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Category: daily life

  • Friday in Uptown Kingston

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    For years I skirted the old historic district of Kingston.  I knew where it was, I would occasionally venture forth out of necessity, but generally I avoided the area.  I would go to the fringe, picking up or dropping off a kid at the bus station, or circumvent the area to go to the German bakery, but really it was more like avoiding an unpleasant task.  It is really such a shame.

    KIngston is, in many ways, and in many parts a beautiful old city; a city that has seen many much better days.  We would go to the historic Rondout district on the South East side of town.  I would take G to synagogue once a year in a neighborhood filled with lovely old houses, we would reluctantly drive down Broadway, which is a less than savory neighborhood to attend chamber concerts at one of the churches.  I would also do much of my shopping in Kingston in the last few years, but the shopping was done on the northern end of town and most of the shopping districts are new, fueled by growth in Rhinebeck, Red Hook, Saugerties and surrounding areas of retirees, weekend, and vacation homes looking for a bit of country to call their home away from the Big City.  

    A couple of years ago I started doing more of my grocery shopping in Kingston.  There is another outpost of my favorite produce/gourmet market, and several grocery stores, all within a close circle of about half an hour.  Other little shops had cropped up in Rhinebeck, the town between me and Kingston, so getting everything I wanted was easy, easier in fact, that driving back and forth around Poughkeepsie where the stores were widely scattered and nothing was close to anything else.   This would have been fine were I the kind of shopper who was happy to get everything at one place, but I am not.  I am one of the more fanatical grocery-shoppers, willingly  going to multiple stores, and if necessary, miles out of my way to get exactly what I want.  

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    Kingston made all that easier.  But I still avoided Uptown Kingston.  That is, I avoided it until this winter when my favorite butcher shop, Fleishers, closed their Rhinebeck store and moved to larger quarters in Uptown Kingston. I never knew what I was missing.

    Now I look forward to Friday all week because I get to go walk down the covered sidewalk, or park in front of an old stone building or a small plaza.  Of course my mission is to go to the butcher shop, but I just love walking down the street, looking in the windows, making up stories about the buildings and their histories and the residents.  I love just being there,  and it always makes me smile.  Sometimes we stop at a coffee shop for a bit, sometimes we just walk by, and sometimes we arrange our day so that we can stop for lunch at Le Canard Enchaine.

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    I love going to Le Canard Enchaine because while I am there, for a brief time I can imagine that I am in France, and it makes me smile.  The inside is warm and charming, the staff is all French or is fluent in French.  I love listening to the French-accented English of the staff as they greet and speak to the patrons.  I love the old tin ceiling, and the dark bar, and the cozy bright dining room.  I love looking out the window and watching people walk by on the street.  If we sit in my favorite window, it is warm, very warm even in the depths of winter, and I can look out at the firehouse across the street, and people coming and going from the law firm next door.
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    When we went last week, I had a fabulous roasted tomato and garlic soup which was rich and warm, sweet with roasted garlic and also just a little spicy, perfect for a cold winter's day.  I followed this with the coq au vin, which was perfection, the ideal meal for sitting and whiling away an afternoon dreaming that I had perhaps been carried off to foreign climes. Sometimes I imagine I live here and can for coffee daily and walk to do my shopping.  But then that is my fantasy Kingston, and the reality is not quite as nice, and the nearby neighborhoods not nearly as safe. 

    G had the onion soup followed by a plate of calves liver which was so beautifully presented that he didn't want to destroy it by eating it.  I IMG_0097
    promised him a photo and here it is.

    But then, of course, we had to leave and resume our mundane tasks of filling the larder.  We had to go back to the produce market because there were no eggs at the butcher shop.  It seems there had been a plague at the farm that provided the free-range eggs, and they had to hold up production for a while until the pestilence was gone.  There will probably be something of a free-range egg shortage as half the chickens lost their lives to the rampages of disease.  It will either be back to mass-market eggs or accept paying nearly three times as much for free-range eggs at the Health Food store ($8 a dozen versus $3)or driving 30 miles in the opposite direction to get eggs at the other free range poultry farm.

