Ihm-blog

Sunset at Robert Moses State Park

2011-09-24T20:48:00.001-04:00

Sometimes I just need to get out of the house. I get wrapped up in myself, listening to music that makes me sad and surfing the net for nothing in particular. This afternoon I fought it off by making a salad with feta cheese and packing it to go.

As I left the neighborhood I asked myself, "Where am I going?" On a whim, or maybe under Ronni's influence, I decided I needed to see something different, so instead of turning left to go towards Sunken Meadow, I turned right towards Robert Moses. It's a 20-minute trip across two scary bridges - the lanes across the open water are pretty narrow. Once across, I circled the water tower and headed to the easternmost Parking Field 5. It was a little cooler than I expected but I had brought a hooded sweatshirt, which I had to double-back to fetch.

The sand felt soft under my shoes, and the ocean waves were loud but somehow soothing. I watched a few Piping Plovers, whose nests on the dunes are protected, scutter along the edge of the advancing and retreating water. There is actually a three foot cliff near the water, formed by what process I don't know. The birds felt safe from me, and didn't seem to mind as I passed them on the cliff above.

I walked along this little beach cliff towards the lighthouse, but didn't really plan to get there. A wooden jetty with a stairway to the beach jutted towards the cliff from behind the dunes, and I climbed the stairs, sat down with my legs dangling, and ate my salad. It's times like these, at the beautiful places, when I miss Ronni most intensely. Sometimes I can remember being in these places with her, and sometimes I must settle for wishing we had gone there together. If she were there with me, we would have said very little; we would have just listened to the sea and the seagulls, embracing side-by-side, with her head on my shoulder.

A couple had pitched a tent on the beach a few hundred feet west of the jetty, and they were wandering the beach looking for shells. I imagined Ronni and I would have talked about doing the same thing at another time; it would have been fun and romantic. This is the time of our lives when we would have been "empty-nesters", enjoying more time together and with friends and family, becoming a couple again after the child-raising years. I felt bitter that we were deprived of that life together.

Another couple approached from the dunes side of the jetty with two little white dogs and a baby stroller. For all I know, the stroller might have been empty - they behaved like the dogs were their kids. One of the doggies came to investigate me, not really interested in anything more than a quick sniff while he peered over the edge of the jetty. He let me scratch his head and neck for a minute or two, then retreated to his parents.

Soon it was time to go back to the car, since the sun would set and I didn't relish walking the beach in the dark. I took off my shoes and socks, rolled up my pants, and walked west at the very edge of the water towards the setting sun. The waves were cool but not uncomfortable, and I felt the sand and sea foam between my toes as I walked. Those plovers were still hunting for crabs and bits of food, but then I scared them off now that I was at their level on the beach. Finally, at some distance I passed a woman and her 5-ish child sitting high on the beach surrounded by toys and a kite; they were finished playing, and the boy was on her lap as they both looked towards the water. I wondered what their story might have been - a single mother, or dad's away this weekend? Happy, or is she longing for someone the way I am? I did not break their spell to ask.

I walked up the boardwalk toward my car, but stopped short and turned back to look east at a wonderful spectacle: two rainbows, one over the ocean, and the other alongside the lighthouse. The sun had sunk below the cloud deck, illuminating the clouds from below and reflecting the rainbow from the clouds and mist. I moved around on the boardwalk until I got a few good pictures of both rainbows. And then I turned around to look west at the most beautiful sunset I have seen in years. As I alternated between taking pictures and staring with my jaw slack, I had to fight back tears. I have long believed Ronni sees the world from whatever realm she inhabits, through my eyes. I felt her presence, and heard her ask me to stop crying because she couldn't see. I obliged, and I smiled that open-mouthed smile you get when you're so happy you're on the verge of laughter. She and I enjoyed the show together.

The drive home was anticlimactic. Here I am at home writing my thoughts and hoping the pictures came out.

Five Boro Bike Tour 2011

2011-05-01T20:07:00.005-04:00

Last year I recall nicknaming it the Five Borough Bike/Walk/Stand. It was a little worse this year.

I parked in Staten Island again. I happened to follow two cars that seemed to know the area, into a small unmarked lot only one mile from the festival and bridge. From there it was a four mile ride to the ferry.

