Two Words...Used to

Perhaps the two most often spoken melancholy words in the English language are, "used to".  Past actions, realities, dreams, truths that have vanished as our lives and circumstances change over time.  There are simple "used to"'s that remind us of things we would just as soon forget..."These pants used to fit me".  The mere utterance of the statement reminding us that we have put on 25 or 30 pounds, our bodies not the way they used to be.  That one dovetails nicely with, "I used to go out for a walk almost every day, but not any more" which leads to questions like "Why?" and "When did it all change?" both questions often times requiring a introspective review of ourselves we would just as soon avoid as we eat another donut, pour ourselves a second or even third cup of coffee.  "Pass the cream and sugar please".

There are the harder "used to" sentences that bring tears to our eyes, instant statements of truth we either hate to admit, or wish we did not have to like "I used to be young", "I used to be happy" and a host of others that speak to a life on a downward spiral as we approach those end of life years wondering where it all went astray, or why we are still around while all of our friends pass away from this ailment and that as we become more intimately aware of death, realizing with each passing day that our time on this earth is closer to the end than it used to be, that since of immortality we used to have gone, replaced by wrinkles, aches and pains.  

Remember when life used to be so simple?  Do I have too answer that, or can I plead the fifth?  I ponder; was life ever really simple, or instead since birth has it always been complicated for some of us?  As I grow older, it seems as if the answers I used to know have slipped away, supposed truths now falsehoods, dreams that I thought I could attain in my life gone as the drive and desire I used to have, the boundless energy I used to have both dried up, replaced by a since of tiredness I cannot seem to escape as the complexities of every day life overwhelm me...I think to myself, "I used to be so alive, so full of energy".

There are some good "used to's" we speak, but even those seem to be filled with a certain taint, a tinge of sadness or regret.  "I used to smoke...then my Dad died of cancer" or "I used to be fat...till the doctor told me I was going to die if I did not lose some weight."  I used to be healthy...then I just stopped caring.  I used to be in an abusive marriage...then I got out.  I used to be a drug addict...then I found help, and have been clean for three years.

There are those "used to's" spoken by others that cut us to the quick, either individually or collectively. Is there anything sadder than hearing someone say, "I used to care", "I used to love you" or in a fit of anger someone saying things like, "I used to think you were handsome" or "what happened to you, you used to be so thin and now you have just let yourself go"...does not matter what "used to" is spoken to you, the chances are it is going to hurt.  America used to be great...yes, I know.

It's a beautiful sunny day here in Mountaindale, the temperatures near 60, the roof tops raining as the snow melts yet I find myself sitting inside thinking sad thoughts, and wondering just what the rest of my life holds for me.  I used to think I'd found a home here, and now I am not so sure...it's complicated, but it did not used to be so.  Both dreams and reality change, and the hopes and aspirations we used to have must change as well, but at my age coming to grips with that change is not as easy as it used to be.  Change is blowing in the wind and I know that my own life is about to change, has to change and that scares me far more than it used to, but that fear will not stop those changes from occurring.  

Perhaps the best thing I can do is sit quietly...not something I do easily...perhaps in that space of silence my own way forward can be deciphered, and with that forward vision the chaos that is now can end.   When I was much younger and faced with major life choices and decisions that approach used to work.

Shared From Mountaindale After Dark...Should Have Been Here From Start

After The Storm...a Couple Photographs

This week it has been more like winter here in Downtown Mountaindale, the temperatures today warmer, but still a bit nippy.  A lot of times (read that to mean most of the time) I have my Canon Rebel digital camera beside me in the car when I go out to run errands, and the other day was no exception.  One never knows when something or another will catch your eye, and sometimes lady luck shines on your camera and the results are a photograph or two worth sharing. 

Sitting here in my apartment trying to stay warm this afternoon I downloaded images from my camera, and a couple pictures I happen to really like and thought I would share them here for everyone to enjoy.

As you leave the "Town of Fallsburgh" heading toward the Shop Rite in Thompson, New York you'll see these power poles off to your left about two miles out of town.  It had stopped snowing, but there was a misting rain in the air, the sheen of ice could still be seen on many of the trees branches along the drive, and the road conditions saw me moving along slower than most days.  I've passed these power poles numerous times, and they just not not shout out to me, but on this day, the poles in unison just seemed to speak out in unison, "Take our picture".

