A love letter to Belleayre Mountain

This is my happy face.

Maybe it is because this was the first place I ever truly skied.  Perhaps it is a result of the stunning panoramic views in every direction.  It may be because of the friendliness of every staff member I’ve ever encountered.  Or, it might be because of the all-things-considered reasonableness of the price of a lift ticket and rentals.  This past Sunday, the spectacular weather was definitely a factor.

Whatever it is, I absolutely love Belleayre Mountain.  If you know me, you are aware that my general expectation is not “perfection.” I actually find it to be a bit overrated as a measurement.  Yet, Sunday, I heard myself saying “perfect” an uncountable number of times.  It truly was a day of skiing that I will have a hard time ever matching, much less surpassing, regardless of how many seasons I revisit those slopes.

Why was it so special?  Well, the drive south was beautiful, as winter and spring continued to switch places for a few days.  Getting my equipment and lift ticket was a breeze, and I was on the chairlift within 20 minutes of parking my car.  The snow was soft, the sun was blazing and the sky was blue.  I was traveling light (sans boys), hanging with Aloysius and his next generation, and feeling absolutely giddy on sunshine and life.  To all of you who weren’t there – I’m sincerely sorry you missed the opportunity to feel the joy of gliding down a mountain with the warmth of the sun on your back.  Or the simple happiness of a tasty beer sipped al fresco midway down the slopes.  Bliss.

Upon my return to Albany, the only way I could possibly punctuate a day that glorious was with a terrific dinner at the Capital City Gastropub and my first TasteeFreez visit of the year.  It may not get any better than this, but, no worries, I’ll continue to keep trying.  Kisses – Silvia

That would be a sundae – with nuts.

Schooled on skiing

So cute!

I spent most of my childhood in a village nestled in a valley between two (smallish) mountains.  Each of these mountains was home to a (smallish) ski resort.  Despite the proximity of these places to experience skiing, I personally never availed myself of the opportunity.  Skiing was always a bit beyond the budget, a fact that I recognized and accepted without question.

My first real chance to ski was as a newlywed.  We were visiting with some friends in Vermont and the plan was to ski, with borrowed equipment, from the condo to the base of the hill where we would purchase our lift tickets and enjoy an afternoon of outdoor activity.  Sounds fine, right?  Skis over my shoulder, I joined the others for the walk through the parking lots of the condo complex.  We arrived at the place where we were to snap into our skis and I looked down that hill, the whole time thinking about my lack of health insurance, and just knew it wasn’t happening for me.  I happily went back to the condo and  read the afternoon away, relieved to have avoided the certainty of a broken leg.

Years later, I had a one hour private ski lesson at Bousquet Mountain in the Berkshires.  At that point I was a fairly accomplished cross-country skier and, other than the icy mound I had to face as I disembarked the chairlift, I was pretty comfortable negotiating my way down the hills after my lesson.  Skiing was a fun activity, but not something for which I felt a burning excitement.  I was content with the affordability of cross-country and I loved the fact that I could keep my equipment in my car and take advantage of the opportunity to ski at a moment’s notice.  Winters began to feel much shorter.

Other than a winter triathlon that I participated in (“competed” in being too strong of a word), I didn’t ski again until this year and, I want to tell you, something has changed.  Skiing suddenly seems like a lot of fun and I am very much looking forward to getting back on the slopes with the frequency allowed by my budget and calendar.  Maybe it’s all the running I’ve been doing, but I find downhill skiing to be easier than cross-country. The ability to turn as I glide down hill, as opposed to skiing down the hills at Albany Muni on long skis without real edges, makes controlling my speed much more manageable.  My legs are strong and although I expected to feel some residual soreness after my day at Belleayre, I didn’t have the slightest muscle tenderness to remind me of the fun I had enjoyed.

Speaking of enjoyment, Aloysius and I brought along our generation next boys and planted them in Kids Camp for the day.  It was an investment ($100 + lunch), but we enjoyed knowing they were getting some quality instruction (2 to 1 ratio with the instructor) while we were exploring the mountain.  We had a great view of their activities from the lodge, beers firmly in hand, and they seemed to be having a good time together.  As far as the little guys enjoying the whole skiing thing, the jury is out on that.  I can tell you they probably had more fun than their teacher who noted that although the boys might be the best of “vacation buddies,” they certainly weren’t the best “learning buddies.”  What can I say – they’re lively boys.  They’ve got years ahead of them to learn to love to ski.  Trust me.