The morning ride to the ferry was cold and unpleasant. For me, this "tour" is early in the season, so twice in a row I have been less than prepared for it. From where I parked there is a steep hill towards the festival area, and it was almost the first thing I had to navigate. That said, I think my legs are stronger than last year, perhaps even stronger than they were after a season of riding last Fall. Or maybe the bike fits better after my handlebar and seat adjustments. Or maybe I'm no longer ashamed of using Granny Gears when I need to.

The ferry ride was nice. I carried my bike upstairs to Level 2 without too much trauma - had to carry it down also after disembarking. Since so few people did that, I managed to park it right up front of the ferry. Nice view of the skyline from up there.

I followed the crowd and found myself at Church St. and Park Place, three or four blocks closer to the start than last year. I was there at about 7; the ride was scheduled to start at 8, and we actually got moving at about 9, after walking at least 5 blocks north to the starting gate. They had some kind of ceremonial gas flame bursting from two nozzles at the gate, and I could actually feel the radiant heat each time they went off. The air was otherwise was pretty cool, so the flames felt good.

The trip to Central Park was slow and crowded, with a couple of stops and slow walks. Another necessary bathroom break put me further behind the leaders. Central Park itself also had some walks, though not as bad as last year. There were more walks and stops in Harlem, and along 135th street as we moved towards the Bronx. Just like last year, we were in the Bronx for all of 15 minutes.

There was a unicycle on the FDR drive as I rode down. The guy had to pedal rapidly to keep up.

Just like last year there was another walk towards the Queensboro Bridge. Although I stopped a couple of times to catch my breath, I managed to ride all the way up, which is better than I did last year. Hooray for those Granny gears!

I had mixed feelings when I found that Astoria had already been cut off by the time I got there: on the one hand, I had wanted to go, and this proved that I was in the last 1/3 of the pack again. On the other hand, I was getting tired already so I felt it was just as well.

I skipped the Con Ed Learning Center rest stop and kept moving over the Pulaski Bridge, a moderate hill which I was proud to have navigated without stopping. At Commodore Barry Park there was time for a banana and some water refills before I headed onward.

Just like last year, I have nothing but unhappy memories of the Gowanus Expressway. Yeah, it's nice that it was closed and carried bicycles exclusively. But there were a couple of tough hills, and when I tried to startup after resting at one point, I took a spill by grinding the rear wheel of the guy in front of me. It was entirely my own fault, and I assume I had little effect on the other guy, since I don't even think he knew I went down. I earned a skinned elbow and bruised palm (lightly because I had recently found my padded gloves), but no serious injury except perhaps to my self-esteem. Then later, after a couple of pauses to catch my breath, the entire parade went into standing/walking mode. There was construction further ahead, so everyone had to squeeze into one car lane. We were delayed by about an hour.

As we started to move past the road construction area, we noticed that every piece of Rebar (hundreds of them) had been capped with little red cone-shaped bonnets, probably to prevent injury to the workers. Someone nearby yelled to his friend, "Hey Jim, look at that! I love Spring in New York City, with the Rebar in bloom!" Yes, they looked like flowers. Got a good laugh out of that one.

Once we got going, the period of standing had taken its toll on my muscles and joints, and I found it tough going for the rest of the trip. On the flat Belt Parkway I had to pause several times, and although I made it up the ramp towards the Verrazzano and the Cannonball Park rest stop (just water and potty for me), I completely gave up trying to ride up the bridge. I walked about 2/3 up the Brooklyn side, then mounted my bike and fit-started to the highest point. Going downhill on the other side was quite a relief.

At the festival, "I rode 34 miles and all I got was this t-shirt." Well, I also got some chocolate milk, but there was no way I would wait an hour on line for a free picture. I found my way out of the park after about 45 minutes and headed towards the car.

Now, where was the car? Here at 3pm I had absolutely no memory of the area that I had left at 5:30am, and I ended up passing the little parking lot where my car was. I rode about 3 miles past it, then back - a very sore 5+ miles after the previous 38. I stopped to rest, then on a hunch, instead of going back along the same route again I went further back towards the bridge. And there it was, less than a mile from the festival site. It turns out that this morning I had parked in the closest lot to the festival.

