I Love New York

We had two choices for Saturday night festivities this past weekend in Phoenicia.  An art opening at the Cabane Gallery in town, or the Penny Social at the Parish Hall to raise money for local Boy Scout Troop 60.  There are only about ten scouts in the troop and they are trying to raise enough money for a trip to Yellowstone National Park this summer.  An adventure that should not be missed.  Since this could be a large expenditure for many families we felt this event to be a very worthwhile cause.  Though I have not been active in the Scouts since high school,  I credit my years with them for instilling in me a love of the outdoors that has informed my entire adult life. 

Phoenicia, like any small town situated within driving distance of a big city yet idyllically located amidst nature's inspirational vistas, attracts a wide variety of people.  And there are in fact, two distinct populations in Phoenicia.  The liberal artsy types, including part timers from New York City and the more conservative rural full timers.  This is a gross over simplification of course, but I think you get my drift.  If you have ever spent any time in a rural tourist town you know there is the bar where the working locals go and then there is the bar where the so called literati go.  Rarely do the two mix.  Phoenicia is in some ways similar, yet in many ways very different.  That is why we love it so much. The hamlet is a microcosm of any large urban area due to the very diverse population but because it is a small town it is not so easy to remain anonymous.  If you spend enough time there you will eventually get to know, at least casually, a lot of the inhabitants and they will get to know you, especially if you have opinions, or write a public blog.

The crowd at the Boy Scout Penny Social was, as one would imagine, mostly local families and full time residents.  I don't know for sure, but I believe Tammy and I may have been the only, or two of a handful, of attendees who are second homeowners.  Yet we were embraced as if we have as much vested in the town as anyone else.  This may have to do with the fact that we have become friends with our full time neighbors across the street and they made all our introductions.  My neighbor was born in Phoenicia and he has lived there all his life.  Through my friendship with him, and other locals (shout out to our WV community association president, and our realtor), I have been lucky enough to become acquainted with a large diversity of residents. Though we stay here only a few days per month this has helped me to feel very welcome in the community.  Our politics and interests may not always line up but since we all share a love of the Catskills we get along great.  And the fact that we all have New York sensibilities doesn't hurt either.  That, I believe, is one of the main reasons Phoenicia works so well as a small town.  New Yorkers are nothing if not openly opinionated.  We may argue as Republicans and Democrats, hunters and tree huggers,  artists and farmers, but you are never in the dark about what your neighbor thinks.  The same tensions exist in small towns throughout rural America but here in New York, we don't sweep anything under the carpet.

I once read that, as John Adams was making his way from Boston to Philadelphia for a meeting of the Continental Congress, he stayed over in New York City for a few nights.  Here is what he had to say about New Yorkers; "They talk very loud, very fast, and all together.  If they ask you a question, before you can utter three words of your answer, they will break out upon you again-and talk away".  That was in 1775!  Those sentiments could have been uttered yesterday.  So if one of the main economic drivers of your community are tourists and part time homeowners from The Big Apple, you had better damn well be tolerant.  And thick skinned.  I have found New Yorkers to be some of the most friendly and open people in the country but if you offer up an opinion, be prepared to defend it.

So while the crowd at the Boy Scout Fundraiser may have been very different than the one that we might have found at the Gallery opening, we could have felt comfortable at either because we all have a few things in common.  An abiding love for the hamlet of Phoenicia and the Catskill Mountains, an open understanding, if not tolerance, of diversity, which is found in few rural areas outside of New York, and the willingness to say so.  And a "Cantina" that attracts both old timers and newcomers, Republicans and Democrats, doesn't hurt either.

Your Loss is My Gain....Or Not

Six months ago I left my beloved Droid phone on an Amtrak train bound for Philadelphia from Washington D.C.  I had placed it down on the seat while I grabbed my luggage from the overhead bin.  And in the rush to detrain, I forgot all about it.  Normal age related forgetfulness, of which there have been far too many instances in my life after fifty.

Then the other day I got these two voice mails on my new Droid, which cost me the $100.00 deductible.  Which wouldn't be so bad if I hadn't dropped my original, original Droid in the toilet 12 months before this most recent incident.  The first claim had cost only a $50.00 deductible.  And that wouldn't have been so bad either if I had not traded in my original, original, original "Droid 1" phone in for a "Droid 2" phone, two weeks after I purchased it for $199.00.  The key pad on the original Droids were awful, so I paid $35.00 to trade it for the redesigned "Droid 2".  So to summarize, my current $199.00 Droid, which is Droid number four in under 2 years, has actually cost me $390.00.  Plus the approximately $7.99 monthly insurance premium.  And if anyone comments that I am an idiot for paying that much for insurance because you found this website where you get cell phone insurance for $0.99 I say, "big whoop".  Nothing is more tiresome than someone bragging about all the great deals they find online.  While they are surfing the web in search of saving $3.00 on an SD card, I am out riding my bicycle or hiking in the woods, or climbing a mountain, or saving teeth.

But I digress.  Here then are the voice mails, click the play arrow:

My first impression was that this guy is actually a good dude.  He realized I am a doctor because the message on my cell phone is informational for patients who are calling with a dental emergency.  He addressed me as "Doctor" and that's special to me since we often times get mail from people who know I am a dentist yet the letter is addressed to Mr. and Mrs.  And that annoys me.  It's not that I am a snob ( I am), but I paid a lot of money and expended a good potion of my youth to earn the title so it means something to me. So of course I immediately warmed up to the brigand who has possession of my lost phone rather than be mad that it wasn't immediately turned in.  Mr. Perry, after all, is not the person who appropriated the ill-gotten phone, he was just the one gullible enough to pay $100.00 for it.  Which I learned, by the way, because I called him. "Hello", I stated by way of introduction, "I understand you have my phone".  My strategy was that of trying to delicately coax a feral cat out of the bushes without spooking him into mistrusting me.  My tone was conversational and nonchalant, as opposed to confrontational and accusatory.