“I’ve already told you so much more than I know.” – Richard Russo

Forgive me if I’m still blushing, but, last night  I met one of my literary heroes and I’m still feeling a bit girlish.  Richard Russo participated in a panel discussion about translating the novel to the screen as part of the Williamstown Film Festival and, thanks to Joe Donahue sharing that information on air, I was front and center, literally.  No, really, I sat in the front row within 15 feet of Rick (as his co-panelists called him) and was utterly charmed by him.  I’ll tell you everything…

About 5 years ago, I went on a Russo kick and read all of the novels he had published.  I was taken by his frankness, his nonjudgmental characterizations of the people who populated his world.  (Let me just say one thing, I have a degree in English, yet I feel unqualified to really talk literature.) Here’s how I see Richard Russo – he is the John Irving of upstate New York.  He’s one of us. He sees people in a respectful  manner, reserving his own judgment and simply allowing their story to be told.  I love his ability to make me smile and shake my head in a single sentence.  Amazing!  My favorite of Russo’s works is Bridge of Sighs and this is the piece that quaked me:

“But each of them had walked through an open door, then heard it slam shut behind them and the mechanism lock.  While neither regretted her decision, knowing the door was locked was disconcerting just the same, as was the fact that their husbands, if they’d heard that same slam and click, seemed untroubled by it.  If anything, knowing there was no turning back was reassuring to them.  They never felt trapped,, never wondered about the mountain road not taken, never felt as though some important part of them was withering as another flourished, never were greedy for what they didn’t have and would never experience.”

Holy shit!  I had never heard that sensation described so accurately – much less by a male author emoting for a female character.  That was deep, sensitive, insightful, intense.  I grabbed my little black book and, after reading the passage an additional 1/2 dozen times or so, noted the passage.

I’ve shared this extended quote a time or two with friends that I knew would be moved by the words – male and female.  I certainly never imagined having an opportunity  to tell the author of those words how powerful I had found them to be. Goodness, I live a good and lucky life, because there I was at the Clark Art Museum walking down the hall next to Russo and telling him he inspired me to get divorced.  Just kidding!  Well, I did say that, but I was only kidding about his being to blame for my marital status.  I will, however, hold him completely responsible for writing words that truly inspire and move me, a state of being that I can only hope continues for many years, and books, to come.

The weekend that was…and what a weekend it was!

Wow – upstate NY, what’s good? Oh, you want to show me all weekend long?  You’re on! 

Friday afternoon began post-work, when I picked up my race packet for Saturday’s 15th annual Last Run 5k.  The process was well organized and the volunteers were friendly and helpful.  Swag in hand, I headed to the Shaker Meeting House, with a like-minded friend, on an earnest search for the perfect tree topper.  Motivated by the belief that there is much to look forward to, a star was the goal.  We left empty-handed, but confident in the knowledge that waiting for the perfect beacon of light isn’t always a hopeless act.

Sonya Kitchell

I stopped at the grocery store on my way back to the DelSo and got the fixings for pizzas.  Within 90 minutes, I was back in my car, boys fed and lipstick on, heading for Hudson and dinner at Swoon.  I met two friends, one old, the older even older.  We had a super dinner.  The ambiance was cozy with a kind of blurred around the edges feel to it like a sepia tinted photograph.  From there, it was to Club Helsinki for a show which was disappointingly abbreviated for us due to the leisureliness of our meal.    And this was Friday.

Saturday was productive, yet remarkably unhurried.  I even snuck in a visit to Marshall’s!  I must admit, I’m becoming more accepting of spontaneity and surprises, something more easily accomplished when they both bring positive wonder. Have I mentioned recently how fortunate I feel? Blessed, I tell you.  Have you read this? If not, please do it now.  I’ll wait.  When you’re done, let me know who that sounds like.

Anyway, in the late afternoon my running ladies started gathering and we headed to the race course.  Dang – it really was cold!  The excitement warmed us a bit and we watched the fireworks, itching to run.  It was a great night, just a little wind, or rather a lot of wind but only in a couple of concentrated areas.  The lights were magical.  We celebrated post-race at the Wine Bar and Bistro in Lark.  My Prosecco was perfect and our beverage was the perfect time filler before we picked up our takeout at Jewel of India.  We opted for this place over Shalimar because I spotted a 25% off take-out orders coupon in the TU.  Price for our evening out in Albany? Maybe $50 each including race, drinks, and food.

All quality – other than the lamb, that is.  That was the toughest thing about the entire weekend.

