City Snow Versus Country Snow

It seems obvious that the country snow is going to win this one. City snow creates mayhem, toxic slush and few smiles excpet for the folks who've escaped the loony bin and think they're Admiral Perry. Tell a New Yorker there's more snow in the forecast and he'll kill you.

Country snow is more civilized. It's 95% virginal and when they plow the streets, there's room to put the stuff. We spent the weekend at our Jeffersonville hideaway, and it was beautiful and relaxing. We began with Irish coffee upon our arrival. I wasn't getting into bed until the house warmed up. Saturday morning, after an early and light breakfast, I went to yoga. I hadn't been in ages and it was good to see that I wasn't as stiff as I thought I'd be. After a grilled lunch, we took off for Callicoon to do a little shopping. Callicoon I'm told is home to Mark Rufalo and his family. I confess that I don't know who this is. I don't think we saw him in Peck's market.

I spent the afternoon napping and reading. At sunset, we watched the snow fall into our brook and sipped cocktails. Dinner consisted of flounder, scallopped potatoes and broccoli. The flounder may have been wild, but we weren't wild about the taste. That's what you get for buying country fish. We attempted to watch a movie, Invictus, but I missed most of it due to snoozing under a blanket. It wasn't until the end that I realized it was about rugby and not soccer.

Our neighbor came over for brunch and we had bagels, lox and cream cheese. What did you expect, biscuits, gravy and sausage? After he left, I took a nap. Napping is my new hobby. I get less done, but I'm growing younger by the minute. I read some more and then started to work on dinner: grilled chicken, rice and creamed spinach. Yum.

Who wanted to leave? We wished we could stay all week. But no, we had to return to our city life where the snow is black and the parking spaces few. Marty found one next to a drift that will be good for at least a week. In theory, we're going to New Jersey Wednesday for dinner but it's supposed to snow again. Keep this mum or someone will slit your throat.

Whose Woods Are These? Mine.

We arrived in the Catskills Friday evening after a slow start on the West Side Drive. To make things even more exciting, a car slammed into us from behind and then fled the scene. No one was hurt, and the bumper did its job. Don't worry, I put a nasty curse on his family.

The house was of course freezing but we set that to rights with turning on the heat and cranking out some Stones tunes. I'm deep into the Keith Richards memoir. Bed well-toasted, I jumped in and slept like a baby. It was minus 4 degrees the next morning, but I wanted to get some fresh air and some bacon. We breakfasted on waffles and said bacon when Harry dragged himself out of bed.

The weekend was spent eating, drinking and partying. Mariel showed up mid-afternoon, an early birthday surprise. I drank too much, but didn't have a hangover the next day. Maybe it was the rich chocolate cake we had for dessert.

Sunday afternoon we drove Harry to Vassar, dropped Marty at the train and Mariel and I drove back to J-ville. After lunching in Callicoon the next day, Mariel took off for Providence and I settled in for a long winter's nap.

The snow and ice started late that evening and continued throughout the day. Everything was closed. Where do we think we are, in Virginia? I stayed in all day, going out only to walk wonder dog.

It's still snowing but sheer boredom opened up the schools, the library and most everything else around here. I'll be leaving after lunch. With luck it will be a quick and easy drive. My stay here has been most relaxing, and I'm ready to face my 57th birthday on Sunday.

Tea Biscuits

Yesterday, I schlepped up to 26 Federal Plaza to the Social Security office. It was cold and windy, and the line of people waiting to get into the building was long and slow-moving. The man behind me kept getting closer and closer, practically breathing down my neck. He was speaking in what sounded like Polish to his companion. He was also coughing a lot.

Once inside, and after going through the equivalent of airport security, I found the appropriate office and waited to see an agent. I had already spent hours working on my application online, and gathering together the documentation I would need to prove my disability. I think I have a decent shot at it. Whatever I get will be better than what I presently earn, which is nothing.

I picked up groceries on the way home. I finally found the tea biscuits I like, and I was charged only 99 cents for them when they should have been $3.99. I had a few with tea later in the afternoon. So satisfying.

Harry arrived looking slugglish and worn from his two weeks in Rhode Island. He enjoyed seeing his friends, but came to realize that suburbia is not chicken soup for the teenage soul. Italian Wedding Soup, however, is, which is what I made for dinner.

We'll be driving up to our country house tonight. Harry goes back to college Sunday, so we'll drive him to Poughkeepsie, clean laundry in tow. Marty will take the bus back to the city Sunday night and I'll spend a few days staring out at the snow, reading, writing and otherwise amusing myself. If only we could sell that other house in the woods.

I finished Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger. It's not worth reading, although a friend tells me The Time Traveler's Wife is better. I'm starting to get into the Keith Richards book, now that he's finally writing about music and playing with Mick. Harry gave me a birthday present book, Neither Here Nor There by Bill Bryson. I like his world view and he always makes me laugh.

Manhattan Straight Up with a Cherry

It's early Sunday morning, I've just finished my coffee and am trying to wake up. The quiet in my apartment is unnerving. Every so often, I hear drilling at Ground Zero. Even on Sundays, they tear down and build up. In Rhode Island, all I'd be hearing right now are gun blasts from Carr's Pond. Seeya, Bambi.

We had a typical Manhattan Saturday beginning with errands that included a visit to the vet and shopping at Trader Joe's. My brother and his wife are visiting, so we subwayed up to the Village and ate lunch at Olive Tree. Unfortunately the felafel stayed with me all day. We then went uptown to the Guggenheim Museum where we saw the Kandinsky exhibit. All those geometric shapes really appealed to me.

Back at the apartment, we grabbed some caffeine before heading to Bayridge, Brooklyn to visit our niece and her husband. We watched football, drank beer and ate pizza while discussing our family's disturbing dysfunction.

We reurned to Manhattan, where Marty found a parking spot good until 2012.

Bagels, Bialys, Bouviers

Tucked into our little brookside hideaway, we watched the snow fall. Unlike the Big Apple, we only had 5-6 inches. Travel was not interrupted. As a matter of fact, we drove into Liberty that day. Having just seen the movie Fargo the night before, we thought we'd been teleported to the Coen brothers' next film in the quirky noir genre. All that was missing was blood.

Liberty is best described as an armpit. Gone are the glory days when New York City slickers traveled upstate to stay in luxury accomodations with good food, fresh air and entertainment galore. The fresh air remains; the rest stinks.

But, we made a remarkable discovery: real New York bagels and bialys. Not only are they delicious, they are cheap compared to the ones sold in NYC. I had a cinnamon raisin today, keeping the poppy/sesame/everythings hostage in my freezer. If you visit, I might release one into your custody.

On our way up to the woods, we picked up Turbo, the wonder dog. Marty took him out of the car in front of our house, and when he turned around to unpack all our stuff, Mr. T had walked away. A miracle! Ten days in the country did him a world of good. It wasn't too shabby for me and Marty either. Great friends, food, time spent relaxing, reading, walking, enjoying.