Sunday past, George, our old Bimmer, took Mark and I on a northwards trip from Manhattan to the littlke village of Sleepy Hollow. Ripe with the stories of the Headless Horseman and approaching All Hollows Eve we set forthy in gay spirits to have an adventure.
Having been so tied to the business, often 16 hours daily, Mark has rarely had the time to have any outings in the year we have been residing in New York.
And, as New York has so very much to offer it does seem a shame. We both hope to rectify this with more involvement in the fabulous cultural life available here - this outing was our first serious attempt.
I, being me, had not expressed to my dear husband my expectations of the day, assuming (wrongly) that he knew what sort of a day it should be: a gentrified outing of a two older gay men, smartly attired in our cashmere and wool, fine leather and the apropriate accessories - watch, rings and eyeglasses. We would arrive in this quaint village and find a charming small cafe, serving healthy but tasty dishes - fresh and hand made salds, grilled fish or chicken and perhaps a piece of local pumpkin pie.
My first clue that the trip I was on was not the trip I had planned in my mind brought out my very worst trait - sulleness. It's true, I know I do it, and yet I cannot seem to stop. As we drove towards Sleepy hollow we passed poorly kept houses, billious chain stores and poorly marked roads. Losiung our way once or twice I was beginning to think we'd simply journeyed to yet another blue collar neighborhood where comfortable shoes, cost efficient vinyl siding and aluminium replacement windows are de riguer - not carefully restored Victorian and Edwardian homes, clad in custom paint schemes and gardens with all the charm of a picture post card. The grunpies set in with me.
Mark noticed of course, and was soon after me to reveal my pissy attitude, which i didn't want to do - as I knew his response would be the same as what I was thinking already of myself: you neurotic selfish old prick. This is supposed to be about spending time together. I was determined to change course.
Dear Mark assumed it was low blood sugar and that we needed to eat and without hesitation pulled into a vinyl booth Diner next to a gas station to feed me - with what turned out to be frozen reheated waffles with terribly greasey tasting margarine and what was supposedly 'syrup' but which had no flavor whatsoever. (So much for brioche with butter and French jam and fresh farm egg omelets, apple cured bacon and just ground fresh brewed Columbian coffee!)
I'm afraid this is the point where mark's pushing me for an answer to my dismal countenance was finally met with a hushed outburst about eating cardboard and viewing a neighborhood strongly reminiscent of Mesa, Arizona - only with green and gold and red oaks and maples.
Somehow, however, we suddenly laughed (Mark agreed about paying for frozen waffles!) and we laughed - he saw my point and that was enough. The rest of the day promised to be a great deal of fun.
As we drove into Sleepy Hollow we were astounded by the nearly picture perfect downtown. Lovely old storefronts mixed with carming homes and Bed abd Breakfasts, cafes with lovely awnings, well kept gardens and even decorations for the Holiday: Scarecrows of stuffed straw with bright shirts, feathered caps and brilliantly colored bandanas. We passed a punmpkin patch, lit with strings of lights in the old fashioned way and I was thrilled. Mark was happy, too and suggested we visit the Sleepy Hollow Graveyard of the Ol' Dutch Church. Yes! I cried, immediately digging for my camera.
As we pulled off Main Street into the Church's lot it was about 4 o'clock in the afternoon. Oh, my, waht a graveyard it was! Going back as far as the 1600s it was a treasure trove of architectural monuments to the dearly departed. Mark and I started off to explore and after a very few minutes, in my excitemnt to reach that next tomb, I had accidently lost my dear husband.
I wandered for what was a timeless period for me, photographing so many unusual intricate and magnificent house for the dead. Truly, a town of the dead. Grecian temples beside Gothic spires. Dutch tombs with huge slate roof slabs sliding to the ground, Tudor mausoleums and every sort of grave marker one can imagine - even to some which were so small, less than 16" high, tilted and half buried in the soil.
