The memory of my river crossing (Washing the Undercarriage April 22, 2011) is still very present; visceral. I can feel the terror of it in my gut. The beauty of it haunts me like a dream.
There is often a mist in the predawn bottoms; the water of the Beanblossom ascendent. The other morning I looked down Wylie Road, the site of my adventure, in passing to my normal route up Sample. The waxing gibbous moon was setting there, red and shrouded in that moisture. “How beautiful!” I exclaimed. “I should have gone that way. I will tomorrow.”
So yesterday morning it was my intention to do so, but when I came down off of the ridge there was no mist to greet me. Then crossing the flats I saw a layer of fog out in the field with a large curl of mist rising off the end of it like the neck of a brontosaurus. “Oh cool, there is mist, good.” It spread to cover the entire valley, but close to the ground so that the raised grade of the old highway was clear.
As I climbed the small rise before the cutoff to Wylie the fog among the trees looked for a moment like standing water and I was given a start, a little trill of fear. Then I turned and descended into it. My headlights panned across the road signs and the HIGH WATER sign was open, a warning diamond rather than the usual blank silver triangle. Now I was afraid. It was silly I know, we're in the middle of a minor drought. I wasn't afraid of high water though, now I was afraid of the mist, the supernatural.
Ooooou.
I wasn't disappointed, it was beautiful. The Moon, just one morning later was higher, not red but bright, ringed by double almost rainbows in the fog. The fear? It was there, irrational but real. I actually thought of turning around, momentarily. But why run? She let me pass before, what cause to harm me now?
But I neglect you, dear reader. I only told you a fraction of what happened in New York, and that wasn't even the whole of the vacation, just the beginning. Shosh and I took the Metro North to our friends' home in Connecticut, on Long Island Sound. From there Tom drove us to Boston where we stayed with his son in Somerville, next door to Cambridge and Haavaad Squaa. Then we took the Amtrak back to CT for a little relaxation before flying west again
So for me the vacation went like this: Indianapolis to Chicago; Chicago to New York; New York to Madison (CT); Madison to Boston; Boston back to Madison; Madison to the airport in Providence RI; Providence to Chicago; Chicago to Bloomington. Whew, city hopping indeed. I have three public transportation passes in my wallet with money on them still: CTA (Chicago); Metro Card (NY); and a Charlie Card (Boston).
What to tell you about it all? I can only hit the highlights, and then only briefly. Shoshana booked the flights and she did a smash up job. We left so early in the morning from Chicago that we got to NY while it was still morning, then left late enough out of Providence that there was time for brunch on the beach before we had to leave. Relaxing that last Sunday morning with coffee, reading the NY Times the Arts section had asked its reviewers to contribute to a bucket list of summer must dos in the City. Shosh and I had hit two of them. What were they? Suffice it to say that while in the Met I saw the entrance to another and was tempted to enter, but there wasn't time. Why, one day in NY, while Jonah was at work Shosh and I went from Brooklyn to Manhattan; Manhattan back to Brooklyn; Brooklyn back to Manhattan; Manhattan to Queens; Queens back to Manhattan; Manhattan home to Brooklyn, with all kinds of interesting stops along the way. City hopping indeed.
I should probably point out here that this was before the heat wave hit. The weather was mostly gorgeous. It did rain once, in Boston, but we were well prepared with umbrellas and actually enjoyed it.
The trip to Queens was to smoke the hooka with my brother-in-law in Little Egypt. We sat outside so that Shoshana wouldn't be bothered by the smoke (it was a nice night, we probably would have sat outside anyway) yet she ended up being downwind from Essam, brave girl. I had actually hoped to discuss the Arab Spring, having smoked with him before, inside with Al Jazeera on the big screen TV. There wasn't an opportunity for such seriousness. Essam was introducing us to his new wife Asmaa, with pictures on the laptop from the double wedding cum honeymoon starting in Morocco, then back home in Egypt; Alexandria, Cairo and The Valley of Kings. I would occasionally lean in to look at something and absentmindedly blow smoke in my daughter's face. That was the worst.
It was a little awkward since Asmaa spoke only French and Arabic, yet she seemed content to listen, then smile and laugh when Essam filled her in. He was inside paying the bill and Shosh was using the facilities. Asmaa and I stumbled around a little on our language legs but she knew enough that (I think) she said “No, not difficult not knowing English.” They live near but far north of the City, yet it's still those overlapping neighborhoods on steroids, seems to me. City of Immigrants (Steve Earle).
We could have easily found our way back the way we'd come but Essam insisted he drive us back to Manhattan. I knew why when I saw the glow like an artificial sunrise shinning around the skyscrapers ahead. Times Square; chock full of people even at this hour. It's true; Shosh and I wouldn't have gone there on our own, but it was awesome. Tokyo may be brighter (if it is), but NY is the prototype.
I'm sure that I'd get tired of it, having grown up in the hardwoods, but I always wish that I lived there when I have to leave NYC. We would have stayed longer but Shosh, who is staff at Shedd, in Chicago had an invitation to go behind the scenes at the New England Aquarium in Boston. As much as I'd like to grow old in the city who could pass up the opportunity? The trip to Madison was a given anyway.
So I didn't get to spend as much time in Madison as I wanted to either. We were off to Boston. I didn't go to the Aquarium. Tom's son Pat and his fiancee Shayna got the tour. I hung with my old friend, walking the Freedom Trail, then visiting some of his old haunts from when he lived there. There were even some who [vaguely] remembered me, from back when I was an over the road driver. It was awesome. Down to the Crossroads.
Shosh and I made it back to Boston in time to take a later train. It turns out we should have taken an even later one but the clerk behind the counter wasn't interested in saving us money. We walked down to the Dirty Water, turned left and followed the Freedom Trail ourselves for awhile, then went home to Madison.
I'm not sure that I deserve both the success and the friends that I have, not to mention my children that I'm always bragging on, but there you have it; here I am.
No comments:
Post a Comment