The fruit of forebearance

    My propensity to become separated from possessions looks like it's here to stay.  Either I lose something forever, or, my conviction is that the missing item is in the general vicinity. 

     Last month I had a visit from my oldest daughter, Nicole, who lives in Montana.  She is a 911 operator and having a relaxing and fun vacation was paramount.    

     On the day of her arrival I could hardly wait to greet her smiling face and give her a really big hug.  I had a beautiful bouquet of spring flowers tied up with a pink bow to add to her welcome.

     Her flight was landing late afternoon at Newark Liberty International Airport.  I didn’t have time to check for any arrival time discrepancies before leaving home to pick her up.  But, once Madame Merlot II (my Jeep) and I were on the New Jersey Turnpike, I called the airlines on my cell phone.  The recorded information said her plane was arriving early!  Not good.  It was really important to me to be standing ready at attention at the arrival gate when Nicole came off the plane .  With traffic down to two lanes, the likelihood of fulfilling my, from a mother's heart, airport scenario began to fade.  

     Once I arrived at Newark, found the right terminal, and pulled into the parking lot, I decided I needed guidance.  I wanted to know where to park to lessen my steps to the entrance to the terminal. 

     An airport security vehicle was parked on the outskirts of the parking lot.  I drove his way and hurriedly hoped out of Madame Merlot leaving my Jeep door wide open to seek input.  “Louie” directed me, and off I went.

     There must have been a recording glitch because I arrived in perfect time to enjoy a wonderful greeting with my daughter.  She had received a personal escort off the plane by her pilot, David.  After thanking him for safely getting her to New Jesey, it didn’t take us long to retrieve her luggage and make the trek through the airport back to my Jeep. 

     Once we were settled inside, I began searching for the parking ticket to get out of the parking lot.  It was nowhere to be found.  I even schlepped back into the airport.  I had thrown a piece of paper away on my way inside.  Had I inadvertently threw away the ticket?  “Mom, you didn’t go through the trash, did you?” Nicole said incredulously.  “Well, dear”, I offered, with a confident,  “I wanted to find that ticket”.  

     We continued searching between the seats, behind the seats, through my handbag, and still no ticket.  By now, our patience was waning and we were getting anxious to be on our way.  Nicole, kindly offered to pay the full price which was $30.  I wasn’t about to let her pop for that when I knew that ticket was somewhere in the vacinity.  I could feel it.  I just knew it was right under my nose but for some reason, it wasn't showing itself.

     Then, along came Louie in his shiny, white, security Jeep.  After hailing him down, I explained the situation.  Louie said to drive over to the ticket booth, and he’d meet us there to see what he could do.  Just then, a light went off in my head.

     “Louie”, I said excitedly, “Maybe the ticket fell on the ground when I jumped out to ask you where to park.”  He motioned us to stay parked and went to check.  Shortly, Louie came back with the illusive ticket in hand. 

Sometimes, you just have to trust your heart and belive beyond all doubt.  Nicole and I were quite happy we didn't waste our money.  We later put it to good use for dinner in Nyack!

     Until next time…Top Blonde ... taking the day...    

Whimsical serendipity

     Several years ago I was listening to Joan Hamburg on WOR radio 710 AM, when she mentioned a place of sanctuary called CedarHeart Lodge in Rosendale, New York (currently under new ownership with a new name).  Perhaps it was the combination of Mrs. Hamburg’s personable style and velvet voice that captured my attention.  She told the listening audience that the lodge was surrounded by cedar and white pine, was located near the famous Mohonk Preserve, Lake Minnewaska, and spectacular Catskill Park.  At that time, I didn’t know a thing about that area of the Hudson River Valley.  But, the word heart was in the name of this hidden treasure and that touched a chord.