I so covet these lens!

Seeing the results, very happy that this was a day when my camera was with me in the car, and that I happened to have my 55-250mm Zoom lens on the box.    For the money, you just cannot beat the Canon Rebel EOS, though, if I win the lottery, would love to have a full set of their top of the Zoom Lens with all the bells and whistles on them.  For that matter, I would love just being able to shoot with these lens for say one week...especially if I could pick any location in the world for that one week.  Wondering if Canon has any need for a product tester in Sullivan County NY?  I will work for free if I get to keep anything I test...can I give you a wish list?  Anything on this page I would so die for...OK, not die, but drool over in a covetous fashion...did I mention my birthday was last week?  Of course, thinking if I got that incredible EF 800mm f/5.6L IS USM   or the EF 400mm f/2.8L IS USM  I would need to invest in a new box for such incredible lens.

Another couple of pictures I snapped were at the entrance to our own "Rails to Trails" here in Mountaindale, including one of the Train Garden in the proverbial dead of winter.    This one is not as spectacular as the one above, but still liked it, perhaps because I spent so much of this past summer working on the trail during the installation of our "Train Garden".    I also just have an affinity for pictures that just seem to fade into infinity, almost always stop when I see a road or path that seems to present a feeling of great depth.  Streams are another one of those  subject matters that quickly catches my attention for the very same reason.

Sure for those of us who spent our summer working on the train garden will find this winter shot of our sculptural interpretation fun.  Waiting for spring so we can see how many of our garden perennials survived after the drubbing they took in last year's hurricane.  The garden is definitely going to need some TLC this spring, as is the portion of the trail just up from it that was all but washed out.  Of course, looking at how hard some of our neighboring communities were hit by Hurricane Irene, we here in Mountaindale can count ourselves very lucky.
 

For those of you who have gotten this far, just a reminder that Sunday March 10th, 2012 will  see Rock Hill hosting the Second Annual Rock Hill Saint Patrick's Day Parade beginning at 12 Noon.

Also on March 10th, the Sullivan Renaissance Annual Conference, which officially kicks off this years Sullivan Renaissance Project season.  Applications for the 2012 Sullivan Renaissance Program are available online, and due in their office no later than 5 PM on March 21, 2012.

Sunday Musings in Winter-Affinity For Old Things

There is a certain comfort to be found collecting  discarded mementos from others lives, solid objects from a life experienced and lived long ago, a person or a building, the story told in items found snooping around the foundations of  decaying structures, junk yards, and little out of the way antique shops that are far from the beaten path, more patron-less museums than a viable business intent on turning a profit.

Both my apartment and computer are cluttered with these treasures, each walk seeing my own collection grow as I gather about me examples of a simpler time, a time when every day items had a certain elegance about them, an elegance easily seen in the pictures I snap along the way, in the items I bring home, clean, wash and repair before putting them on display.

A Radiant Lamp bulb found in its original box laying in the corner of a long ago abandoned decrepit building speaks of a day when America made things, produced the items of a thriving nation that led the world in every way...those days where we manufactured things seems all but gone, these relics all that remains of times when towns and cities thrived, worked and played.  A search for the Radiant Lamp company of Newark NJ turns up nothing on the company itself, the 500 Watt bulb  in box having an EBay value of around $24.  Suppose I should take  pleasure in knowing my finds have a certain value to others, that other collectors are doing their part to preserve these reminders of our past.

The picture to the right was taken in the small village of Woodbridge which is about two miles from here.  There is still some activity going on in the building, yet it has a sense of neglect hanging on it, rust; peeling stucco upon its face speak of better days when vast qantities of laundry moved in and out of the Sullivan Steam Laundry each and every day.  A Google search tells us that Minnie Burns, former bookkeeper for the laundry passed away June 15, 2001 in Florida, though no hint of when she retired, moved to the warmer climate enjoyed in North Miami Beach is found in the brief mention of her own life. 

Can almost sense spirits looking out as I look in, ghosts of long dead inhabitants inviting me to come sit awhile. Do you ever wonder if houses past their prime, abandoned, left to recede back into Mother Earth's waiting arms cry in their lonesomeness, left to face their death, no person to witness their final passing?  Perhaps the only proof they ever existed a digital photograph on a blog which, like the house will one day find itself all alone.