Sunday was recovery in the morning and indulgence in the afternoon.  For the second consecutive Sunday, I did yoga at the Yoga Loft in the DelSo.  Yes, I can walk there. Following yoga, there  was a little mad dash to get to the Madison for the noon showing of Muppet Move, but we made it with far too much time to spare. I’d honestly prefer to miss some of the trailers. Post-movie, it was cookie baking and laundry and then a solid 4 mile run that felt great other than that pesky discomfort I’ve taken to think of as my IT band issue.

The cure for that running “injury” and the other demands of a true weekend?  That would be the hot bubble bath I’m just about to slip into with some quiet music, dim lights and thoughts filled with appreciation.  What a great weekend, what an incredibly blessed life.

Sunday Stroll

After witnessing a beautiful wedding on Saturday, Sunday was kind of a funky day for me.  What better way to span new beginnings and potential endings than a literal walk across a bridge?  Exactly – especially when you factor in the gorgeous sunshine and my complete lack of schedule. The Walkway over the Hudson was the perfect start to a mellow day.

Aloysius was my promenade partner, and I must say, we are well suited walkers.  We scored a legit parking spot on the west side of the river and then proceeded to leisurely walk and talk our way east to Poughkeepsie.  There was a generous wind blowing, but the sun was shining and the air was the perfect mix of crisp and mild.  I had hoped the foliage was going to be a bit more colorful, but the first weekend in October proved to be a bit too early in the fall for really dramatic color.  .                                                                                                                        

The view north while walking east.

In case you’re unfamiliar with this bridge, the longest pedestrian bridge in the world at 1.28 miles, here’s a link to some FAQs.  What their website fails to mention is that there are some minor issues with traffic flow.  I mean, it isn’t a big deal, but there aren’t distinct lanes for the various types of traffic crossing the bridge, i.e. pedestrian, cyclists, folks with dogs and/or strollers, joggers…  It’s a bit of a free for all, which is fine if you’re a person who remains cognizant of others, unfortunately, however, we all know how increasingly rare that trait

                                                                              seems to have become. 

View from Caffe Aurora

Once we got to the east side of the river we decided to search out a good cup of coffee and some pastry.  Both desires were met at the charming Caffe Aurora, in the Little Italy area of Poughkeepsie.  I had a cappucino and a plain Baba which is a delicious sponge-y cake which had been soaked in rum.  It reminded of the cake I enjoyed in Tuscany and was the perfect degree of sweet.  After reading the Yelp reviews, I’m going to try a cannoli  for sure next time – calories be damned. We enjoyed our treats on their cozy covered front porch and were incredibly entertained by the conversation at the neighboring table between a few characters named Nunzio and something else that ended in a vowel.  Very authentic stuff.

I definitely recommend your going to check out this bridge and explore the local area.  The Mid-Hudson Children’s Museum  is nearby and this handy map has more information about additional places of interests nearby.  This Cafe Bocca place has some serious potential and Janet’s Jerk Stop looks like a cool cheap eats kind of spot.  And talk about a great name!  I imagine the next couple of weeks are going to be pretty popular ones for pedestrian leaf peepers, but you should still slip your walking shoes on and get yourself there.  Some more photos from our jaunt are below.

View south

Walking shoes?

Mid-Hudson Bridge

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

image from Hollywood.com

Are you familiar with this classic Clint Eastwood movie?  It seems like I grew up watching it, along with a Fistful of Dollars and Hang Em High, of course  What can I say?  We liked spaghetti Westerns at my house and Clint could rock a poncho like no one else – except my good friend Aloysius, perhaps.  The movie, like myself, premiered in 1966.  Maybe that fact, along with an excellent  theme song*, are why I am always willing to invest nearly 3 hours watching this terrific film. 

I haven’t done much cooking in recent weeks, but three things I recently attempted personified The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.  I thought I should share my failures with you as well as my culinary successes – a gentle reminder that none of us (other than Barbara Lynch) are perfect.

The Good

Let’s begin with The Good – not only is that consistent with the title, but you all know I’m an optimist at heart.  Today was my first 5:30 a.m. wake-up call for the school year, and I used my time wisely by preparing dinner 12 hours early.  I’ve done brisket a number of ways, with varying degrees of success, but this “technique” always results in tender, falling apart, flavorful meat.  And, talk about easy!  Combine a can of beef broth with a jar of chili sauce in a slow cooker.  Add brisket (Get one bigger than you think you’ll need – it cooks down and you’ll want leftovers.) and top with some sliced onions, toss in some carrots if you have them, chopped potatoes would be lovely, too.  Cover.  Turn on low and cook for 10 or 12 hours.  There you go – delicious, easy dinner in one-pot.