After politely explaining to me that he had purchased this phone from a "friend" for $100.00, he was merely contacting me, the original and rightful owner, to inquire if I would call Verizon to unlock the phone so he could use it.  It never even occurred to this well mannered young man that perhaps it should simply be returned to me.  Even after expounding on my side of the story such as the $100.00 it cost me for a new phone, the potential loss of personal data contained in a smartphone, and the hassles of having to reprogram a new phone to my specifications, he persisted in his negotiation for me to unlock the purloined phone.  He even offered me $50.00 to call Verizon and turn over possession.  "But it cost me $100.00" I stated as a counter offer. I persisted in the conversation because I was fascinated by the mentality that would allow a person to not have any empathy that perhaps I had suffered a loss as well.  Yes, he had been duped by his friend into buying an unusable phone, but how could he have the chutzpah to call me and not even express a "You lost your phone and that sucks, but why should we both suffer?" sentiment.

But, as I stated earlier, he had this endearing quality that I couldn't get mad at so I offered to call Verizon to research the implications of losing a smartphone and transferring ownership-if he would send me a check for $100.00.  "Get the money back from your friend and send it to me", I suggested as a logical strategy.
So we both agreed to pursue the matter more fully and that was that.   I called Verizon and was shocked to learn that locked and stolen phones are auctioned on e-bay all the time to gullible bidders.  I further learned that unless I called the police, Verizon has no obligation to do anything about it..  They lock the phone from being used to make calls and web browsing but if you took some compromising pictures with it, you are out of luck.  Fortunately for me, there were no passwords nor embarrassing pictures on the phone.
But I am still waiting for my $100.00 check from Mr. Perry.

Post Script: I believe there is a new regulation making its way through congress that would require all cell phone carriers to maintain a national data base of stolen phones so that there will no longer be a market for them.

We Are Going to Die Here, Aren't We?

My octogenarian parents, bless their slightly enlarged hearts, came up to the cabin with us last weekend.  Their hearts aren't really enlarged and their good health is, in fact, what probably leads to all the trouble.  If they had dementia, or were confined to a wheelchair, I would most likely have way more patience and tolerance when I am dealing with them. As it is, I expect them to behave and move around just like they did when I was twenty years old and they had to help me move into my dental school dorm room.  Because they are still relatively active and relatively nimble minded I haven't adopted that caring mindset where my own needs become secondary to those of my feeble parents.

I say relatively nimble minded because there is the normal age related forgetfulness to contend with.  Spending the day with my parents can be like living in one of those psychological reality distortion thrillers such as Total Recall.  The whole time you believe you are living in the real reality but then 10 minutes before the end you realize it is everyone else's reality that is the real reality.  Or is it? It becomes a he said she said spanning five decades back to my youth on Long Island.  When your parents argue about what Uncle Lou on your Dad's side, did or didn't do to your Aunt Esther on your mother's side, during a Passover Seder at which some trafe dessert may have been brought by your cousin's gentile fiance, all of which occurred when you were 10 years old, but the details of which must now be hashed out 40 years later-even though we haven't seen our cousin in 20 years, and Aunt Esther died in Connecticut so we didn't even go sit shiva-while they ride in the back seat of your Subaru on the way to the Walkway Over the Hudson it may be time for a reality check.

Which brings me to the idea of my parents being relatively active. There are not too many 85 year olds who would even contemplate making an unassisted stroll across the Hudson River on the converted railroad bridge near New Paltz.  It is a 2.5 mile hike round trip with port-a-pots only available on either end.  And once you walk across the river, you must walk back unless you stashed a second vehicle on the Poughkeepsie side.  There is no AED at the mid-way point and according to the nice looking docent in her red vest, the gates get locked promptly at sundown so don't start across unless you can make it back by then.  Super Pretzels with mustard and cheese sauce product, sodas, and various ethnic foods are available at either end. But at $3.00 per pretzel, $2.00 for a can of lukewarm soda, and $7.00 for a grey looking sausage and peppers hero, the prudent walker would be well advised to carry a canteen of water and some granola bars.  We were not prudent.  The walk toward Poughkeepsie proceeded apace but it was on the return trip that my parents' stride began to go awry.  Awry for me anyway.  Tammy and I were half-way across when I realized my parents were not within eye shot.  Few people hike as fast as Tammy and me and when I realized it could be several hours before I would procure a snack, I began to envision slowly starving to death 200 feet over the Hudson River waiting for my parents to catch up.  When they opened the gates the following morning they would find my emaciated body at the 1 mile marker with an annoyed expression frozen on my face that screamed "where the hell are my parents?"

But they eventually did catch up and in my semi-starved delusional state I may have made a few comments about someone's hip prosthesis needing an adjustment.  And in his usual "when will you ever learn tone", even though I am 52 years old, my patient father suggested that I carry a few granola bars on me to avoid the inevitable hypoglycemia that makes me so unpleasant to be around.  When we finally made it back to the New Paltz side my Mom bought me a $3.00 Super Pretzel, even as I balked at the price, thus illuminating why she is still the parent and me the child.  For as long as my parents still know what's good for me, before I do, I know they are going to be alright.

Nothing to do with the blog but a very cool picture taken with a 200 mm lens and handheld camera.  Taken at the Ashokan Reservoir on the same weekend with Stan and Florence.