Things I will be bringing on my ark

image: http://www.thefairypath.com

In my hometown, Greenwood Lake, N.Y., there was a guy we called Noah. He was reputed to be building an ark and was quite a legendary character in our small town. He was the first person I ever knew to wear garbage bags as outerwear, predating Bradley Cooper’s Silver Lining Playbook character by nearly four decades. On his feet, he wore sneakers that flapped and were tied to his feet, and together, by dirty string which was wrapped around and around. He left quite an impression on me and I’m sure many of my oldest friends could chime in with their own recollections of that very eccentric old man.

With the rain we’ve been having, enough rain that Quinn is convinced that April and June traded places this year, I’ve been wondering if Noah’s Ark might still be viable and, if so, what I should pack if the deluge continues.  I came up with a couple of things…

• The four males whose faces my day is incomplete without seeing, would definitely make the cut.
• As would my girl, Cassidy Bono Lilly
• A couple of books which I never tire of reading, namely The Book Thief, Bridge of Sighs, A Moveable Feast and Love Story.  Quite the mixed bag, huh?
• My trusty Nikon D60 which fits perfectly in my hands.
• My iPod with all my music, including the desert island albums I wouldn’t want to be without.
• My posse of Lakers – they know exactly who they are, along with some honorary additions to the original crew.
• Wine, lots of wine.
• Something to write with.
• My sense of adventure and spirit of discovery.

How about you?  What are you packing?

4, 3, 2…

The “jam” in Mountain Jam must be code
for mud, right?

Four of us attended Mountain Jam for what was consecutive year number three and I learned two very important things… the first had something to do with knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that everything will be fine because your oldest friends always have your back.  The second was equally practical but involved mud, and boots that no longer kept the mud out.  The ultimate message was the friends are for forever and the boots can be replaced.  End of story.

One last thing – the crowd at this event was fantastic – peaceful, friendly, fun and colorful as hell.  Getting these shots was a joy!

Everything I know about Troy, I learned from Mary Panza

A flower grows in South Troy

Ok, maybe that isn’t 100% true, but she really did get me started on my Troy education.  When I first moved to Albany almost 25 years ago, I received some advice from a childhood friend regarding Troy.  He said, and I quote, “Troy is the armpit of the Universe.” I was uncertain exactly what that meant, but seeing as how I didn’t have a car, Troy wasn’t an area that I planned to explore with any haste anyway.  No problem.

But, then I met Mary Panza, South Troy denizen extraordinaire, and began venturing across the river.  We generally ended up at her sister’s house, where we consumed fantastic quantities of eggplant and pasta, all bathed in the senior Mary Panza’s fabulous red sauce.  My personal opinion began to form about the collar city – Troy was ok with me.

Since that time, I’ve been pulled to Troy for their superior Farmer’s Market, beer and music venues, restaurants and unique shops.  I learned to never move a folding chair left in the street and to maintain a sense of the river’s location to navigate the grid of one-way streets.  I like Troy – there, I said it.

Last night I intensified my like of Troy to a level of affectionate love.  Granted, the company I was in was a definite factor, but the charm of Troy is strong and it has never looked better. Speaking of looking, our evening began at the beautiful and historic St. Agnes Cemetery in Menands. Photographer and TU blogger, Chuck Miller, had an event to celebrate the opening of his stellar photo exhibit.  The images he captures are primarily local and demonstrate a keen eye for both lighthearted humor and thoughtful observation.  Cool venue, great show, get there before it’s all gone.

Plenty for two – with leftovers for lunch!

Our next stop was DeFazio’s in Troy for some real pizza.  Everything about this joint charms me – the almost magical way the simple ingredients combine for a pizza that is the best I’ve ever had outside of NYC, the politeness of every person who helped to take care of us, the black and white tiled floor, and the red convertible the delivery guy drives.  Everything!  We went with an antipasto and a small pizza with olives and prosciutto.  The antipasto is substantial (served with crunchy garlic bread) and the small pizza was the perfect size for 2.  I think we may need to try the pasta next time because we witnessed a plate of it being served and were practically in need of restraints.  Have any of you ever had their pasta?

The pizza is all that.