The Bad

And now for The Bad…we had a surplus of red and yellow peppers in the crisper drawer so I decided to toss them on the grill and roast them.  Which I did.  For a long, long time because I completely forgot about them.  What I ended up with were absolute fossilized peppers – they were completely charred and lacking even the slightest amount of liquid. Aren’t they kind of cool looking though?  Obviously they were inedible, but I’d like to think that the neighborhood squirrels ate them and became really sick.  Squirrels, too, are Bad.

The Ugly (but delicious)

After an August filled with succulent tomatoes and sweet corn, I’m ready to begin enjoying root and cruciferous vegetables.  One of my favorite cooler weather veggies is cauliflower.  Ugly is perhaps too  strong a word but work with me here, ok? Compared to perfectly round, glossy tomatoes and corn with shiny silk, cauliflower just isn’t as visually appealing to many folks. After years of attempting to replicate my mother’s mustard sauce, I’ve abandoned that folly and decided that I am more than happy with roasted cauliflower – again one pan and very little attention required.  Perfect. Break up your head of cauliflower into florets and toss into your favorite roasting pan.  Drizzle with  olive oil and liberally season with coarse salt.  Roast at 400 for about 40 minutes, occasionally shaking the pan to toss the cauliflower.  Remove from the oven and enjoy – tastes great hot or cold or even pureed as the foundation of a soup.  Don’t they say the ugly girl is usually the nicest?

* Because of some ridiculous pissing match between Apple and Adobe (which I obviously don’t understand) I can’t embed the song here, but click here for your listening and viewing pleasure.

Me & Neil & Karma

There are certain things in life that I will always think of as belonging to someone else and therefore unavailable to me. For instance, the Tolkien books were always my brother’s thing and thus I never read them. Thank goodness for Peter Jackson’s films otherwise I would still be in the dark about such things as Frodo, Gandalf and the importance of that damned ring. There’s also some music that I so strongly associate with individuals that I resist adding it to my collection – sometimes because I simply don’t like it (sorry, Tom, Frank Zappa will never be on my ipod), but more often because I would feel awkward about “stealing” it. Unless, of course, I was literally stealing the music, like the time I took every one of Aloysius’ Ricki Lee Jones cassettes that I could get my hands on, just so he would stop playing them incessantly.

For many years Neil also belonged to Aloysius. He had older siblings who refined (created?) his musical taste and was definitely ahead of the curve (or maybe a flashback behind the curve?) on the Neil Young love. I remember the urban myth about Aloysius seeing Neil at the Garden and joining him from the audience on a harmonica solo – probably not true, but lovely to imagine. For me, though, Neil somehow was different; he was available. Perhaps because he had had so many incarnations through the years, I somehow didn’t hesitate to embrace him as my own. Over the years, I’ve been fortunate enough to see him a number of times, once with C, S & N, a couple of times with Crazy Horse, and also solo. He is amazing! Watching him play guitar, stomping his foot and nodding his head, it is pretty clear that he birthed grunge. Probably without pain medication and with forceps.

A couple of Decembers ago, I went to see Neil at the Garden. Sarah had bought 2 tickets for us as an extravagant Christmas gift. It was so fun to be back in the Garden after a 20 year absence and the show rocked, despite the fact that our seats were total nosebleeds and the crowd around us barely registered a pulse. After the show we walked up 9th Avenue, occasionally stopping to warm up until we found ourselves at Kennedy’s.

As we settled in to our last stop, enjoying our conversation with some Irish ex-pats, a new group filtered in. And they each had lanyards with all access passes to Neil Young – they were roadies! We hung out with this fine group for a couple of pints and had a great time talking music and shows. The evening ended with their promise to guest list us for the next night’s show – and they really did! The second night’s show was enhanced by our stage side “seating” and the addition of Aloysius, because when Mark asked how many tickets we needed, I immediately thought of Aloysius. This is where the Karma comes in to the story. Seriously, what are the chances of meeting Neil Young’s lead sound engineer, getting guest listed and having one of your oldest friends, a friend who basically gave Neil Young to you, passing through NYC on his way from LaGuardia Airport to New Paltz, join you for the show?? It really was that spectacular.

The only way this story can possibly get any better is if our sound engineer friend, Mark, is able to hook us up for the Palace show next month. And if Neil and Mark let us make them dinner. To be continued…