I wanderd faint paths all over, truly believing I was pushing forward in a true line and could simply turn about in a bit and walk the same direction back - but the spirits apparently had another plan for me! I soon realized it was dusk and the light was fading rather quickly - aftyer all it had been overcast all afternoon so the lack of light had already been hampered. I took a pause and a deep breath and fumbled for my silver gilt cigarette case. Opening it and removing a smoke, I tapped it onthe case as I stood in contemplation, and placing it in my mouth lit the cigarette with my gilt lighter. The sense of holding these little reminders of civilization were a great comfort - and as I breathed in deeply the smoke and exhaled, watching it curl into the evening air a sense of some comfort enveloped me. I shall not panic, I declared to my self! If I cannot find my way back someone will come and find me. Heartened, however artificailly, I set forth again.
I heard a highway and then saw headlights down below me. Finding a paved thouroughfare hrough the mgrounds I kept with it, assuming I could follow the highway to the Church. I trudged in the opposite direction then I had been going and spent anothe half hour walking - the road always to my left.
Well, the trouble turned out to be that road should have been to my right! I found the very end of the cemetery and it was now deep dusk. Panic, panic. I struggled against it and lit another cigarette, then did an about face to walk the other direction. Sfter a short distance I saw two figures walking together, fainyly through the poor light. Approaching them I asked for directions and was responde to in themost minimal manner possible. I thought for a moment, when they told me that they hadnot driven to the grounds nor did they know the way out that I was perhpas meeting residents of the place. I resisted mym inclination to touch them to see if they were solid and instead marked a hasty move forward, away from the mysterious and uncommunicative couple...
A few minutes later I met yet another young couple who had a map of the grounds - they shared an extra copy with me. Together we, and another young couple they were with - headed to the gates of the Church yard. I got out a bit in fornt and found the place Mark and I had started from two hours or so earlier! Hurrah! Up ahead I saw the gates, flooded with headlights, and assumed Mark had been dutiful to me and remained waiting. Thank God! As I ghrew close Mark saw me at last and screamed: :There he is! there he is!" I realized he was exclaiming the news to the police officer he had called and who was unlocking the gates to begin a search for me! A moment later a second police vehicl arrived with the local canine rescue squad in tow - mark was so frightend I had fallen in the hilly park and was communing, unconscience, with some particular long departed resident guest. I could only think of Frodo and his companions in the barrows and wondered how close to a similar experience I had actually come.
I wonder still about the dark young couple in the black clothes with no desire to speak with me - ah, probably just a couple of kids stoned on cannabis! Surely! Right? I suppose I'll never know for certain...
Having been so tied to the business, often 16 hours daily, Mark has rarely had the time to have any outings in the year we have been residing in New York.
And, as New York has so very much to offer it does seem a shame. We both hope to rectify this with more involvement in the fabulous cultural life available here - this outing was our first serious attempt.
I, being me, had not expressed to my dear husband my expectations of the day, assuming (wrongly) that he knew what sort of a day it should be: a gentrified outing of a two older gay men, smartly attired in our cashmere and wool, fine leather and the apropriate accessories - watch, rings and eyeglasses. We would arrive in this quaint village and find a charming small cafe, serving healthy but tasty dishes - fresh and hand made salds, grilled fish or chicken and perhaps a piece of local pumpkin pie.
My first clue that the trip I was on was not the trip I had planned in my mind brought out my very worst trait - sulleness. It's true, I know I do it, and yet I cannot seem to stop. As we drove towards Sleepy hollow we passed poorly kept houses, billious chain stores and poorly marked roads. Losiung our way once or twice I was beginning to think we'd simply journeyed to yet another blue collar neighborhood where comfortable shoes, cost efficient vinyl siding and aluminium replacement windows are de riguer - not carefully restored Victorian and Edwardian homes, clad in custom paint schemes and gardens with all the charm of a picture post card. The grunpies set in with me.
Mark noticed of course, and was soon after me to reveal my pissy attitude, which i didn't want to do - as I knew his response would be the same as what I was thinking already of myself: you neurotic selfish old prick. This is supposed to be about spending time together. I was determined to change course.
Dear Mark assumed it was low blood sugar and that we needed to eat and without hesitation pulled into a vinyl booth Diner next to a gas station to feed me - with what turned out to be frozen reheated waffles with terribly greasey tasting margarine and what was supposedly 'syrup' but which had no flavor whatsoever. (So much for brioche with butter and French jam and fresh farm egg omelets, apple cured bacon and just ground fresh brewed Columbian coffee!)