On the drive home I saw that the last few hundred feet of the Gowanus bottleneck was still occupied by bikes, with people mostly standing, not moving. Then behind them, there was a monumental traffic backup that extended all the way up towards the Brooklyn Bridge. There must be a better solution: I think someone opened the road to traffic before it was cleared of bikes. People were leaving their cars to try to figure out what was the problem. Hours earlier, I was through the area fairly quickly by comparison, for which I am grateful.

Takeaways: I should not do this event again unless:

1) I figure out how to get much closer to the front at the start of the ride,
2) I am in good enough condition this early in the season to consistently keep up with the pace.

Since you have to register in early February for this early May ride, I can't know about #2. Perhaps I could figure out #1, but if I'm going to fall behind, why bother?

Also, this really is not a ride, but a ride-hike. The negatives outweighed the positives in my eyes: I did not get enough of a rise from the scenery and from being able to bike on major NYC arteries, to overcome the irritation of waiting, walking, and waiting some more. Next year, it would be better use of my time and money to sign up for the 50-mile version of the Montauk ride, if it's available, which runs in the middle of May. Last year I did the "metric century" and paid for it with knee and elbow problems afterwards - WAY to much of a ride so soon after the Five Borough tour. In fact, the problems I developed after the Montauk ride are still bothering me - especially my left knee.

Anyway, it's done, I completed it, I'm satisfied. I came home and took a nice, hot shower, turned on my bed massage, and got a good nap.

Status

2011-03-09T14:57:00.002-05:00

After a long, painful battle with esophageal cancer, my daughter and first child, Allison, passed away on July 20, 2010. It has been 8 months, and I still cannot get a grip. I have said that, in terms of mourning for my wife Ronni, who passed away in August, 2008, I feel like I've gone back to square-one. Some people don't agree.

Well, now there's a whole new situation to deal with: I have left my job of 23 years effective March 3. My position disappeared in Dowling's ongoing reorganization. Believe me, I would have preferred to stay. I have a little time before I need to get serious about job-hunting. Those lemons are going to need a whole lot of sweetening before I can taste the lemonade.

Sweetening: besides my continued enjoyment having Allison and Mark's son Zachary living with me, I've now got another wonderful grandchild thanks to Jason and Bracha. In fact, I'll be babysitting on Sunday evening. And yesterday we went to New Jersey to attend a bris - Miriam is Ronni's niece, so I guess that makes her my niece-in-law? Who cares, little DJ was beautiful. And my son Jonathan is marrying the love of his life at the end of May, so simchas abound.

At the moment it feels like I'm shipwrecked, rowing to islands of joy in a sea of sadness. The sea can't rise any higher, can it? Oh, gack, I need to work on my writing skills some more...

Montauk (metric) Century

2010-05-18T09:44:00.002-04:00

Sunday, May 16 I did the 5BBC's Montauk (metric) Century. The length of this entry is appropriate for the size of the ride, but might not hold your attention. Writing about it has helped me preserve the memory.

I got through its 68 fairly flat miles by brute force. This was the longest ride I have taken so far, almost twice as long as the Five Borough Bike Tour on May 2. I guess I need to keep working on conditioning, doing hour-long rides several times a week instead of these every-so-often killer rides.

I woke up at 5:30 and had oatmeal and a banana for breakfast, for fuel. Check-in for the ride was at the Babylon train station, where the 140-milers from NYC paused and the 100-milers started. For us 65 milers our bikes were trucked to Mastic and we rode the 8:30am train.

I joined an escorted "beginner" group which dispersed quickly - I saw few of them for the rest of the ride, probably because they were faster than me.

The weather was perfect, and I remembered my sunscreen this time. We inconvenienced several drivers as we monopolized the shoulder. One poor lady honked and shouted so I let her make a right turn in front of me. She was still fussing as I waved and shouted, "Have a NICE day" and the people behind me laughed.

I recall seeing two parachutes glide down as we passed Spadaro Airport. Skydiving might have been a less strenuous activity but I think I'll stick to biking for now.

Not long after a "Golf Crossing" sign (WHAT's crossing??) we arrived at the first rest stop in Westhampton Beach, where I ate a little and rested a little. I tried to rejoin the group but most had gone ahead already, so I just kept going alone. In a few minutes I was on the famous, not-always-passable Dune Road. I was on Dune Road forever. I was tanking already, and I swear it was uphill the whole time! That was an illusion that I endured several times during the ride.