We ended the evening with a visit to the Charles F. Lucas Confectionary around the corner from Monument Square, in downtown Troy.  I would feel guilty about not getting to this place sooner, but I believe last night was the first time I’ve been in Troy since this fantastic place opened.  I have to say, it isn’t as if I’ve been missed, because the joint was positively jumping!  The waves of guests entering and departing during our 90 minutes there, was impressive.  We had a tour of the space by the owner, Vic Christopher, and I can’t say enough about the vision he and his wife, Heather, made into a dreamy reality for us all to share.  Wow.  Our bellies were full of pizza and cappicola, but the beautiful glass of Cote du Rhone rose’ Vic brought my way was exactly the crowning touch to a memorable May evening.  I am incredibly enthusiastic about this project. the additional related grocery store business in the preliminary works and the new-to-me term “reclamation construction.”  Troy is a lucky city to have landed such super smart and cool entrepreneurs and I imagine myself finding my way to the Collar City with previously unimagined frequency.

Armpit of the universe?  Au contraire – more like the heart of the Capital District.  Let’s hope our next Albany mayor fosters the kind of growth Troy is now experiencing – and that Mary invites me over for eggplant really soon.

Hand in Hand Run/Walk

Last Sunday I absolved myself for Saturday night’s indulgences by participating in the Hand in Hand Run/Walk down in the Hudson Valley.  Let me be honest with you, I’ll pretty much take any opportunity to visit with friends in the New Paltz area to enjoy some “adults only” time, but the added bonus of a morning race across the Hudson River makes me feel like a winner every time.  This day was no exception.

The race is a fundraiser for programs to support developmentally delayed and disabled children, a cause close to my heart.  Although April has been a recovery sort of month for me in terms of running, I decided to go for the 5 mile run instead of the 5 K option, abiding by my motto of preferring to regret doing something rather than not doing something.  It was a good choice despite the blustery, cold wind that accompanied the portions of the run that involved crossing the river.  Twice.

The course was challenging, but scenic, and the sun was beautiful on the Hudson.  I don’t know about you, but when I’m in close proximity to the majestic Hudson I can’t help but be stunned by how beautiful it truly is.  Imagine being an early explorer and sailing along those waters, in the shadow of the Catskills? Impressive!

This race was an affirmation in every way for me.  After running the Delmar Dash the previous week in a disappointing time, I felt much stronger on Sunday, despite the more challenging terrain of this course.  Seems that partying with the girls, along with a heaping bowl or two of pasta, just might be the best race prep.  I finished 5th in my age group (a small percentage of the participants) with a time of 47:20. Not too shabby.

I’m eyeing a couple of races for May and am particularly excited for SPAC’s Rock and Run on Sunday, May 19th.  They’ve introduced a 10K option for this year and I’m sure the course will be beautiful.   Sounds like more pasta (and another bottle of wine) will be in order.  Who’s in?

Amy, Aimee

Maybe 10 or 12 years ago, my friend Amy turned me on to Aimee Mann.  I don’t recall exactly how it happened, but it involved a show at The Egg and an extra ticket.  I don’t think I had any familiarity with Aimee Mann’s music beyond her ‘Til Tuesday stuff, but she hit me big.  There was something appealing about her soft voice and her hard to take lyrics that I found powerful and moving.  In the Egg’s lobby, immediately after the show, I bought two of her cds.  A fan was born.

Through the years, I’ve listened to Aimee Mann with an enthusiasm which bordered upon obsession.  When I was feeling positive about life, she made me appreciate my happiness. During the more emotionally challenging times, I knew that Aimee Mann understood my struggles and she kept me looking ahead.  Her music is penetrating and she has written moody music for movies (Magnolia soundtrack) and revisited childhood classics with her contributions to the I Am Sam soundtrack and her cover of How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

I caught her show a few years ago in Washington Park, a venue that didn’t necessarily suit her, in my opinion.  Thursday night, on the invitation of two dear friends, I headed down to Hudson’s Club Helsinki to check her out again.  The gorgeous space that is Helsinki, perfectly matched the intimacy of Mann’s music and she and her band put on a terrific show. Opening act and collaborator, Ted Leo, seemingly the result of some sort of merging of Elvis Costello and Joe Jackson, was a bit weak as a solo act, yet he shined when he shared the stage with Aimee.  She was funny as hell – self-deprecating and quick-witted in the same way  her lyrics tend to be.  Her observations, along with her black-framed glasses, were sharp and defining and it was a memorable show.

Although I failed at capturing a photo of she and I together, wearing our strikingly similar outfits of short shorts and nerdy eyewear, the night overall was perfect in every way.

Thank you, Amy.
Thank you, Aimee.

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.