Wednesday, November 15, 2017

Circadian upset

In the midnight blue
     Of autumn's night
I ponder my circadian plight.

Plying my craft from dawn
     To dusk
Back to my abode I trod,
     An empty husk.

The sofa beckons my weary bod.
     Eyelids flutter;
The new's "music" makes me nod.

Then at bedtime , do I awaken.
     Refreshed anew,
 Alert, my rhythm shaken.

But again when Moon is nigh,
     I'll briskly walk to work
And lend to you my watchful eye.

Saturday, November 04, 2017

Death of Americana

Remember when we first moved to Main St.?  There were kids In the neighborhood, lots of kids.  The Durant kids, Leblanc kids, Larocks, Meads, Colburns, Van Tassels, Manns, Crings, Otts, Mouricks, Bennetts, Fraser's, Hollerans, Barnes, Wards, Barleys, Wrights, Spillmans, Robinsons, Lacomb's, Caseys, McDougals, McNallys, Bogart's, and Woodcock's, just to name a few.

    Remember the school had 750 students K-12?

Where are all those kids today, 40 years later?

Gone, almost to a person, from the area; gone to areas of greater economic prosperity.

A community will falter and die when its youth leave the nest and don't return to raise their own brood.  

The 
LaRock kids have moved on. The Leblanc house is empty and the Bennett's house is occupied by a childless couple.  The Van Tassel kids are here; Andy and his wife Lynette moved into Colburn's house and have two kids. The Colburns are all out of the area.  All the Spillman, Holleran, and Casey kids have moved on.  The Meade girls are gone as well as Millie Robinson's kids.

A few have stayed: Kevin Crosby, Patrick Barse,  Andy VT, but by and large, the kids that grew up with our kids have moved on, taking the heart of this small rural community with them.

  Now the State is bribing the community (village) to dissolve and become part and parcel of the Town.  The remaining social fabric of the village i.e. the fire Dept. will be hard pressed to hold off the appeal of 50% tax reduction in perpetude.


    And so another remnant of Americana dies away, relegated to memory of the few left who will soon enough take those memories, also, to the graveyard of used-to-be.

Sunday, July 16, 2017

Dream noises


     Two and a half hours after snuggling in the arms of Morpheus, I'm dreaming.  The specifics of the dream leading up to the critical event elude me.  I'm at the top of a stairway with a sack of groceries in my arm; one of those brown paper sacks of old.  There is an abundance of canned goods in the bag and one falls out of the over stuffed sack, ripping the top of the bag just enough to allow another can to fall in pursuit of the first.  Then like a cascade, the cans hit the oak hardwood stairs with resounding bang, bang, booms. Over and over again until I approach wakefulness and the thought; wtf, I didn't have that many cans in the bag.

Groggily my eyes squint open and come to that fleeting realization of a dream fading and reality foggily establishing itself.  But wait; the cans are still banging down the steps; bang, boom, booooomm, bang, bang, boom.

I get up and open the bedroom door and come into the living room to witness Diane and Crystal watching the neighbor's setting off a spectacular fireworks display to rival Morristown's 4th of July fireworks.

" You missed it" they said.
"I can't believe you slept through all those explosions " Diane said.

Sleepily I replied, " I thought it was cans falling down the stairs!"

Peels of laughter echo off the camp walls, drowning out the sounds of tumbling canned goods.

Saturday, July 15, 2017

0% chance of dying

On the "news" this week I saw a piece that said studies have shown that a person drinking one cup of coffee a day reduces their chance of dying by 13%. And if said person drinks 3 cups of coffee, their chance of dying is reduced by 18%.

Doing some extrapolation from "scientific" research I've seen published, I've come to the conclusion that if I drink 3 cups of coffee a day, imbibe 2 glasses of red wine, exercise for 30minutes a day, wear sunblock, establish a large social network, and meditate every morning after sleeping 7 1/2 hours I'll live forever.

Thursday, July 06, 2017

Zen time of day

Waiting for the coffee to finish perking, I gaze at the shimmering surface of the early morning river.

A lone goose floats, motionless, as if moored twenty or so feet off shore from our boat launch.

Curious.  A lone goose?  Lost its mate, it's family?
Remarked just yesterday about the absence of the twice daily passing of the geese troop; up river in the morning and returning at dusk; going who knows where.

I examine the river's edge as well as the neighbors lush lawn. No sign, no movement to indicate other life.

Then she comes, his mate, seemingly out of the ether.  She swims ever so slowly to him who is firmly anchored. She gets approval to approach the shore.

Each, slowly, oh so imperceptibly slowly begin to get closer to the edge of the boat launch.

I unlock and open the noisy door and step out on to the cool dew moistened lawn. The two visitors halt their advance, turn and with slow determination, move out toward open water.

Out of the corner of my eye, movement on the neighbor's lawn.  A gaggle of 12 to 15 geese waddle to the sea wall and jump into the water and soon join the two "scouts" I had seen reconnoitering our feeding grounds.

Ahhh, the coffee is done.
               The Blue Heron glides by;
             A few feet above the glassy surface.
A gull dives. Emerging with crayfish firmly clasped in it's beak.

The Zen time of day.

Thursday, June 22, 2017

Morning

I got up at 0404 this morning to watch the sun rise; turning the black and white landscape into a Kodachrome vista.
At 0444 I think, many of our friends and neighbors watch and photograph the stunning sunsets on the river. Far fewer get to see the spectacular dawn.  Just me and the crows cawwling out our praise of the rising sun.

The old dock is gone, only crib remnants remain; bobbing with the waves. Our only reminder of what once was.  Most mornings, like today's, the river is calm, a a reflecting mirror for the morning light.

It's quiet now; crows satisfied with their waking call to the neighborhood.   Across the mile wide river a Canada Rail train whistles in the distance it's passing, and a blue heron glides by just inches above the placid surface of the water.

Steaming coffee, humming refrigerator, tinkling in the water closet: morning, short lived but oh so striking.

In all the world, I'm truly blessed.

Friday, May 05, 2017

High water on the St. Lawrence River

For the fortieth morning in a row I awaken to the ratta-tap-tap of rain drops hitting our steel roof.

Peering through the window, I spy a large wooden vessel some 500 feet long by 50 feet high floating down the river, St. Lawrence, past our ancient dock which, itself, has slipped it's moorings.