At the end of Dune Road (finally!) I hardly even tried to ride up the Ponquogue Bridge - I walked up, and even that took my breath. Beautiful vista at the top, and a pleasant glide down the other side.

I remember passing the sign for Stony Brook University at Southhampton, and the Welcome to Southhampton sign, both indications of serious progress, but it's all a blur - I just kept cranking my pedals. I recall thinking, "Hey, you just rode a marathon!" at the 26 mile mark. My pleasure was tempered by the fact that I was less than halfway there. The glass was half-empty, I guess.

Somewhere in here I got the hang of following the painted road signs on the asphalt, which is a good thing because for several minutes at a time there was nobody ahead or behind to guide me. Many turns past beautiful mansions on smooth, quiet roads, and I arrived at the Watermill rest stop in Bridgehampton. Jason texted, "Still got legs?" and I replied, "So far, yes, 29 miles to go." More fuel and about a 20-minute rest, then off I went.

On this last segment I remember cussing at my legs and wondering why I was doing this, but I kept going, resting my butt by standing and coasting whenever I could go downhill. I watched the 50-mile mark tick off on my odometer, and kept plugging away. There were many swallows and shore birds, and I saw a killdeer browsing a lawn as I passed. I even saw a field filled with cows, some of whom seemed as interested in me as I was in them. Somewhere in there I crossed the little bridge for which Bridgehampton was named, according to the sign.

Where the back roads led us up to Montauk Highway I stopped for five minutes and refueled. By this time my butt was pretty sore, but standing and walking around was all I needed.

We were on Montauk Point State Highway, well, forever. It got hilly, one last test for the already-weary. I took one long hill in about 5 chunks, and one short, steep hill in about 5 more. One person asked if I was OK as she passed; I replied, "Yep, just catching my breath." No lie, it's just an indication that I have conditioning work to do. Then I looked at my bike computer and realized that I had just "ridden my age" - 58 miles. It was at that point that I knew I would finish, even if I had to stop once a minute. Which is what I proceeded to do until I got up that hill.

I finally got to sail downhill towards the end, as we arrived in Montauk proper. It was only a couple of miles through town to arrive at the train station and the end. If I had rushed, I could have caught the 5:28pm train back to Babylon, but I decided to relax and enjoy the triumph of having completed the ride. They had hot showers (boy, that was nice!) and veggie burgers, salad and pasta. They called it lunch but for me it was dinner.

I got off the bike and delivered it to the truck carrying everyone's bikes back to Babylon. Then I turned around and walked towards the celebrating crowd, the food and the biking jersey I had ordered and needed to pick up - my self-styled reward for finishing. I cried, wishing Ronni could have joined me, or at least given me a congratulatory hug.

I lay down on a nearby rise after munching, and rested for a deeply soothing half-hour. Jason had left a text message after I told him I had 29 miles to go: "I just wanted to tell you from the bottom of my heart... YOU'RE NUTS!!! :) " Got a good laugh from that.

Then it was time to board the train. I setup my iPod to listen to random music, but as I thought about Ronni again, I was moved to listen to David Broza songs. Ronni and I had gone to his Christmas Eve performances at the 92nd St. Y for something like seven years in a row - it was a pleasant escape from the Christmas noise. The first winter after she died I skipped it, but then last year I went, alone. It turned out the seat next to me was empty. I knew I was not alone.

So here on the train I listened to Broza, cried, thought about the injustice of what happened to her, and looked out the train window. I saw the long bike ride unwind before me: the route was near the LIRR tracks, so I saw again many of the landmarks I had seen on the way out. There was a stunning sunset on display in the windows across the train aisle. Eventually the light faded, and I dozed.

I met my trusty bike below the Babylon LIRR station, and made it home just after 10pm, about 15 hours after I left the house this morning. Except for a few snippets of conversation here and there, I had been alone the entire trip. It would have been a different voyage had I not been alone - but would I have completed it?

