In the East, driving has a completely different significance than in the West. In New Mexico and Arizona, I've driven 3 or 4 hours just to go to a concert, or play a gig, or even at least in part to go to a particular restaurant. In the East, trips of this length seem more daunting. It's weird, because everything is so much closer together back East. But the great mass of traffic, twisted roads, crumbling infrastructure, crappy weather and the general unpleasantness of the endeavor make it a hair raising and wearying experience even to drive 200 miles.
But that never stopped me. I was always gassed, stoked and ready to go. I once basically stole my parents' AMC Gremlin and drove from Bethlehem PA to Boston and back in one day. Just to spend about 90 minutes there, revisiting Berklee and wandering a little bit in Back Bay. Later, when I was in a band that played all over the East Coast, we would drive from Philadelphia to Manhattan, be in a line of about 7 bands at CBGB, play from 1:45 to 2:30, load out and drive all the way back-- and sometimes I would get up after an hour sleep and go teach at a military academy all day.
Anyway, on to my sister's. My sister bought her house in 1982, when she was living full time in Queens and working as a writer and associate editor for a major publication. It was originally her country house. Without traffic (a major assumption, especially on a Friday or returning on Sunday), it's about a 2.5 hour drive. But what a beautiful place, a big house on a lot right on the Ten Mile River, only about 1.5 miles from the Delaware River, on the New York side.
I've visited there many, many times over the intervening 35 years. I've brought 5 different romantic partners there. I've visited alone or had a friend come along. I've slept on a screen porch in the summer, listening to the roar of the river all night; I've wandered in the snow and ice in winter. My sister's husband, who is an HVAC technician, helped build out a very nice apartment on the foundation of what was the barn on the property. That became where I stayed when I would visit. My parents' 50th wedding anniversary celebration was there (14 years ago).
The view from the porch on the apartment
I had set aside three nights to stay, relax, get my bearings-- sort of the fulcrum of the trip. July 8, 9, 10, which I saw as a turning point. The visit didn't disappoint. Great food, great company, sound sleep with the white noise of the endlessly flowing river, time to work out and go running in surroundings. A great way to let go of a lot of the emotional lint from family visits and get recharged for the rest of the trip.
A definite sign of how rural it still is up near Narrowsburg
But something was still either following me or waiting for me, it felt like. The next legs of the trip included New Brunswick, NJ to visit with an old friend, two nights on Long Beach Island where I used to go as a kid all the time, a visit to another old friend in Rockville, MD, then launching back across the country for a few days in Santa Fe and a quick visit to Albuquerque. In every case, the next stops were about friends. And about localities of choice, not requirement, other than the visit to New Brunswick or Maryland. The Jersey Shore, Santa Fe, Albuquerque-- some favorites. Favorite people, family of choice.
And yet. Something interesting had happened on July 7th. A small-seeming thing. An exchange of bawdy puns on Facebook with a woman I had held in very high regard for years. 16 years, to be exact. And this exchange planted some curiosity in me. Due to a significant age gap and a lot of other life circumstances, this person and I had only rarely communicated over many years, and never flirtatiously. But she suddenly made a very striking impression. By the time I had gotten to my sister's on the 8th and it was evening, I was flat out confessing to her that I had had a crush on her for a long time, which was true but which is the kind of thing I almost never do. Too shy, too afraid of rejection, too proud.
And this opened the door to our having a very personal conversation about our respective life situations, rather quickly. There was a sense of immediate and trusting connection, at least on my part.
That night, I was standing by the open door to the back deck, listening to the river. It was rushing by in the black. I got my cell phone and started recording, thinking that I wanted this person I had just connected with to hear the river. I wanted her to hear the sound of the river in the dark. I posted it on Facebook to share it in general, but I especially wanted her to watch it and listen.
Believe me, I noticed that.
The River in You
ReplyDelete(after W S Merwin)
The first thing you want to hear
is the river sound
and then to see
the source of that sound
for it’s never the same
yet it’s always something like
what you think you remember
from the time before
and the one before that
and when you reach the bank
though you no longer hurry
as you used to and look down
on the long reach that flows south
and curves east like a wing
light and sound are one
and you know the swirl
of having been there before
though it’s not quite the same
as last time and the time
before that and you sense the pull
that draws you back is the river in you
racing to keep time with the river sound
--Brian Turner