Despite my attempts at processing the hundreds of distinct thoughts and images in my head following my trip to the past last weekend, my mind is still in a whirl. During my drive north, while I tried to assert a sense of order to all that had been stimulated in my head, I realized that the 30th reunion I had attended had prompted more questions than it had answered and I wondered if other alumni felt the same way. I wished that I were better in those sorts of situations, more open to approaching others and initiating conversations. I had wanted to feel a connection with those around me, a connection which ultimately I could only find in fits and starts.
I’ve attended each reunion planned by the class Dynamo, Robin. There have been four. If I take the time to consider what compels me to insert myself in an environment which doesn’t necessarily feel comfortable, my only conclusion is that I’m seeking something, some sort of resolution or denouement.
Kind of silly, right? What can be learned from surrounding myself by people with whom I shared a building, along with some experiences 30 years ago? I just don’t know.
High school was not four years of social activities and academic achievements for me. I was not present for much of it, figuratively and literally. I felt lost in the hugeness of the high school after the intimate experience of my Greenwood Lake education, going from a class of 65 to one of more than 400 in the blink of an eye. Cliques and expectations were well established and I flitted between groups (heads, brains, jocks) committing to none.
Each reunion has invoked a similar lack of ability to engage. I simply don’t know what to say to anyone. There are familiar faces, some from high school so long ago, others from social media, and flashes of memories race through my mind. But where does one start when it comes to covering the last three decades? And – to what purpose? My high school experience will never change and my future probably doesn’t include any of the people I struggle with to make meaningful conversation. If an opportunity presented itself – say a classmate was going to be in the Albany area and wanted to grab a cup of coffee or glass of wine, I’d be interested. I’m just more comfortable interacting in a smaller, lower-volume setting. Perhaps that’s my take away, my conclusion?
I think this was my last reunion.
It was summer and I was about 13 years old. I don’t know what initially started the disagreement, but words flew between me and the other girl. She was from a family of girls and she was far meaner than I. She wrapped up her verbal assault with a shocking assertion regarding my mother, my brother and myself. The sound of her words stung me with an undeniable ring of truth and I immediately recognized that secrets hurt.
Secrets are kind of like snakes – what makes them scary is that they appear unannounced. If only they would wear collars with bells which tinkled as they approached! Since that isn’t realistic, living life in the open without rocks to hide under seems to me to be the best way of preventing things from sneaking up you. So, that’s what I do.
The secrets that Mary Lambert sings about are not my own, yet this song still perfectly expresses my own sensibility of secrets. I don’t care if the world knows what my secrets are. So what.
Not quite the view with which I have become familiar.
How’s that for a title, my friends? It has a certain dramatic flair, yes? Before you start to worry that you, by not offering your pet this service, are being a neglectful pet keeper, let me tell you how we arrived at this point.
Nearly two weeks ago (Thursday, 9/25, the same day the real Jeter played the field for his final time) my Jeter was neutered. The procedure went well and he returned home the same day of the event, a bit sleepy but in his usual good humor. His recovery has gone well, other than some not so appealing drainage from the incision area. Naturally, this became apparent to me when Jeter cozied up on my bed, my bed with the white comforter. Two loads of laundry later…
Jeter seems to have found the area between his rear legs even more compelling than usual judging from the number of times I’ve had to correct his somewhat vulgar behavior. The result of his excessive oral attentions? A “hot spot” of sorts has appeared on what remains of his testicles, demanding a round of antibiotics and the aforementioned hot compresses. Both three times a day, thank you very much.
His stitches have been removed and the wound, from the intimate view I have been afforded, is looking better. His demeanor, fortunately, has been as lively as ever and I am reasonably confident that he hasn’t suffered any real discomfort. That being said, I am probably even more eager than he is for a complete and quick return to his previous clean bill of health. It’s not that our time together during his convalescence hasn’t been special, but I’m sure we’re both looking forward to his resuming his dog park activities. It’s time for Jeter to get his foreplay time somewhere else.
(Dear readers: Please read this article, complete with comments, and then come back. Okay, done?)
I’ve got some information for you, paleandpasty. Take that fence picket out of your ass and have a seat. I am so tired of people like you anonymously criticizing my city. From your self-perceived superior, suburban vantage point, you make general statements about personal safety and outrageous property taxes in Albany. Let me tell you a couple of things.
In the more than 20 years I’ve lived in Albany, I’ve been mildly physically threatened once. Yes, once. It was fairly recently and I related the details here. While the situation was less than comfortable for me, the way I felt after that incident didn’t come close to approaching the degree of physical unease I experienced this week when I witnessed a brutal physical attack in the parking lot of the Dunkin Donuts on Delaware Avenue. In Delmar. At 3:15 in the afternoon. Bad people and bad things happen to be in every community. Stop trying to perpetuate the misimpression that Albany has the monopoly on such things.
As for taxes, I just wrote the check last week for my school taxes. I paid 60% the price that a suburban friend paid. Of course, their property and their school district are both valued higher than mine. I understand that, but I certainly don’t believe that their cookie cutter ranch, which has less square feet and character than my home, or their mostly homogenous school system, which is more than a little white bread, is worth 40% more than what I paid. My children have access to AP classes, courses through HVCC and opportunities to explore and experience community resources, too. Those things are not suburban exclusives.