Observations:

I hate port-a-potties. Especially when you have to do #2.
Having done my homework about nutrition and hydration seems to have helped me survive the ordeal. Getting in better shape will make it less of an ordeal. And putting on sunscreen repeatedly is critical, though I need aerosol because the hand pump doesn't work upside down.
I guess I can always find something else to buy. I ordered a multi-purpose GPS on sale at Costco - it can route auto, hiking and bike rides. I'll have to order a bike mount separately after I see it. I also think I should change panniers to something that can handle water bottles and sandwiches without crowding.
I thought about next steps. There's a "Bloomin' Century" in Connecticut next weekend: no freakin' way, nothing but easy local rides for the next few weeks. I'll consider the other Montauk Century for mid-June. Next steps are Jon's graduation and opening the pool.
Bicycling and playing freecell are two ways that I numb the psychic pain that I still feel. I need to spend more time on the bike and less with freecell. The pain will ease, I hope.

If you managed to get this far, you're very patient. Thanks for listening.

Five Boro Bike Tour 2010

2010-05-02T22:53:00.005-04:00

Here's a blow-by-blow description of my Sunday on the Five Boro Bike Tour, in which 32,000 people ride the streets of New York in a simultaneous "happening" and test of endurance.

Saturday I treated myself to a new multi-tool for the bike, and some chain lube, in case I ran into problems on Sunday. And I treated myself to a fairly lazy day, or rather, a lazy three days before this event. I wasn't all that sure I would finish.

I woke up at 4:15 for the Five Boro Bike Tour as planned and left at 4:55, a little late. Right until the BQE exit I wasn't sure I was going to park in Staten Island or Manhattan. I was following an SUV toting bikes and figured he was headed to the tour, and he went on the BQE so followed him. I think he took one of the bridges into Manhattan but I kept going until I got to the Verrazzano, then parked near the ferry. In chatting with some folks later, as we waited to get started, I think that was the right decision. The only think I'd do differently is take the Bike New York brochure's advice and park south of the Verrazzano, so that leaving the festival would have been easier. It wasn't really a problem until I got lost in Staten Island on the way home, stuck in traffic in Bayonne and Manhattan. Geez, all I had to do was pull out a map, but NOOOOO.

Thanks to the SUV bomb in Times Square, we got off to an hour-late start: we didn't start until 9am instead of the usual 8. [Edit: my late start was more likely due to my far-back start location in front of Trinity Church.] Thanks to the crowds, the "Tour" was also a "Walk" and a "Stand" at times. The late start was the first "Stand" part of the event. I got some pictures of Cousin Brucie as we passed the gate, and made a quick stop at the first toilet. Riding and sipping, I didn't need to stop again until the next-to-last stop, which was in Brooklyn.

In Central Park we met up with other riders who apparently joined the tour late. [Edit: not true, we split from them before entering the park, and merged in the park.] As a result, about 1/3 of Central Park was spent walking because it was so crowded. The hills were OK, though. I think I could enjoy a trip around Manhattan and through the park one quiet Sunday.

There were half a dozen other places where everyone bunched up and had to walk: 135th street before the Bronx, 63rd St before the Queensborough Bridge, coming off the QB, climbing up from the Gowanus towards the last rest area at Cannonball Park. That's the ones I remember. The tour is a victim of its own popularity, and on a beautiful day like today, it's just too crowded to enjoy.

I think we were in the Bronx for about 8 minutes.

Unfortunately I was so intent on riding without crashing into anyone that I hardly looked up at the scenery. In less crowded years I bet that was a wonderful addition to the experience, but not this year, not for me.

On the way down the Harlem River and FDR Drives I briefly remembered other times I had been there, with Ronni to or from the hospital. The memories came back in several other places but I didn't dwell on them because I was dogging.

The Queensborough Bridge was quite a climb, and my lack of conditioning forced me to stop-and-go on the way up. I walked a bit, too. Once you start coasting down, it's easy to go too fast; marshalls were there with "slow down" signs and megaphones to keep us in check. At least the tour wasn't ALL pedaling.

I noticed that there was no option to head towards Astoria, probably because they closed the route at the usual time (whatever it is) despite the late start we all got. [Edit: more likely I was just too darned slow!] I guess only the fastest people got there. The vendors must have been pretty ticked.

Queens into Brooklyn is a blur. I know I was there, just don't remember a lot of it until we got to the Gowanus, where there's a very long, mostly slow incline on which I had to stop several times. That's a recurring theme - my legs and lungs still need work.

