imagine what a boon that situation was for me as an over the road truck driver. It was always better to visit when someone was home, of course, but knowing where the extra key was hidden I could avail myself of Tom and Sue's hospitality at any time. I would jump the fence, walk Sox, the dog, take a shower, then listen to a little music before I had to be back on the road. Much more copacetic than the truck stops. Once, when I had some extra time I walked to the beach. That proved to be a long walk though, I don't think I'll ever do that again. It had seemed so close by car.
Tom and Sue are from Bloomington. Having graduated from IU they then worked there at a time when I was a student. We were members in a co-operative daycare, Sunflower, completely run and staffed by the members. Jonah and their daughter Kate are the same age, so we changed each others kids' diapers, frequently. They moved to Madison probably some time in the 90's, when Tom got a position at Yale managing a division of the library system there. When Jonah was in school in New York I would take my time off around Thanksgiving, park my truck at our yard in Jersey and catch a bus into the City. He and I would then take the Metro North to CT, just like we were doing now.
* * *
We got in fairly late, the last of the guests to arrive. There were Tom and Sue, of course, Tom's son Patrick from his first marriage and Patrick's wife Shayna. There was Kate, her friend Abbie and Abbie's boyfriend Tyler. Then there was Jonah, Brandon and myself, so it was quite a crew. We got in late, but stayed up even later. I don't know what time it was when everyone wandered off to their respective beds. I know that Tom and Sue had retired earlier, and I too could have gone into the den to sleep, but stayed up basking in the glow of the children (the youngest of which is now 30 years old of course, but they'll always be kids to me). I ended up making a palette in front of the fire which I stoked, then dampened for a warm cozy overnight.
Thanksgiving dawned fair. As usual I was the first awake, but stayed curled up in my blankets until I heard activity in the kitchen. I don't seem to need a lot of sleep. The fire was almost out but I got it going again and this became my job throughout the rest of my stay there. I was the fire keeper. It was a standing rule that whoever went outside, for any reason had to bring in firewood, but I for the most part kept it fed and burning bright.
It was a laid back day, as Thanksgiving should be. There was a lot of activity in the kitchen, of course, but even that was pretty relaxed, most of the prep work already having been done earlier. Abbie decided to make ginger cookies from scratch but that was earlier in the day and didn't interfere with preparations for the meal. Tom cooked the turkey outside on the grill, as he usually does, freeing up the oven for green bean casserole and sweet potatoes. Everybody pretty much had a drink or a beer in their hand at all times and a good time was had by all.
You know the drill. After dinner, stuffed, we all retired to the living room to put our feet up on the coffee table and let our food digest. It would have been an eminently satisfying evening, but a dark little cloud hung over us. Both Jonah and Brandon had to work on Friday. We had a cab scheduled to pick them up at six thirty, to take them back to the train station in New Haven, a time that was rapidly approaching. Jonah joked that he'd be able to get some better sleep now that I wasn't going to be there any more. He hadn't complained before but apparently I had tossed and turned every night, and talked in my sleep. I'd said, “It hurts, it hurts so bad,” or something to that effect. Jonah said he'd been worried about me.
I was sorry to hear that I'd disturbed him, but I couldn't fathom what I could have been dreaming about that hurt so much. I thought I'd been enjoying myself. But then the cab showed up and it all became clear. I knew what had hurt so much. I hadn't seen my son in four years and very soon I wasn't going to see him again for some indeterminate amount of time. It sure hurt right then, as the goodbyes started. Sue cut the boys slices of pie, pumpkin and pecan to send with them, since we hadn't gotten to desert yet. All that I could think was that I mustn't let it go so long between visits this time, even if I were unemployed then under employed, as I had been, I still mustn't let it go so long.
VI
I stayed until Saturday afternoon. Thursday night I hung with the kids again and partied like I was 25 years younger than I am. Friday I went visiting with Tom and Sue, visiting their friends, most of whom I'd met before. We then ended up at their favorite bar. It's under different ownership, with a different name but it looked the same, and many of the same people were still there so it will always remain the Dolly Madison to me. Friday night I retired to the den to sleep, at an earlier hour. I thought perhaps I should act my age, but I ended up waking up and coming back out, closing down the bar again. So I moved my blankets back out to the living room and slept in front of the fire again. Saturday was just laid back until it was time to go to my plane. Where does the time go?
I flew back out of Providence, RI. It was the Saturday after Thanksgiving and I expected the airport to be mobbed, but it wasn't. It was just the opposite; there were hardly any travelers at all. I just had a short flight back to Newark and from there to Indianapolis. I could have gone back with Jonah and maybe saved myself a couple of bucks. But no, the City is never cheap and I needed to chill a little in New England anyway, and hang with my old friends.
Newark was far busier than Providence had been and there was a mix up, reminiscent of the Grand Central fiasco. The plane out of Providence was late, so my already tight connection at EWR was stressed. They said over the intercom that there were people with short connections and those with time to spare should stay in their seats. Nobody did though, except for one couple, and I was at the back of the plane so it took a long time to disembark. I wasn't too worried though since I was just jumping onto another United plane and generally all of an airline's flights come and go from the same terminal, right? Except this time. My plane, for whatever reason, was at terminal A, the only United flight not at terminal C, where I was.
The terminals at EWR are large and U shaped. I was at the far end of one of the arms and the woman that I asked directions of said that the shuttle to terminal A was at the far end of the other arm. So there I was trying to run again through a crowded station with luggage; no open beer this time at least. I got over to the other end of terminal C and couldn't find the shuttle. I had to ask again. The shuttle was all the way back at the bend of the U, so I was off again. In the end I made my flight. In fact I could have relaxed, it too was delayed. I'd set up text message flight updates but of course I was in such a hurry that my phone was still on airplane mode and I didn't know.
Epilogue
Boarding a flight to go home from a vacation can be a dismal affair. It usually is. The excitement is over and all there is to look forward to is going back to work; the daily grind. Ah, but I had an ace up my sleeve. I had my girlfriend meet met in Indianapolis. She lives in Muncie so we don't see each other that often. I wasn't looking forward to the end of my trip, but I was looking forward to seeing her. She took me back to her place and gave me a massage, eased my travel weary soul. Sunday, on my way home, finally, I was relaxed. I noticed that there was an awful lot of traffic, and they were driving horribly. Oh, that's right, that was the biggest travel day of the year. I just let them all pass me in their harried rush.