I'm afraid this is the point where mark's pushing me for an answer to my dismal countenance was finally met with a hushed outburst about eating cardboard and viewing a neighborhood strongly reminiscent of Mesa, Arizona - only with green and gold and red oaks and maples.
Somehow, however, we suddenly laughed (Mark agreed about paying for frozen waffles!) and we laughed - he saw my point and that was enough. The rest of the day promised to be a great deal of fun.
As we drove into Sleepy Hollow we were astounded by the nearly picture perfect downtown. Lovely old storefronts mixed with carming homes and Bed abd Breakfasts, cafes with lovely awnings, well kept gardens and even decorations for the Holiday: Scarecrows of stuffed straw with bright shirts, feathered caps and brilliantly colored bandanas. We passed a punmpkin patch, lit with strings of lights in the old fashioned way and I was thrilled. Mark was happy, too and suggested we visit the Sleepy Hollow Graveyard of the Ol' Dutch Church. Yes! I cried, immediately digging for my camera.As we pulled off Main Street into the Church's lot it was about 4 o'clock in the afternoon. Oh, my, waht a graveyard it was! Going back as far as the 1600s it was a treasure trove of architectural monuments to the dearly departed. Mark and I started off to explore and after a very few minutes, in my excitemnt to reach that next tomb, I had accidently lost my dear husband.
I wandered for what was a timeless period for me, photographing so many unusual intricate and magnificent house for the dead. Truly, a town of the dead. Grecian temples beside Gothic spires. Dutch tombs with huge slate roof slabs sliding to the ground, Tudor mausoleums and every sort of grave marker one can imagine - even to some which were so small, less than 16" high, tilted and half buried in the soil.
I wanderd faint paths all over, truly believing I was pushing forward in a true line and could simply turn about in a bit and walk the same direction back - but the spirits apparently had another plan for me! I soon realized it was dusk and the light was fading rather quickly - aftyer all it had been overcast all afternoon so the lack of light had already been hampered. I took a pause and a deep breath and fumbled for my silver gilt cigarette case. Opening it and removing a smoke, I tapped it onthe case as I stood in contemplation, and placing it in my mouth lit the cigarette with my gilt lighter. The sense of holding these little reminders of civilization were a great comfort - and as I breathed in deeply the smoke and exhaled, watching it curl into the evening air a sense of some comfort enveloped me. I shall not panic, I declared to my self! If I cannot find my way back someone will come and find me. Heartened, however artificailly, I set forth again.I heard a highway and then saw headlights down below me. Finding a paved thouroughfare hrough the mgrounds I kept with it, assuming I could follow the highway to the Church. I trudged in the opposite direction then I had been going and spent anothe half hour walking - the road always to my left.
Well, the trouble turned out to be that road should have been to my right! I found the very end of the cemetery and it was now deep dusk. Panic, panic. I struggled against it and lit another cigarette, then did an about face to walk the other direction. Sfter a short distance I saw two figures walking together, fainyly through the poor light. Approaching them I asked for directions and was responde to in themost minimal manner possible. I thought for a moment, when they told me that they hadnot driven to the grounds nor did they know the way out that I was perhpas meeting residents of the place. I resisted mym inclination to touch them to see if they were solid and instead marked a hasty move forward, away from the mysterious and uncommunicative couple...
A few minutes later I met yet another young couple who had a map of the grounds - they shared an extra copy with me. Together we, and another young couple they were with - headed to the gates of the Church yard. I got out a bit in fornt and found the place Mark and I had started from two hours or so earlier! Hurrah! Up ahead I saw the gates, flooded with headlights, and assumed Mark had been dutiful to me and remained waiting. Thank God! As I ghrew close Mark saw me at last and screamed: :There he is! there he is!" I realized he was exclaiming the news to the police officer he had called and who was unlocking the gates to begin a search for me! A moment later a second police vehicl arrived with the local canine rescue squad in tow - mark was so frightend I had fallen in the hilly park and was communing, unconscience, with some particular long departed resident guest. I could only think of Frodo and his companions in the barrows and wondered how close to a similar experience I had actually come.
I wonder still about the dark young couple in the black clothes with no desire to speak with me - ah, probably just a couple of kids stoned on cannabis! Surely! Right? I suppose I'll never know for certain...
No comments:
Post a Comment