Somewhere in there I stopped at one of the rest stops, parked my bike unattended without fear of theft, and refueled with banana, yogurt, water. Too crowded to wait on line for anything good. I probably stayed a bit too long - have you ever exercised then stopped then started again and found that it hurt like hell to restart? Fortunately, the soreness faded.

Soon we were under the Verrazzano and close to the last rest stop (which I skipped). What I remember here is that we slowed to a walk, and that the crowd was booing some bikers who tried to cut the line on the way up the exit ramp (the marshalls sent them back in line). If we hadn't been walking I certainly would not have been able to ride without stopping.

Then there was the climb up to the closed lower deck of the Verrazzano itself, which I did as well as I could do in fits and starts. If I had "let go" over the top I would have been doing 30mph on the way down, but again it was too crowded. I noticed they put padding over the grates on the bridge (the gaps are probably too big for narrow bike tires) and I was grateful.

Finally at the festival, once again too crowded to enjoy - who wants to stand on line for a half hour for a drink after riding for 5 hours? But I did stand in line for about 45 minutes for a free photo of myself, because unless I got that photo nobody would believe me when I told them I completed this ride. Then I had to stand in line to leave the park, perhaps because there was a collision or someone collapsed from heat exhaustion - I only know there was an ambulance outside the exit, and nobody was allowed to ride away for awhile.

Once we got out, we rode 3 minutes and stopped again, for what reason I don't know. Eventually we got going and did the three mile ride to the ferry. I rode to my car while most of the others hopped on the ferry. I then proceeded to get lost in Staten Island and ended up in Bayonne, New Jersey and Manhattan, stuck in heavy traffic. Leave it to me to fail to stop and read the damned map. It's OK, I got in a little more sightseeing.

I am surprised that I don't feel too bad. Just wait till the ibuprophen wears off... and I didn't use enough sunscreen - I'll pay for that tonight!

I swear I spent two hours standing, between the start area, Central Park and the festival, and I spent another 45-60 minutes walking when it was too crowded. Finished near 5pm.

I really did at least 39 miles instead of 32 if you count the ride to and from my car. Would I do the Five Boro Bike Tour again? Yes, but not every year. Maybe it will rain next year and the crowd will thin - I should ask people about last year, because it poured. It sure was a hoot riding on those main roads with nothing to look out for except bikes. Maybe I can gear up for the Montauk ride - the 65 mile version sounds like a reasonable goal to shoot for.

I promised Ronni I would take care of myself, and I am. It's slowly becoming possible to enjoy things without missing her so intensely. I still wish she had been here to join me on the ride - I think I would have enjoyed that. But she was with me in spirit, and that will have to do.

A few pix: http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/sredir?uname=chris.ihm&target=ALBUM&id=5467473038224038929&authkey=Gv1sRgCPHjj42ngLfFygE&invite=CMH-_okL&feat=email

A walk in Caumsett Park

2009-05-22T13:20:00.006-04:00

This past Saturday I arrived at Caumsett at 7:30 am and took the service path on the right towards the mansion. It seems that in this solitude with beautiful surroundings I fall easily into conversation with Ronni.

At first I used to vocalize what I had just thought, then realized I was being redundant. Now I just let the thoughts come and go. I feel she's right there with me, chiding me, comforting me, planting ideas. I forget how I came to this conclusion, but I feel that she is able to see what I see, through my eyes, and that she wants me to look at things and at people full in the face. She wants to see her mom, and Allison, and Zach, through my eyes.

As I walked up towards the mansion I saw a tree whose shape Ronni wanted me to see. It must have been 50 years old, had grown at a 45 degree angle from the ground, or maybe had grown straight then fell over. When it fell it didn't die, but curved upward and continued growing until its top leaves were near the crown of the forest. That's you, she said. You've been blown over, but you'll continue to grow and thrive.

Later there was the half-inch thick vine spiraling around one tree, then jumping to another. That's me, she said. I grew up in a strong, close family, then I joined with you for the rest of my life. I think I ignored the condition of the trees, not sure if they were still alive, or even if the vine was alive. There was another vine which was actually a cluster of them, wrapped around each other in a rising spiral. That's all of us, she said, dependent on each other for our comfort, security, growth.