    Such a bother.

    We were rewarded in the end.  I found Haagen Dazs Fleur de Sel Caramel ice-cream at the fancy supermarket in upscale Rhinebeck.  It is not sold in my little town, or the next town south.  I had been hankering for a taste since Belette Rouge mentioned that it was her favorite, and the idea just made my mouth water.  It was all I hoped for, and I am usually rather particular about ice cream, rarely tempted.  Most of the other Haagen Dazs flavors, especially the specialty ones, are too sweet and leave me cold.  This one brings out the instinct to hide and hoard; perhaps it is a blessing that it is not available just down the road.

  • OH Bother!

    I've tried several times today to get a post up and either the photos aren't loading, or the whole thing locks up.  I don't know if the problems is Typepad or just my internet service in general, but I am tired of being in thrall to this thing.

    I give up.  Perhaps tomorrow.

  • Goodbye 2008

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    We closed the year with a quiet, snowy day. We had no reason to go anywhere and were content to sit at home and watch the snow.

    I sorted through sewing patterns, played with my new camera and read, finishing up two of the books on my current pile: Sointula was beautifully written and enjoyable even thought it was at times rather fantastic and the characters were difficult at best.   Traffic  was full of interesting facts and tidbits of information but was ultimately of the moment and entirely forgettable. .

    Luckily the skies cleared just before sunset, giving me a chance to play with my new camera and providing a suitably lovely closing for the year.

  • After the power came back on, we turned off all the lights so we could watch the sunset.

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  • Giving Thanks

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    On this National Holiday of Thanksgiving and Gluttony, we have had a decidedly quiet, decidely nice, and not very gluttonous day.  It seems fitting for all that is going on the world right now, although that was not our intent.

    We are thankful for living in this country and all the safety's and freedoms it gives us, despite its problems, for all socieities have problems. 

    But this year we are especially thankful for the small things, like a new carafe for the coffee pot, which arrived Wednesday night by UPS.  This allowed us to spend the first part of the day sipping coffee and puttering about the house, reading and doing small tasks in good company.

    The lid to the old carafe had been fused to the body and could not be opened, and I had not thought I would miss it as much as I did in the six days we waited for the replacement to arrive.  I have learned that I may love an espresso in the afternoon, but I also love puttering about with a cup of good strong American Coffee in the morning.  This morning we gave thanks for coffee.

    In the afternoon we gave thanks for congenial time spent with friends and neighbors.  Good food, good conversation, wine, coffee, indulgence but no excess.  What a lovely holiday.

    We are also celebrating because G's test results came back as positive for NPH and we have started the process of getting surgical approvals so that he can have a shunt put in to drain the excess spinal fluid and hopefully regain as much ability to live and function on his own as possible.  This is truly good news.  We don't have a surgical date yet, but are hoping it will be in the next month or two, depending on the various schedules and desires of his numerous physicians. I know that once we get everything moving, the pace might speed up and I am truly happy and looking forward to whatever may happen, setbacks or not.

    On less positive notes, if you haven't read this article, take a look.  It is excellent albeit sobering.  And yet even this cannot dampen my mood.  Whatever happens is beyond my control and I know I will cope regardless.  And that is a happy feeling.

  • Overheard

    We are sitting in Dr. X's waiting room.  We are the first patients and Dr. X is running a few minutes late.

    Another couple comes in, checks in at the desk and settles in for the duration.

    Female:  "That Dr. X is really surprisingly nice considering he is so smart"

    Male:  "What, smart people can't be nice?  Who ever made a rule like that?"

    Female:  "Well, I haven't met many nice smart people".

    After a little pause, she continues:  "I think its not their fault."

    Male:  "What?  Who's fault? What are you talking about?"

    Female:  "Smart people.  It's not their fault they're not nice."

    Male:  "What do you mean?"