Those without a place to lay their heads, people without a place in which to live are called homeless...are homes without inhabitants called people-less, and if not perhaps they should be, more pity felt for their plight if they but had a label for their cause?  Help the people-less, please someone come and move inside.


Sometimes as I stand alone, watching the sun filtering down through the broken spines of these old places, it is hard to imagine them without a soul, and at those times I grieve for them, mark their imminent death with a little prayer hoping it helps them on their way to wherever it is that old houses go to when they collapse back into the ground, buried under leaves as nature takes back what was hers.


Wonder what will become of my own collection when I am gone, worry about this odd assortment of trinkets and toys finding themselves without a home...at those times I sit alone and cry, then; realizing the silliness of my own emotions, I get out a dust rag, a can of wax, some paper towels, Windex and scurry about my little home letting each and every object know that they are loved.


Once was told that a clean home is the sign of a sick mind, and perhaps there is some truth in that saying.  Others have said, "It's just stuff" and I am not sure I can agree with that sentiment...if things, objects were just stuff, they would not tell such grand stories without speaking a word, would not bring out such strong emotions as boney fingers caress their surfaces remembering times from so long ago.

The Post With No Name

Sitting here remembering when
Songs carrying me gently away
To places of my dreams

Sing to me of angels
Talk to me of love
Cry of innocence lost

Just sixteen
A boy in a man's body
Her age  twenty three

After midnight
Full moon in the sky
Spoke it was right

Lips caressing mine
Fingers entwined in fingers
She showed me the way

Saturday night sitting alone as Dylan screams out songs of love, words stinging in their simplicity, condemning in their familiarity as the reflection in the mirror nods as if to say, "Been there, done that, and have the scars to prove the pain."  Years pass by, bodies and attitudes softening with age, our needs, hopes, dreams,  like those of a child grow simpler, visions of conquering the world giving way to hopes of not growing old alone, dreaming of someone there to hold our hand as we face our destiny, someone smiling at us, whispering "It's all going to be OK" in the darkness of our waning nights.

Reach forward

Fall back

One question God

Why?

Reach forward

Fall back

The freight train hurtling through the night, it's waling forlorn whistle screaming, steel wheels throwing sparks into the silent blackness of my mind.  I awaken terrified in time to see the hall light go off, knowing soon I will hear the creek of stairs.  Trembling, I roll over; seek the comfort of the nightmare from which I awoke, searching for its solace awaiting my fate. 

One question God
Why?

Flash forward

Flash back

Bare naked ladies...a band, an orgy...cannot remember which, the memory a kaleidoscope of photo emulsion images scattered across the floor of my mind, or is that plural, as in more than one, numerous mini me's demanding to be heard.  There is order in chaos, solace in order, everything having place, everything in its place.

"If you could have one thing, what would it be?"

"Safe."

"Really?"

"really"

"WOW, that's intense."

Uncomfortable silence, "and a Bentley.  A classic Bentley.  Anything from say a 1956 too a 1962, those were great years."

"Bentley's a good choice, they made some great cars back then.  Want another beer?"

"sure"

Somethings are best kept secret, or spoken about in code, words with double meanings, phrases that speak a truth to you no one else has to endure.  Secrets unhealthy, yet we as men are expected to keep our past a secret. 

One question God
Why?

The clock moves quickly towards eleven...think a beer would go nicely with Bob Seger.  Any one got some night moves?

One icy cold Saranac "Lake Effect Lager"...the simple pleasure of indulgence.

In escaping our past we run towards a future that seems always to be one step ahead.

When I need to think, clear my head, I go for a long walk in the woods, so perhaps more than anything else, I fear losing my legs.

Who remembers King Crimson, the "Court of the Crimson King"?  21st Century Schizoid Man screaming out his pain as you peel away the layers, like an onion in the rain; you realize he is just like you and me.  Well except for the names and a few other changes when you talk about me the stories the same one...OMG...using Neil Diamond lyrics to draw a parallel to King Crimson...there is a stretch, albeit a somewhat accurate one.

Intellect is just insanity with a pedigree...diploma anyone?

Political Correctness has shelved some of the best jokes I have ever heard.