As I walked along the first path there was a rising and fading drone sound which I didn't recognize, but didn't think much about. It barely rose above the chatter of birds and rush of leaves in the light wind. Later, as I walked near the heart-shaped pond near the mansion, I realized it was a foghorn, or more accurately a fog whistle, since it was not the booming bass sound I would have expected. The sound punctuated the whole walk, but I was barely aware of it most of the time.

My middle-aged body sent me to the bathroom, where my thoughts of Ronni turned to the last days of her life. Approaching a complete meltdown, I clenched my hands together tightly and told myself to stop, stop punishing yourself. Ronni said the same. I cannot get past the regrets: how I spent more than half of her last day at work, how many opportunities I missed to be with her and tell her how much I loved her. I will incorporate those regrets into my being, that's how I'll move on. It happened, you blew it, you can't take it back, now move along. It will take years.

Then I was at the bench, at the top of the great lawn, where Ronni and I many times sat to admire the scene. Sometimes it was just us walking, for exercise. Sometimes it was Ronni in her wheelchair. This time it was me, alone. I could barely see the pond because of the fog, so I turned away to look at the mansion. It was someone's home, and someone's work place. It held someone's memories, of people who were gone long ago. I remembered reading that the family tore down part of the mansion because it had begun to feel too big; now it was asymmetrical and ugly. Mold and cracks were here and there, as the state (who now owns the building) tried half-heartedly to keep the place up. Ronni saw it through my eyes, wistfully.

Down the hill through the forest to the beach, I could hear drops of rain. When a storm approaches, it begins with a few drops, then a few more, then builds to a torrent. Today the rain was stuck in first gear, never going beyond the dripping. I don't know why I found this comforting. There wasn't going to be a torrent, because there was no line of storms on the radar this morning. But the rain would tickle and tease me, soaking my shoes as I walked through the fields, but never soaking my clothes.

I sat on a rock on the beach and watched the birds. A flock of geese had settled in the shallow water among the smoothed stones, and their cackling mixed with the plunk-plunk of the water splashing against the hollows. Two cormorants stood guard on two boulders directly in front of me. They watched me warily, then one decided to take off. She jumped towards the water and beat her wings furiously to keep from crashing into the water. She made a wide arc leftward behind the rock she had been sitting on, then straightened out and flew diagonally, gradually fading in the fog until suddenly I could no longer see her. A moment later I looked back and the second cormorant had jumped into the water but had not flown away. His head turned from side to side as though he was looking for his mate. He kept this up for several minutes, swimming away from shore towards the mist. I glanced away at the geese, then back to find the cormorant, but he had disappeared. I suppose he dove for food; I searched for a minute but never saw him again. I thought of Ronni and me, the arc of our lives.

Twenty years ago Ronni and I walked in Caumsett and I led us up a trail on the cliffs above this spot. It was fun and pretty, but the trail disappeared, and we found ourselves thrashing through the brush as though in a Peruvian jungle. Just then my pager rang - someone at work was looking for me! Before the time of cell phones all I could have done is find a pay phone, but here in the jungle we laughed, "Oh, well, no response today!" The last two times I have gone alone, and the trail has been clean and easy to follow, and of course, I stopped at the best view and cried bitterly. Ronni told me, knock it off, I can't see how gorgeous it is if your eyes are all cloudy. The drops splashed on my head and nose as I meandered through the woods.

You come out near a wide trail that could take you back to the parking lot by several variations in the route. I decided to find the perimeter of the park. Along the way there was a chattering, fluttering trio of birds (Redstarts, I found out later) for whom I just had to stand still so I could watch in amusement. You would have thought there were ten of them, but there were only three. I hope Ronni got to see them.

Consulting my map I guessed the direction I should move, but somehow I turned myself around and after about 45 minutes I found myself right back on the same cliff near the beach. In honor of my silliness I ate two "silly cookies" as I called them, then took the direct walk back to the parking lot and made my way home. On the way I listened to the podcast of "Wait, Wait" from NPR. Ronni and I used to listen in the car on Saturdays on our way to lunch together. Today I was immersed in the show as I walked, and it helped me forget the pain in my legs and heart.