    Female:  "Haven't you noticed that smart people have no personality?  They can't help it.  There's only so much room in the brain.  That's why really smart people have no personality.  They can't help it."

    A little more time passes.

    Female:  "I'm glad our kids got personalities".

  • A Hiccup

    It seemed like such a perfect lazy Sunday.   We went to the last Farmer’s Market and wandered around the
    local hardware store looking for baskets or some other solution to contain the
    tide of scarves, hats and gloves the always seems to overwhelm the winter coat
    closet.   The afternoon was
    spent lazily with a glass of bourbon, a book, and slowly cataloging the library
    through Library Thing. 

    To reiterate, it seemed like a perfect lazy Sunday. 

    Which is perhaps why I was quite overwhelmed by whatever
    erupted in the evening.  There was
    a storm, a perfect storm of emotion, fear, anticipation, angst, tiredness, and
    frustration which seemed to suck all life out of the house leaving nothing in
    its wake.  

    Of course things quieted down.  I still don’t know exactly what happened, I suppose some
    kind of stress-related implosion of hopes and fears mingled with worry over
    upcoming doctors appointments.  I
    still feel somewhat shocked and bereft, like some big hole has been pulled out
    of the center and only the fringes remain.  There was the eruption, the reaction (not my finest moment),
    the withdrawal and huge sucking sound that followed in its wake. G remembers
    that he was very angry yesterday, but he doesn’t remember what he was angry
    about.  I really can’t say,
    couldn’t say even if I knew.

    Once again all is quiet, and surface-calm, the calm-smooth
    surface of every day life.  And yet
    that feeling of fragility remains palpable, as if everything could shatter in
    an instant.  Life revolves
    endlessly, an endless stream of days and activities.  But this life is like a ring floating in the void.  One misstep and I may fall off.  I am both repelled by that inner void
    and irresistibly drawn toward it.  I
    must stay toward the center, allow this narrow path to stabilize and widen.

    If I look carefully I see that there is something in that
    center, not merely an absence, but something that is taking root.  It is not quite evident what may
    develop, and yet there is that palpable sense that something will fill
    void. 

    Still we tread softly. 
    Appointments cancelled and rescheduled prolong the wait.  I choose to seek the path of optimism,
    that the delays are but little bumps on a path to sunshine.  The other sees each delay as a
    precipice that must be crossed and the increasingly number of obstacles only
    confirm the suspicion that all is lost.   I must not fall into frustration myself.   I must keep striving toward the
    light while holding on dearly to make sure that I don’t lose anyone in those
    chasms of despair.

    There are moments it is easier.  A shared bowl of popcorn: Sitting side by side, fingers
    tracing paths through the salt on the bottom of the bowl.  They touch.  Reassurance returns. 

  • Not Quite Here

    It seems like I have been absent lately, not just from this
    blog but also from my life, from who I once was and who I might yet be.  The past week or two has been
    especially tentative, and life seems to have been spent in an even more intense
    cycle of waiting, hope, despair, and more hope.

    For there is hope now, more hope.  Wonderful hope.

    And I am ecstatic!

    How do I show this? 

    The floodgates opened and I cried my heart out.

    How do you explain the explosion that occurs when months of
    despair are confronted with hope?

    I saw my husband again. Out of the fog he walked, the man I
    married, a man able to see beyond the increasingly narrow constraints of his
    own mind.  It was a joy and a
    shock.

    I had never allowed myself to grieve for the loss of that
    person who had been taken from me. 
    How do you grieve for a person who is with you and whom you see
    everyday, but who is also only a small part of the person he once had been? How
    can you grieve the loss of a life that remains present with you every single
    day?  Only after being confronted
    with how much had been lost was I able to admit how much I grieved

    I cried and cried and cried.  I cried for what I had lost.  I cried for what I had found.  I cried because I tried to convince myself to abandon hope.  I cried because I can't bear to lose him again.

    And in crying I found some piece of myself that had been misplaced.

    And then I was visited by a plague.  But that is a different story.

  • How do you spell relief?