First time I heard the term "Metro Sexual", thought it meant you had done it on the train...you probably have to be a New Yorker to get that joke.

Free Association may be a mental exercise, but perhaps it should more aptly be a Civil Right.  That one goes out to all my friends in the "Occupy Movement".

When listening to music on your IPod, remember to chose random play to avoid "The Sounds of Silence"...a cold beer on the house to everyone that got the Simon and Garfunkel reference there.

I still have more writing to do, but it will wait.

Tree Came Down Today

Today is one of those melancholy days; self reflection seems to be the guiding force dictating the unraveling of the hours from morning until dusk turns into dark, the world closing in around me as night finds the small hamlet in which I reside.  Today was spent digging out my small abode from the holiday season just past, taking down my small tree, wrapping each ornament back up with tissue paper for a long season's nap, each one bringing with it memories of days so long ago past.

Remember decorating the tree with my mother, she always happy; smiling at that time of the year, Christmas holding special meaning for her.  Recall the first time I found out that there was no Santa Claus, the pain of that truth softened when she allowed me to stay up late to help her wrap presents for my three younger siblings who still nurtured and believed in that dream of a jolly old man coming down our chimney, his sack full of toys for all the good little boys and girls. She passed away back in 1993, yet there is not a holiday,not a Mother's day that goes by that thoughts of her don't find a way of creeping in.  I still smile at the thought of her and I taking down the family tree, putting away ornaments, everyone else no where in site, wanting nothing to do with the task of putting Christmas away, though they were all there to help put it up.

A lot of those Christmas's from so long ago seem jumbled up together.  Separating and defining just a singular Christmas with any clarity an impossible task, though I can recall certain gifts vividly, know the exact year I got them.  There was my first bike without training wheels...it was used, but Dad had put a new banana seat on it (teal metal flake blue green vinyl top with a white leather side, grips and streamers to match.  Then there was the Christmas it seemed like Santa had not been overly kind where I was concerned until Mom brought out my new fishing rod, reel and tackle box that she had  hidden behind the couch.  I had so much fun that day casting out in the snow, seemingly immune to the frigid temperatures on that wonderful day.

Looking back, knowing at 56 that Mom, Dad and all the grandparents are long gone, it's  bittersweet to see all the traditions I have managed to keep alive, sadder still knowing  I have no offspring who will carry those traditions on once I have left this space we call earth.

Sitting here at my office desk in the kitchen, nibbling on the last of the turkey from Thanksgiving I took out of the freezer earlier today can peer into the living room, all traces of the three back to back holidays gone and out of site.  The various boxes and shopping bags full of decorations tucked away here and there, not to be seen again until the end of this New Year. A life time of memories taken out, examined as I went through my day, it is hard to hold back the tears of loss I feel at all those things and people who are no more.  Funny, not in a ha ha way, how the older we get the more precious those Easters, Memorial Days, 4th of July's and all the rest become, how we wonder just how many more we individually are destined to enjoy before there are no more.

I don't fear death, am seeing more of it with each passing year, friends and family passing as I approach 60, realizing at best that my own life is at least 3/4 done, but it is not a final curtain call I am looking forward too.  I look at my stuff, each little thing special to me in its own unique way, imbued with a magical power to bring back to the forefront of my mind the day and time when it came into my life.  My possessions not defining me, but acting as props used in the telling of my life's story. With that knowledge of what those things represent, I wonder what will become of them when I am gone, wonder what becomes of the story that is my life when those things are scattered to the seven winds.  Do fear that when I am gone, my things no longer gathered for display in one place, there will be no one there to tell the story of who I was, no one there to share the tales of my childhood, no one there who can share with the world what it was like to be in the kitchen with my Mom, baking cookies on a cold snowy day in December in preparation for the Christmas that was/is about to begin.

*This post is dedicated to Wes Tern who passed away, losing his own brief bout with cancer, this post is dedicated to all of his friends who gathered at his house here in Mountaindale, each of them honoring his memory by taking little things from his house with them, giving those items a place of honor in their abodes so that his story, small parts of his life will carry on as the things that told his story find a new role, become a part of another story as his possessions become the props that will help each of them recall their own memories of times and friends past.  God's speed Wes.

