It is the evening of June 19th; Father’s Day is beginning to fade as is Pride Weekend in Hudson.
An on again, off again rain falls and an hour or two ago the sky was nighttime dark. Cosseted in the cottage, a martini by my side, I watch the raindrops splatter on the Claverack Creek.
It’s interesting. I was very sensitive over the weekend, a little raw. When I woke Saturday, I was in an unexpectedly foul mood and at the end of the day I took myself home and had a talk with myself.
I felt raw because it was Pride weekend and I woke acutely aware that I am not part of a unit and that I haven’t been very good at dating. The last one felt like I had entered a reality version of Sartre’s “No Exit.”
I am alone and normally it doesn’t bother me and over the weekend it did. Hudson is a town of couples and I am not coupled, which puts me at a bit of a disadvantage. You’re the odd one at the dinner party.
And, then, Sunday, it was Father’s Day. Always a hard day for me. I did not have a great relationship with my father. He was good to me the first few years and then, he wasn’t. The last seven years of his life he had almost nothing to say to me. The night before he died, I was being a squirrely twelve-year-old and he angrily sent me to my room.
It was the last exchange I had with him. The next morning, he had a stroke and died. So, I have spent my life trying to read the runes of the little time I had with him.
Okay, so it’s problematic. Parental relationships are problematic. Maybe mine a little more than others and mine probably a lot less than others, too.
It’s just it pops up on Father’s Day.
And I know so many good fathers; I sent text messages to them today. My godson, Paul, among them. He has two children, a girl, Sophia, and a boy, Noah. I don’t know them well and know enough to know they are interesting children and that’s because they have wonderfully invested parents.
And then there is Tom Fudali, who is Paul’s father, who made me Paul’s godfather and I am eternally grateful for that because Paul is not my son and he is my godson and our relationship is something I had hoped for and didn’t think would happen and has.
And there is my friend, Robert Murray, father of five, who exchanged texts with me while watching his son, Colin, play soccer in New Windsor. Robert reminds me of my oldest friend, Sarah’s, father, John McCormick, who had six children and made their home the place to be. On bitter Minnesota winter nights, the neighborhood would gather and skate on the rink in John’s backyard. They are some of my most magical childhood memories.
And then there is Kevin Malone, Sarah’s son, who has always thought of me as his uncle even though I am not actually his uncle but we have an avuncular relationship that is so effing wonderful! He is not a father and he is wonderful and is a jewel in my life.
So, I was being self-indulgently depressed, and I need to focus in on all the wonderful things which go on in my life and all the wonderful people who are in it.
In the craziness that has been in my mind this weekend, I am so glad I wrote this as it reminds me of all the things for which I need to remind myself that I need to have an “attitude of gratitude.”
In Memoriam:
I read today that Stephen Furst had died. He gained fame in “Animal House” as Flounder, went on to “St. Elsewhere” and “Babylon Five” and directed movies and television shows. For a time, in the 1990’s, we were friendly. He was a gracious, gentle soul, doing his very best in life. RIP. I remember you fondly.
Otto Warmbier, the young student returned from North Korea in a coma, has passed away. It is heartbreaking. At least he was at home, with family.
Letter from the Vineyard 
Letter From Claverack 06 28 2017 Too beautiful a day to waste…
June 28, 2017Yesterday, I determined I would go down to the city to attend the Producer’s Guild Annual Meeting. This morning, walking out of the studio after my program, I made an abrupt determination that I was not going. It is just too beautiful a day to be in the city; when I left the studio, I knew what I wanted to do was to be sitting on my deck, a good strong mug of coffee next to me, with my fingers tapping on my laptop, which is where I am now.
The sky occasionally greys over but it is still a pleasant day, a little cooler than I would like but not by much.
The creek is clear, meandering gently to the west where it will eventually pour itself into the Hudson River. The coffee is a rich mix of Honduran and Nicaraguan beans, freshly ground, from Tierra Farm, a local business that is at the Farmer’s Market on Saturday and from whom I buy my coffee. Now that I know they have a retail store, I won’t need to worry about stocking up between the Summer and Winter Markets.
On Wednesday afternoons, during the summer, there is a smaller market in the park across from Proprietor’s Square. Perhaps I’ll go down there this afternoon; I have friends who sell their flavored D’arcy butters there.
Once I made the decision not to go the city, I felt playful. When I woke this morning, as the sun was just beginning to ascend in the eastern sky, I was thinking it would be fun. Then I read an article about the deteriorating state of the subway system and remembered the achingly long waits for the C Train last time I was in the city but was still determined to go.
Until the moment I walked out and saw how beautiful it was and breathed in the sweet air and thought: why? Yes, I would like to go to the Annual Meeting but was it worth a two-hour ride down and two hours back, an overnight stay, especially when my other meetings had cancelled or not confirmed? And I decided the beauty of where I was would beat the beauty of where I was going. I came home, threw my overnight bag onto the bed to be unpacked, made coffee and came out to the deck.
Opening my email inbox, I ruthlessly deleted anything that was not personal. Delete, delete, delete to all the emails from all progressive causes pleading for money. Delete, delete, delete to all emails referencing politics while savoring several teasing me with recipes I would like to make one day.
In the political chaos of our time, I have been seeking solace in the carefully laid out steps in recipes, promising a decent outcome if one follows the road map. Out there in the real world, there is no real road map and anyone attempting to create one, is not having much success.
McConnell’s gamble on secrecy in creating the Senate version of the American Health Care Act, seems to have backfired on him, leaving him postponing debate and a vote until after the July 4th recess. It does not go far enough for the conservatives and too far for the moderates while the Democrats are not having any of it.
The U.S. spends more than any other country on healthcare and, in at least some studies comparing it to other countries of similar economic status, comes out dead last in quality. Just fix it, please. Go ahead, guys, get together and put together a plan that works. Republicans! Democrats! Please. Aren’t we all Americans? Can’t we do better?
Everywhere I wander on news sites today, I am flooded with ads for Pepper, a Soft Bank Robotics robot, that they are offering to help in retail and offices. One package will replace your receptionist. It’s about 4 feet high with big eyes, a wide range of movement and what looks like an iPad plastered to its chest. They may be coming for us.
There is another ransomware attack hitting, mostly in Europe and Asia right now. It’s called “Petya” and is derived from code hacked from the NSA. Perhaps the next war won’t be fought with tanks, ships, planes and soldiers but by bunkered hackers working to bring their enemy to its technological knees.
Outside, it’s a beautiful day, a good moment, jazz standards are playing on my Echo and I am going to head to the Wednesday Market and see what’s for offer today instead of plying the subway lines of New York City. Yes, that sounds like a very good idea on a beautiful day.
Tags:Amazon Echo, C Train, Claverack Cottage, Claverack Creek, D'arcy Butters, Democrats, Hudson River, iPad, Jazz, Mitch McConnell, New York City subways, NSA, Petya Virus, Producer's Guild of America, Republicans
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