In closing, I’d like to add that my children are not being raised to believe it is okay to make anonymous statements criticizing the choices made by others. I don’t know where you grew up or attended school, but that is a lesson you seemed to miss. You are more than entitled to live where you want, but please stop trying to validate your choice by maligning mine.
Sincerely, Silvia Meder Lilly
Now that it is October, I’m ready to address the apparent plot for pumpkin flavor to dominate American palates from August through December. I mean, seriously, to how many products will fake pumpkin flavor be added? Click here to see a fairly comprehensive list of products available currently. Prepare to be impressed – or repulsed.
How do you feel about this? Are you a pumpkin aficionado? Is your autumnal existence incomplete without the infusion of the great orange gourd? Or maybe, like me, you enjoy a taste of something seasonal but don’t really understand the need for “whipped peanut and pumpkin pie spice flavored spread” or “pumpkin spice fettucine?” How did this happen?
According to an article I read, it seems we have Starbucks to thank for the current obsession with pumpkin everything. Their pumpkin spiced latte hit the market about 10 years ago and there’s been no stopping the demand for more room in the garden for pumpkins. Prior to 15 years ago the state of Virginia had no pumpkin farms. Today, more than 4,000 acres are devoted to pumpkin patches. Geez, that’s a lot of ground for poor Linus Van Pelt to cover!
For the record, I enjoy an occasional pumpkin spiced latte on a crisp fall day. I love to add a half a cup or so of canned pumpkin, along with nutmeg and cinnamon, to my waffle batter this time of year. Pumpkin pie? Yes, please! I am absolutely down with that. Recently, though, when a guest at the Wine Bar (who was visiting from Hong Kong) questioned me about the pumpkin flavored beer we were offering on draft, I really didn’t know what to say. “Um, uh, during ‘autumn’ we Americans like to flavor as many edibles as possible with the flavor of pumpkin?” Yeah, that. Sigh. Good grief.
I’ve been a Yankees fan my entire life. In elementary school I flipped baseball cards with the boys to add to my collection and when Thurman Munson died while I was away at camp, I convinced the counselors that the American flag needed to be lowered to half mast in the Captain’s honor.
The Yankees’ roster of the 1970s was filled with huge personalities. Reggie Jackson, Catfish Hunter and Sparky Lyle were larger than life sports figures who attracted attention both on and off the field and I loved rooting for my guys in pinstripes. They were exciting, often controversial and always entertaining and I watched every game I could, including that magical playoff game in Boston when my least favorite Yankee, Bucky Dent, redeemed himself to me by hitting that 3 run homer for the win.
While life changed in the ensuing years, my love for the Yankees never abated. My team won the World Series during my first two pregnancies and I seriously considered contacting George Steinbrenner to see if he might be willing to sponsor my third pregnancy, seeing that we had a shared history of both being able to “produce” simultaneously. Those late night World Series games were when Derek Jeter first came to my attention.
I recall him as being an earnest, hardworking and enthusiastic player. He limited his drama, unlike the players from the 70s, to the field, and his boyish good looks and shy smile made him an immediate idol. When I learned that he had a close connection to my hometown and oldest friend, I loved him even more. He has been a joy to watch and my team will be hard pressed to fill the gap he leaves in their roster.
At a time when heroes are in such short supply, Jeter allowed us to consider him to be ours. He represented a team, a sport, a city and a country better than anyone else has ever done. Jeter’s humbleness made us proud and I am heartbroken by the thought that there will never been another sports figure with as much character and positive influence as Derek Jeter. Enjoy your next chapter, Derek. You’ll be missed and remembered forever.
Did you play that game when you were a kid? We usually alternated between Red Light and Mother, May I? on autumn evenings which grew more quickly dark as each day passed. They were fun games to play during times, which I recall as, much more simple than today. No batteries or cords necessary.
These days, I run for fun. Unfortunately, negotiating my way around the streets of Albany isn’t always fun. I play a different game now – Green light, red light, one-two-three. Are you familiar with it? It’s where you watch the light cycle through from green to yellow to red and then count “1, 2, 3″ before approaching the intersection. If you fail to follow the rules, like the scofflaw driver blowing through the red light, you’re likely to get run over. Really.
There isn’t a single time I’ve been out getting some miles in, when I haven’t observed drivers running red lights. It is no joke. I can appreciate the frustration with Albany’s lights which sometimes seemed timed expressly for making me late for my destination. I get it. But, seriously? Is it really going to be worth running a person or animal over? Drivers in Albany really need to drink a big old mug of slow the f*ck down.
Red light cameras are controversial and considered by some to be invasive, but I truly believe their value in potentially protecting lives exceeds their threat to privacy. Folks are concerned that the company which will be monitoring the cameras will be aggressively doling out tickets because they are a for-profit entity. So? Don’t run red lights and it will cost you nothing.
Albany is a fine place to live. We have invested in schools and libraries and crosswalks. There are cool new places to shop and eat and our mayor is committed to the arts. Wouldn’t it be great if families felt comfortable moving into our city because they knew that public safety was a genuine priority? I’m all for quality of life tickets a la Giuliani, jaywalking, bike riding in the wrong direction on the streets, drivers failing to respect pedestrians in crosswalks and red light runners. Give them a warning then give them a ticket. If the ticket comes from a camera monitored traffic light, give them the picture, too. It’ll last longer, right?