There is Something Majestic In Architectural Decay

The past few days, camera in hand I have been walking, driving around our area of Sullivan county taking shots of derelict beauty, old decaying homes, bungalows and buildings that seem to be almost everywhere in this area, testament to glory days long ago past into the history books, even these remnants slowly giving up their ghosts as Mother Nature reclaims her own. There are stories in most of these crumbling architectural skeletons, hand stitches curtains blowing in the wind, the pane of glass once protecting them broken, jagged glinting as the sun shines across its surface. Peeking through a door almost off it's hinges you spy an old chair, or perhaps a sofa, most of its stuffing gone, perhaps carried away by birds every spring during mating season.

Closing my eyes, can almost see a house back in the day, children flitting to and fro, laughter filling the air. Seeing the old cook stove, can see a mother, aunt or older sister putting on a pot of stew, or perhaps baking muffins in the oven below. Walking around the place, you see old discarded steel lawn chairs from maybe the 1940's rusted, still taking up residence under a giant oak tree, the green moss creeping up the trunk.

Done with one dying relic, I return to my car moving down the road, stopping at an overlook that has played and continues to play host to thousands upon thousands of summer visitors, the place quite except for the sounds of rushing water on this cold winter day. I left the formal structure, scampering over boulders left back in the days when glaziers receded back too their homes found far further north than where I stood. I snapped more pictures, capturing the movement and the season in my lens. The scene so different, devoid of the children playing along the water's edge that summer is used to...does the river here miss that noise, is it aware of the changing seasons, looking forward to the spring still months away?

Just a Few Photographs

Trying to spend some time in the new year being more creative, while at the same time also working at being healthier, losing a bit of weight. To that end, grabbed my Canon Rebel this morning and went out for a walk of about two miles, snapping some photographs along the way that I thought I would share here.

This first one was taken along the Rails to Trails corridor heading toward Woodridge. Love the color of the leaves, so muted and ethereal against the green of the pine needs.

I have an affinity for old abandoned buildings, decaying relics of days gone by. This door was found behind one of the many abandoned homes that dot the landscape here in our small hamlet of Mountaindale and its surrounding area.

This next picture is a close up of the same door, the decorative work on the door plate quite stunning. Of the two, the second one is my own favorite, as it is emblematic of the attention to detail that you do not see today in pretty much everything. Back then, the most mundane items had a flair to them, a small bit of decoration making the ordinary extraordinary. This particular building provided several hidden treasures as I walked around its exterior.

This cast iron knoll post from the front stairs of the building was tucked under a small covered entryway into the basement of the building and would have been tempted to bring one home to display in my livingroom, but would have needed a couple of very strong bodies with me, or a dolly to have gotten it back to my apartment, and God only knows how I would get it up the stairs and into the front room, but do love it. As a subject of a photograph, love the muted pastel palette of the photograph.

In front of the building, the columns were yet another surprise, the lead green paint tenaciously holding on in some areas provides beautiful texture as well as stunningly unexpected color.

This one walk around a forgotten building turned out to be a photographer's dream, and it just goes to show you, that if you look closely, there are beautiful pictures to be found almost anywhere if you have your eyes looking for them. It was cold out, and after these pictures, headed back home to get warm, though I would take my camera with me later in the day on my trip to Ellenville.

Again, as I was driving down 209 found a few more pictures that saw me stopping my car, grabbing the camera and snapping away, capturing the moment forever in a digital pic.

Mother Nature at her finest...so simple, and yet so beautiful. Thinking this one would also make a great pencil drawing one day this winter when the snow is flying and I find myself trapped inside looking for something to amuse myself with for a few hours. Snapped this next one about 50 yards down, same subject matter, but has a completely different feel because of the background colors.

It was a good day for taking photographs, and I have several more that I may share over the next few days. I leave you though with just one more...windows on an old house that I stumbled upon while out for a drive on New year's day. Again, took several photographs of this home, it's windows, each one of them beautiful treasures evoking feelings of a time long ago past.

Hope you have enjoyed my photo montage. Not sure how good I am at it (digital photography is still new to me), but do enjoy the whole process involved, though have to admit I miss the good old days when you went out with a few rolls of TRI X 400 ASA film, then spent a couple of days playing in the darkroom. Times like this, show my age, as well as my old school ways when it comes to things creative, though I will admit it is fun being able to so quickly play with and change photographs taken with digital technology.