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February 29, 2000
Last time you heard from me, Matt and I were in western North Carolina at our new friend
Stacy's home. It was wonderful there as we kayaked the lake in front of her house, hiked to nearby waterfalls,
and just hung out and played. From there we went for a night to Ashville, quite a nifty little city.
Ashville, perched in the foothills of the Smokie Mountains, is definitely a hippie-haven if there ever was one.
We stumbled upon a local bar featuring an Irish band playing up a storm in the corner, and the coffee shop we hung
out at had a shrine by the bathrooms. There seemed to be a lot going on there and "the vibes" were straight
out the late 60s.
From there, we headed thru the mountains on twisting, turning roads up into Virginia and through the Shenandoah
Valley towards Philadelphia. It was here, and earlier in S. Carolina, that we got our heaviest dose of Bible Belt
ambiance. Baptist churches were more frequent there than 7-Elevens are in Phoenix. - fundamentalism is most definitely
well represented. We loved the billboards and my favorite was:
"Don't make me come down there"
-God-
Signs were nailed on the trees along side the road with reminders that "Christ was coming!" and just
how hot hell was, in the event we were headed there. We couldn't find it on the map, though.
Near Philadelphia we stayed with our friends Rick and Kelly, along with Carrot the cat, and their two German Sheppard's.
Philly [they hate it when you call it that] has a beautiful downtown and lots of history plus a wonderful Museum
of Art, which we thoroughly enjoyed. Among other things, it has a nice collection of Impressionist paintings. We
played some more, ate too much (again) and got to see our friend Robin too.
For the last many days we have been in New York (except for two days in Canada), and this time has been spent revisiting
places where I lived for the first 32 years of my life and spending time with friends and family who were critical
players in an earlier time for me.
Can anyone tell me who it was who said, "You can't go home again!"? And what the hell does that mean,
anyway? I have occasionally pondered that thought lately - while going home.
I grew up on a 103-acre dairy farm outside a town so small it is not even classified as a town. It's a village
actually:Watkins Glen, a very beautiful village in fact in the Finger Lake region of upstate NY. There is a spectacular
gorge and state park, with vineyards all over, plus Seneca Lake - long and skinny and deep, about 630 feet.
Immigrant Italians settled there in the early 20th century and my friends when I was growing up were mostly second
generation Italian-Americans. The food was amazing, the basketball team was short and the Catholic Church was smack
dab in the center of town - literally and culturally. I hated it when my mom dragged me there every Sunday year
after year, until I broke her heart at about 17 by telling her I'd rather not go any more.
Matt and I stayed there with my lifelong friend Tony, in the house he grew up in and still lives. When I walk into
the bathroom and look into the mirror, I see only from the neck down. Tony and his brother Steve have cooked pasta
and more pasta... yummy!
Matt and I went by both my old elementary and high school; my graduating class was only 112 kids! We went up to
the old homestead where I lived for the first 18 years of my life and saw the fields I walked in. I pointed out
from the road the upstairs room I slept in, played trumpet and jazz records in. All the barns have collapsed. I
milked cows in there, a long time ago, then had to shake the fresh milk before drinking it - the good ol' days.
Then we drove by the Grand Prix track where races brought 100,000 plus crazy drunks a few times a year. You talk
about a party! They even tried to recreate Woodstock there in 1972.
Oh, the memories, racing at me like formula one cars. It was great having Matt there to see part of what makes
me who I am, and we talked about how it was that my parents only listened to Lawrence Welk and read Reader's Digest,
and yet I sat in my room as a teen and read Franz Kafka and Hermann Hesse, while listening to Miles Davis and Igor
Stravinsky. All this just outside this tiny little village. We also talked about how my family never did, and never
will really know who I am, what makes me tick, why I want to suck ALL the marrow out of life instead of just living
in one of the countless little houses that have lined all the roads we've driven for nearly 6000 miles now.
My dad even told me so when we got to Rochester where he now lives with my sister. At 51, I am supposed to have
owned a house for 25 years and be nearing retirement - have security. Oh, that and have a wife of 25 years to keep
growing old with too. What do I want to be "gallivanting" off around the world for?
I was 12 years old all over again! Or at least it felt that way - for a while anyway.
In Rochester there's the prestigious Eastman School of Music, so when you go to coffee shops the music can be remarkable.
We sat in front of a five-piece band on a Thursday night, some students out having fun and building up their chops.
On the way to Rochester, we passed an area that is heavily Amish: several horse and buggies on the road... a farm
with a few dozen Amish standing in front (barn raising anyone?), and when we stopped at a grocery store we saw
the horses tied to a railing outside like in the Old West movies. Inside they shopped, dressed head to toe in black,
keeping to themselves. As we walked by a teenage girl shopping with her mom, I wondered if she was secretly stealing
a glance at Matt's butt.
Matt and I went to Ithaca for a day. Now there's another oasis: college town - Cornell University, and what an
incredible campus. We walked around, including the bridge over the gorge where a couple of students plunge to their
death each year. We could see some of the stress in the eyes of them at the local coffee shop - smart kids, but
tough school. But you get a prestigious degree! With our daypacks we kind of looked like students strolling around
(me like maybe a philosophy professor with the beard now?) - imposters walking into the library to check our email.
There is a lot going on in Ithaca. Among other things, we went to a Tibetan Buddhist monastery and school called
Namgyal, which is the US seat of HH Dalai Lama. We participated in the evening meditation with monks and other
practitioners. In Rochester, we went to the Zen Center, which had been there since 1966. One of the most influential
early American dharma teachers, Roshi Philip Kapleau started it, and it's quite a beautiful place to do retreats.
Since we are on a spiritual theme here, let me also mention Wisdom Goldenrod, which is a wonderful center between
Watkins and Ithaca that has been around since the early 80's. The Dalai Lama has been there three times, and after
tonight we'll have been there twice for teachings and discussions. Also, Tony took Matt and I two Sundays ago to
a Benedictine monastery that sits in the hills near the Pennsylvania border. Several brothers live there year round
raising sheep (100s), doing Sunday masses, and welcoming visitors to enjoy the solitude and beauty there. I'd been
there in 1991 with Tony, as I had at Wisdom Goldenrod. I enjoyed sharing them with Matt now, and I know he did
as well.
We spent a weekend in Toronto, which according to the UN is the most racially and culturally diverse city in the
world. No argument from me. Lots of multi-racial couples walking together, and where else can you find not only
Chinatown and a large Greek area etc., but also restaurants serving up Sudanese, Liberian and Eritrean cuisine?
We stayed with my college buddy Paul and his family, and our last night there went to a blues club (in Chinatown)
where we closed it down after 2 AM. Matt liked that the drinking age is nineteen in Canada, since he's twenty.
At 2-3 AM the streets in Toronto are as busy as any street is anywhere I've been at 2-3 PM - a real cosmopolitan
city. And pretty money too!
After spending time with Paul and his two teenage sons, and also visiting my college friend Sandy in Rochester
and spending time with her 20 year old daughter, it's nice to see that all the drugs some of us took in the 60's
did not create the birth defects we were warned about by the government then. Whew!
We have stayed with many friends and family and their hospitality has been phenomenal. We are SO grateful!!!!
Catching up - a lot I know. I'll write again soon.
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Peace and
love
