"Beyond the Door"

Rounding gentle curves that make up Rt. 304, we were headed to our favorite Nyack nook for brunch.  Though my “to do” list was expanding off the page, I’d agreed to some holiday merriment and was enjoying the easy Sunday sensibility.  After all, it was only December 3.  What better way to spend quality time the special man in your life than having brunch at The Strawberry Place, a decades-old, charming café on South Broadway? 

But, after settling into our seats, my thoughts went haywire.  A cloud of heckling guilt attempted to jinx my joy.  My stress level was demurely elevating and soon my toe was a-tapping.  And, it wasn’t to the tune of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.

That is, until December brought a burst of crisp, clean artic air.  Not the freezing kind of oxygen but the invigorating kind that makes you want to breathe in every conceivable wonder that life holds.  The kind that puts you in the Christmas spirit have fun kind.  It was that kind of North wind that had swept into the Northeast making it hard to not go with the jingle of the season.  Especially, when the man you’re with is that rare mix of gentility from a bygone era.  You know the kind…debonair, kindhearted, and handsome, a sense of humor, agreeable and who still has hair and teeth.

When my Rob, my chivalrous escort, extended an invitation following brunch to continue celebrating the season by driving up to Cold Spring, I’d hesitated answering.  What was that about?  It wasn’t like me to not want to see what’s around the next corner, see how the day might unfold, or see what’s beyond the door.  But, there is all that work waiting at home for me to tackle.

However, once outside the café and the pristine air brushed my face there was no stopping the hitherto festive mood.  Soon, we were crossing the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Bear Mountain Bridge.  We passed Boscobel, then Garrison.  In a short time we were approaching the quaint historic village of Cold Spring nestled on the banks of the scenic Hudson River and driving down picturesque Main St.   

    Stepping back outside after a particularly engaging experience with the sales help in an outdoor kayaking type store, we felt as if we’d bumped into old friends we hadn’t seen in a while.  We met Teri, the owner who, like me, is a native Californian and who introduced us to the performance enhanced features of Merrell footwear.  Then, we met Bevan, the clerk, whose natural charm and joviality while ringing us up had us almost registered for a kayak class!  Their home spun friendliness and fireside like charm brought us so much fun they had us dancing with laughter on our way out the door.  

The cold dusk of early evening and an almost full moon glowed against the darkened night.  It’s funny.  We hadn’t won the lottery, found a pot of gold or stumbled upon an endless pile of Christmas presents.  But, as we buttoned up our coats and I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck, I realized the earlier guilt that tried to stifle my spirit had completely dissipated.  And now I couldn’t have been more ecstatic that I’d not only stepped out of my box but also risked stepping beyond the door.