I tell people I need to go through this, not around it or back away. But am I punishing myself? Am I pushing myself into places that make me cry? And should I? Maybe it's my way to keep Ronni in my life, because that's what I need. I can't have her back, but I can soak myself in my memories of her, even if it makes me miserable.

Sometimes I feel intensely alone. I cannot always summon Ronni to talk to her. Then sometimes I can.

The foghorn sounds far, far away, barely above the nearby bustle, and I keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Now what?

2009-01-25T00:14:00.005-05:00

Told you I wouldn't be posting much.

Around Thanksgiving my daughter Allison received the bad news that she has esophageal cancer. Further tests categorized it as Stage III, meaning that it has penetrated the entire esophagus, hit one lymph node, but has not metastasized. She is currently undergoing chemotherapy, the specifics of which have changed this past week. She is about to add radiation to the mix, the idea being to smack it down hard before subjecting her to surgery in early April.

This type of cancer hits males over 60. Allison is a female just over 30. There are no stats that can tell us how well she will do; we just have to hope for the best. She does start from a position of strength, since she's young and otherwise healthy.

Having her, Mark and Zachary move in with me seems like a good idea. She would be near Memorial Sloan-Kettering's Commack satellite where she's getting treatment (surgery will be in NYC). She would have more close family and many of Ronni's friends available. So I have embarked on a clean-the-house mission, which is going well, with the intent to clear the upstairs so that we can put down laminate flooring to keep allergens low (Mark has a few allergy problems) and put up new sheetrock and paint where needed. Probably need a door, too. The work keeps me busy at night and weekends.

Between cleanup and helping Mark and Ali with Zach while Ali gets her treatments, I haven't had much time to be sad. I'm still on that sawtooth curve, though, where I feel my misery building until it pours out in sobs, then subsides for a week or two only to build again.

Allison reports being numb. If anyone's numb, it has to be Mark, who has been hit from all sides these past months. All I can do is be there for the three of them. It helps me, too.

Check the time of this post: sometimes I need to stay up until I'm exhausted, in order to sleep.

I don't have the same conceptions about God that I had a year ago, that's certain.

Oh yeah, Happy Birthday Jonathan, now 24.

Mourning

2008-11-29T19:16:00.002-05:00

For those who don't know, Ronni passed away on August 10, 2008, after her two-and-a-half year battle with kidney cancer. She was 54 years young.

I don't see a reason to blog about it, but I have spent a little time journaling. Putting my feelings in a journal feels like a private diary, while blogging feels like a highway billboard. Don't take it personally, but my private feelings are mine and will remain so, except when I share them with people I select, as opposed to the universe.

I will say, anyway, that I am completely miserable. It's been more than three months, six months since the decline to death began. If anything, I'm feeling worse as time goes forward. It comes in waves: I'll spend days off-and-on in tears, have a deep, sobbing, smack-the-pillow session, then vegetate for several days until it happens again. I don't know how to go on. I have so many regrets. Keeping busy helps, but not always. I went for counseling once so far, didn't click, will try again.

The things that have comforted me:

Late afternoon on the stormy day of the funeral, I looked at the weather radar. Clouds all around, except that a clear patch in the shape of a heart opened around the time she was buried. It moved across the island and broke. I see it as her message to me.
Towards the end of the shiva week I came home alone, sat on my bed looking at the hospital bed she died in, and broke down. I asked aloud all the usual "why" questions. I could swear she gave me the answers. Mostly "That's just the way it works."
Coming home from services a few nights later, over the horizon rose a beautiful bronze nearly-full moon. It made me laugh. I could hear her say, "I guess you'll be alright after all, if you can still see the beauty in the world."

People tell me to remember the good, to be thankful for the love I had for so many years. I can't yet. My heart is broken and it hasn't had time to heal.

I won't be posting often.

This Old Blog

2007-05-18T21:35:00.000-04:00

It's been more than a year and a half since my last post. No time! Stuff that's been happening:

Ronni dealing with kidney cancer,
Me finishing my undergraduate degree.

Obviously, each of us is dealing with both items. Ask me about health insurance if you want an earful.

This blog has been a place for me to post stories that interest me, usually political. Dunno what, if anything, I want to do with it now. It's not for generating revenue, that's for sure. We'll see. Meanwhile, I changed some settings to see if I can clear the old stories to older pages...