     As Mrs. Hamburg continued describing the grounds, she talked of a pristine spring fed pond ideal for reflection and quiet contemplation.  She mentioned there were 17 acres of beautiful open woodland available for hiking or meandering.  As well, she, talked about a natural amphitheater nestled among the trees and of gazebos built with local stone and cedarwood.  Gazebos combined with heart; how could I not check out this haven?

     One thing that was stressed during the broadcast was the simplicity of CedarHeart Lodge.  Also, how the lodge adhered to the strong tradition of environmental activism that was popular in that area.  Which all meant that if you were expecting a Hilton or Marriott atmosphere with saunas, spas, and room service, you may want to rethink your stay. 

     Still, I couldn’t get this serene place of retreat out of my head and called the number that Mrs. Hamburg gave out to request a brochure.  When it arrived with a drawing of the Swiss style lodge on the front surrounded by pine trees, I knew it was time to get my name in their reservation book. 

     The excitement of embarking on a journey into the unknown is like beginning a treasure hunt without knowledge of the prize.  Rounding bends and discovering the breathtaking beauty of a brilliant sunset, quaint settings, or scenes that speak to your soul delivers blessings untold.

     I remember turning left off the Thurway toward New Paltz and feeling that thrill of getting closer to my destination like it was yesterday.  Passing the sign for Huguenot Street, along with a historic marker that told of the distinction of it being American’s oldest street dating back to the 1600’s, was mind-boggling. 

     Continuing on, I managed to find Route 32 North to Route 213.  As indicated, I turned left across the bridge to the intersection at St. Peter’s Church.  It’s so heartening to actually pass the landmarks listed in your directions.  After the final jaunt up and down a rather mountainous road, I arrived without a hitch at my destination.   

     Indeed, CedarHeart Lodge was environmentally friendly.  The wainscoting and railings were from fallen cedar trees, locally milled.  Other amenities included TREX decking-100% recycled material, Interface commercial carpet non-toxic and recycled, 100 % cotton bedding and bath linens, non-toxic cleaning materials, recycled paper products, cooperatively grown organic coffee, and local produce in season. 

     Though rustic indeed, the tranquility, clean air, and blue sky of CedarHeart Lodge perfectly suited my agenda.

     Since breakfast was the only meal served, I got recommendations and directions for dinner in High Falls, nearby.  Eating out by myself was challenging, but I knew I could do it and found myself at The Eggs Nest, a unique eatery unlike anything I’d ever seen before. 

     Not exactly being my nature to not talk to strangers, I ended up conversing with some of the locals who pointed me in the direction of the falls.  A street that began nearly 300 years ago had nothing on the steely blue of endless rushing waterfalls over an embankment that dates back to the Ice Age.

     In spite of the stillness and indelible quiet that night, I resisted drifting into slumber.  The anticipation of new adventure tomorrow might bring, kept dancing in my head.

After an organic, fiber healthy, fruit laden breakfast, I set out with my notes and directions from the previous evening.  Not only had the locals led me to the falls, they mentioned Woodstock.  Wow!  Historic Woodstock.  Not that I was ever a sixties groupie or flower child, heaven forbid, but I was so close.  If I waited until I got back here, I might never travel down this path again.  The day was mine and risking missing out on whatever serendipity lay ahead didn’t seem optional. 

     The allure from winding around scenic country roads was an experience I wouldn’t have missed for anything.  While trying to decipher my scribbled notes in one hand with arrows pointing here and there, and drive with the other, my heart was filled. The day had barely begun.  How could it get any better?

     While making a stop at a country store type gas station, a band of motorcyclists rolled in.  Men and women appearing to be in the baby boomer age range decked out in black leather from head to toe, descended their bikes.  This was no Kodak moment.  Jaw dropping was more like it.  But, as luck would have it, I did some deep breathing while subduing my prejudices and ended up exchanging polite pleasantries.  I discovered they too were headed to Woodstock. 

     What could be more serendipitous or American than a California girl following a gang of motorcyclists from Long Island into Woodstock, New York?  Until next time...Top Blonde taking the day...