    It is amazing what a little recognition and positive
    encouragement can do to bolster the spirits even in the face of a less than
    positive future. 

     

    In many ways watching ones spouse descend into increasing
    cognitive difficulties can easily become an isolating situation for the
    care-giving spouse as well.  
    Many doctors do not want to speak to openly about their thoughts, fears,
    or prognoses without proof.  HIPAA makes
    it more difficult to communicate with the spouse’s physicians.  Even with letters of authorization from
    the patient, power of attorney, medical power of attorney, each conversation
    can become a hard won battle that often ends in disappointment as the
    information needed is either not there or not forthcoming.   Doctors are humans too and react to their patients on a human
    level and watching a once-colleague and friend decline can cloud the waters of judgment.

     

    Social life also becomes more limited.  The confused spouse becomes easily
    over-stimulated and easily confused. 
    Personal relationships falter as conversation becomes difficult, and
    many people, not sure of what to say or how to be of help simply disappear. On
    a purely intellectual level it is quite interesting, and I suspect I have
    engaged in this kind of activity far too frequently in my own past.  One doesn’t know what to say or do so
    one says nothing and disappears.  I
    don’t believe this is purely intentional: 
    it is just so much easier to avoid the situation.  If one is not directly faced with the friend
    or colleague is no longer completely who he once was, or faced with difficult
    conversations or inappropriate and embarrassing outpourings of emotion, then
    one can more easily convince oneself that things are going well, or as well as
    can be expected.    “Take
    care of yourself” becomes the unwitting anthem of abandonment.  Remind myself never to casually toss
    out that phrase again.   

     

    And yet I was completely surprised at how buoyed up I felt
    after  G and I had contiguous
    appointments with my internist who is also G’s new internist after his previous
    physician retired.    For
    the first time a physician actually spoke to me and said that what G was going through
    was pretty obvious and discussed the possible outcomes and what I needed to do
    to take care of myself as well.  He
    made sense.  He explained how G’s
    keen intelligence has in many ways helped him to mask what is going on, and how
    easy it is to fall under that spell because no one really wants to believe that
    someone they love/respect/admire is failing.  But he also explained the obvious signs and what they
    mean.  He was the first doctor to
    acknowledge that the things I observe actually fit in the pattern relative to
    the fairly subtle but still obvious signs that he, the physician, saw. He was
    the first physician who has acknowledged that although G is highly intelligent
    and obviously still is, there is a good bit of cognitive loss and the best we
    can hope for is to be able to stop the decline, and possibly gain a little
    ground.  But that possibility
    depends highly on the results of tests that G is undergoing now, and the other,
    more likely, possibilities are far less positive.   And although he did not tell me anything that I did
    not already know, the fact that he said something, that he acknowledged the
    situation and actually did help me in understanding some of G’s behavior and
    how to cope with it, was like receiving a gold star in kindergarten. 

     

    Although nothing has changed, everything has changed.

  • Make mine a hot dog

    We went to a marvelous barbecue at a neighbor's house this weekend.  It was really nothing special:  a bunch of people sitting outside at a wooden picnic table, drinking diet sodas and wine, with fresh tomatoes and hot dogs and hamburgers on the grill.  It was just casual and fun, and the kind of thing that I have not been to in a long long time.  In fact, it was the very ordinariness that made it perfect.

    This causal get-together of a rather motley group of people was the perfect antidote to the two previous weekends, with all the goings on among the "above the bridge" crowd — you know the one's I mean, the people who buy up big estates on theHhudson and glory in the management of their fiefs.  Truthfully I much prefer this "poor middle class" life among those of us who are happy with our suburban home and tiny piece of land.  

    Odd though, even here is suburbia, the barbecue party competition has been mightily amped up.  Usually an invitation to a backyard barbecue has involved rented tents, tables, catered goods, and young men hired to man the barbecue grills.  So much pretension.  I think I am happier with a simple hot dog or a hamburger and mustard and good company.  Obviously I have spent too much time hanging out with the wrong sort of people.