A Whale of a time...

My husband and I enjoyed a retreat this weekend outside of all five boroughs (an extraordinary feat), and highly recommend every New Yorker do the same (at least annually) to regain their humanity. The historic Hudson Valley- home to the Hudson River School artists (painters like Thomas Cole and Frederic Church)- lends itself to a reinterpretation of the daily grind. A panoramic view of the Catskills and the Hudson River can be seen from almost any vantage point in Hudson, N.Y., but are most breathtaking from Promenade Hill in town and atop the crest of Olana Historic Site (Frederic Church's home and studio). 

This sleepy town is overflowing with folklore (the legend of Rip Van Winkle originates here) and scholarly examples of well preserved architecture, from Federal to Second Empire to Nantucket. Once a booming seaport (Hudson was chartered in 1785 and by 1788 had become a commercial city) with an economy based on everything from whaling to cement factories, and twice the residents, a depressed economy has since thinned out the business boom and the robust residential cycle. 

Although the main strip of Warren Street is largely a collective of antique dealers, (with pricetags a little higher than most plan for on a short weekend getaway) there are some secret bargains and plenty of nicely placed foodie options sprinkled along the stroll. Overall, the combination of quiet nights and starry skies fell into place perfectly with our agenda of peace and quiet beyond the boroughs....

sweet dreams/ 

Cocktail Cart + Crazy man on the train

The cocktail cart at work was the most awesome idea ever. 

The crazy man on the way home screaming at everyone was the least awesome idea ever.

The "New York in the 50's" documentary I'm watching is making it all better....

(Rollerskating at Coney Island next weekend...)

sweet dreams....

The best parts of the city...

Some days Brooklyn is a retreat (we have the beach). Some days Manhattan is a sinking ship (they have Times Square and the scuffled shuffle for the rush hour 7). Natives deal with the push-push-shove-stare-bump-crazy-nudge in their own way. A book is a nice retreat when the MTA disappoints with delays and disguised efforts ("Franny and Zooey" is my current recommendation). Mornings here are unlike mornings anywhere else. Everyone..literally everyone..starts the day with a discussion of their ride in...right train, wrong track...no train, no announcement...stalled train, no reception....

The constant commute makes us a different breed...sometimes a not so nice breed. My tolerance has all but vanished. I elbow back and argue. But...I leave it at the station. I don't waste my pre- and post- cube time culling the details of each vexing minute. I find my way out. I go home to my bright nest. I sneak away on the weekends. I prefer to be pleased.

Tonight I went jogging on the beach engrossed in the perfect dusk, with the perfect soundtrack full of gulls, godwits and kelp...finished with a cool down past the Cyclones game and Dreamland.

sweet dreams to all....