Amusements: The Sequel

It’s a

IMG_5781

Not to be observant

IMG_5798

When in a sea of humanity.  One might unknowingly miss

IMG_6030

On the corner of Waverly and 7th Avenue.

IMG_5665

A two-bodied beast locked in unity,

IMG_5984

The mysterious case of the missing workmen,

IMG_5830

The end of denim jeans,

IMG_5955

A worn-out  speed demon,

IMG_5755

A royal prince.

IMG_6052

And the kitty crown on a leash, window shopping at the jewelry store.

Keep your eyes open, your heart too, and witness the wonders before you.  That’s what I do every time I walk out the door on this tiny island.  You can see how it’s paid off: with more amusements, and many more to come.

The Last Hurrah

IMG_5671

Today’s stroll spoke of endings in closed cafes and quiet streets,

IMG_5668

Of vacation being officially over.

IMG_5675

Farewell to sun and summer,

IMG_5676

And sitting on the plaza.

IMG_5674

With pending doom from the Flatiron Building in an ominous sky,

IMG_5670

I reached for pink in mounds of mum,

IMG_5669

The color of the last hurrah.

IMG_5681Goodbye sweet summer.

‘It’s been real,’ as my mother would say.  In some cases, to real to bear.

IMG_5666

Approaching fall a tad worse for wear, life goes on and I’m going with it.

The Cummington Fair’s 145th year

DSCN1684

With eyes lined,

IMG_5524

And mighty haunches fed, bred for dragging ten thousand pounds,

IMG_5535

In regal repose, the beast of burden between appointments with the public and the pull.

IMG_5548

Steve and I strolled the garish fairway of sugar and screams,

IMG_5550

And abdominal organ rearrangements, two for the price of one.

IMG_5573

We ambled to the stage for a pretty good Johnny Cash impersonation.

IMG_5586

And to another to sing the national anthem in the dark.

IMG_5588

We witnessed drivers loading into their reinforced weapons, soldiers going to war for the Demolition Derby.

IMG_5608

 The deafening derby’s aftermath in silent wreckage.  All in the name of destruction.

Some things never change.

It’s a comfort to know that there will always be the best bouquet, the perfect green bean , the finest pair of knitted gloves, the strongest oxen team, the most fortified jalopy, singers who imitate the great, and Steve and I, like other spectators, gathering for an evening where screaming your head off is not only the norm, but the expectation.  It’s like being young.

First photo by Steve Kramer, the rest by yours truly.

Scenes From a Car Window

IMG_5308

Coming back from Sullivan County, rushing by a river,

IMG_5312

Skimming the earth like wind,

IMG_5303

In a moment of parked repose, the trees reach to the Sistine Chapel.

IMG_5322

As night falls, bridging our way from burbs to urban, dread narrowing my thoughts.

IMG_5346

We fly down the west side through lurid beauty: cramped trees growing in concrete.  I prepare to meet what it means to be the daughter of Sol.

Stef & Dad Fl 07

                  Faces alike, countered spirits, from the other side, his reign remains.

Such Is Life

IMG_2465

Rooted in the family tree, I ponder my place and allegience to it.

IMG_1888

There are endless ruts of great majesty in the emotional tides of being an Urdang,

IMG_1891

Rather late in the day, I stand, determined to avoid the distortion of being right over being happy.

IMG_1153

And look beyond the island of self, toward the horizon of humanity.

IMG_5161

What stares back is a glorious mess; seasons and people coming and going faster than a sigh.

As my mother would say, ‘Such is life.’

Symbols of Loss

IMG_5016

I am split,

IMG_5003

  Stripped bare and prickly,

IMG_4998

Unmoored and abandoned, a boat out of water,

IMG_5010

Am having trouble seeing things clearly, and for what they are.  What is grief, what is diversion, what is the truth in all these emotions?  Where is my dad?

Trained to be strong, to deny feelings, I am determined to ride the waves of emotions, to go through another loss that brings up all the others, and to continue to live and love through it all.

IMG_5045

I’m calling on angels, calling on loved ones who’ve helped me through this week, I’m calling on writing to make sense of this chaos.  And reaching to my readers who might say, “I know what she means, I’ve felt that too.”

Ode to Whispering Towers

From one extreme to another, boys quietly discussing fishing in my last post, to towers whispering from above near Bryant Park, both scenes causing pause.

IMG_5067

Concrete, steel, glass, silence,

IMG_5056

Grand matriarchs holding their own,

IMG_5076

Dreamers dancing to conquer the impossible.

IMG_5058

If one looks closely, there is grace abounding in human beings creating a world of commerce, art, and everything in between.  All on one small island: heaven, that can be hell, millions of miracles every moment in this city that somehow works as a whole.

 After twenty eight years, I still love it like a child in the stage of discovery and wonder.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the Land of Ferns and Fairies

IMG_5000

At the end of this road is an Alpine lake.

John and I were at the water’s edge,.  He held his Cairn, Jack Angus, and hand scooped a shower on his overheated fuzzball body.  While we quietly talked and he played with Jack in air thicker than water, we noticed two lanky boys sauntering down the road toward the dock. I said a soft hello.  One looked to be about ten and the other fourteen.  I watched them with fascination as they  sat and engaged in a quiet conversation on the gently rocking dock.  They seemed like ghosts from the nineteen fifties.

As the younger one looked up and listened, the oldest did most of the talking.  His unpredictable voice slid in and out of manhood, soft and wise one second and squaking the next.

I heard him tell his companion, “My Dad says if you fish only to catch a fish, you might be disappointed.  But if you do it for the enjoyment of fishing, then if you catch one, it’s a bonus.”

As we walked away, John said to me, “They seem very olde world, don’t they?’  He had noticed too but I was so curious about them I failed to notice John noticing.  The boys haunted me the rest of the day: youngsters quietly existing in this technological world.  They were without noise, sans handhelds, no jumping around or screaming or throwing rocks, just enjoying each other’s company.

IMG_5017

I couldn’t actually remember the last time I was privy to two boys on a dock.  Where did they come from, I wondered, these little philosophers?

 And then I figured it out.  The lake community where John and Kevin have their house began as a utopia in the late 1800’s, and has remained a land of ferns and fairies, and boys that are content to sit and think about things

IMG_4991

 And adults who like to be reminded of that sleepy time in life, at least on the weekends.

For more photos from another season at The Ledge, one much cooler: http://wildnaturefny/2013/0324/messages-from-the-earth.com/