Vacation Day 10 - New York City/Long Island

Another hot and humid day in the Empire State.  I think I'm growing moss on my north side.

Good fortune continued to shine on me (he's paying me to say this), bearfuz was free for the day.  One of my objectives of this trip was to visit some of my own haunts, among them the ancestral home in Great Neck on the Long Island's North Shore (pronounced "Lon Gisland's Nawth Shawr").  After checking the Long Island Railroad schedule, I was off to Penn Station.  Everything is electronics these days, the flipping tab signs, the uniformed agents behind ticket windows are nearly all in the past (when I asked Chip and John/placeintheheart about subway tokens, they nearly fell of their high heels (hey, he didn't pay me that much) with laughter).  The LIRR did it's best to remind me of life in the suburbs, a 10 minute delay for 'track maintenance'.  Just like old times!

It was a day of nostalgia, a day of recalled dreams, and lost opportunities.  As the train moved east, I asked the conductor (a nicely bearish fellow) about the Elmhurst station, a stop I took often to get to work at my father's 5 and 10 cent store.  "No, that station was closed years ago" he responded.  Things change, the subway was all too close, I suppose.

As we walked up Middle Neck Road (Great Neck's main drag) and later Grace Avenue, memory after memory returned.  Fredericks, the corner store was still there but closed for remodeling.  The parking lot where I'd hide my parents car after sneaking the key while my parents were out, was still there too.  Great Neck is still the upscale primarily Jewish town it always was.  Like a wealthy dowager, the jewelry still shines among the wrinkles.

As I walked around the corner two blocks from the old house, I remembered Barry Cohen, my high school arch enemy who lived on the corner.  I recalled the nice folks that lived in the dutch colonial on the other side of the street.  The next door neighbor who had some influential State government position and a sweet collie, Piper, who I adored.  Or the golden retriever that they adopted after Piper passed on.  Some years later, that same retriever nearly tore the throat from my dog in a fit of rage when both pets had simultaneously gotten loose.

And then to 12 Grace Court North, my old home.  Many changes, the front walk has been eliminated, the porch fenced off to give it a more country "Wizard of Oz" appearance.  Painted a yellowish cream, it was no longer the slate gray New England house with black and white trim of my memory.

Looking at the front porch, I recalled sitting in a chair watching the rain smelling the wet grass.

I saw the two front windows of my bedroom and recalled the day my sister, always the tomboy, helped erect a jump ramp for her bicycle and shot up so quickly that she landed on one knee requiring a dozen or so stitches.  I recalled riding in the neighbor's car as we drove to the doctor (my parents were away somewhere).  I recalled her shaky voice in the doctor's office as she asked me to hold her hand, one of the few tender moments between us.

Looking at the long driveway from the garage to the street, I recalled my mother trying again and again to back her Rambler into the street without (repeatedly) hitting the wall on one side or decapitating the shrubs several feet away on the other side.  My mother was possibly the worst driver on the planet, specializing in having accidents that she could never quite explain.

I recalled the pets we had as a kid.  And Smoky, the long-haired gray cat that my sister insisted was a male (until it had 5 kittens), who climbed onto the peak of the steep roof on a rainy night and refused to come down.  Later, while I was asleep, she apparently jumped onto the chimney, lost her footing and fell the two long stories, knocking aside the damper at the bottom.  Unaware of the midnight drama, I was the first to walk downstairs in the morning.  An unrecognizable gray and black blur flew past the foot of the stairs.  Yes, it was Smoky (well named it seems), uninjured but very, very dirty.  A couple of weeks later when inspected, the chimney service tech noted that the flue had been cleaned rather effectively.

I recalled the tears.  I recalled the laughter.  I recalled the nearby corner where I'd been hit by a car while on my English racer bicycle and flew some 20 feet, landing in a puddle.  My only injury, a bruise on my left thigh.  "Strong bones" the doctor said.

Walking back into town, I remembered more neighbors, my dentist's office in a nearby office building.  The bank where I first opened an account.  I recalled my childhood in vivid colors.

We should all go home again.  Once.  To find ourselves.

Separate post coming shortly... a review of Curtains.