July 14^th Small Towns

Would you rather race around a big city and see all the world-class sights or toodle around a picturesque small town with no real agenda?

I have to say that I’ve had some of my best travel adventures in small towns. Sorrento, Italy. Kirby, Longside (not in The Shire, but in the Lake District, England). Colmar, France. Mos Eisley, Tatooine. There is just something calming about a beautiful small town that’s away from the hustle and bustle of a big city.

So today, we would spend the afternoon in Nyack, NY, the hometown of my Auntie Ruth and younger cousin.

Being a Sunday, they had a street market, so we’d check that out for sure. The big city market was a bit of a bust, but we had hopes for this one – handcrafted jewelry, homemade jams, weird meat on sticks, and I had to – simply had to – find a NY pretzel.

I’d also told The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World that the library might be worth looking into. Unlike me who gets excited by cathedrals, tanks, battlefields or castles, she was super excited to see it, especially since it had been commissioned by the Carnagie endowment.

We didn’t get up early. It’s just not something you do when not in a big city. There were no sounds of sirens or trucks backing up. There were no diesel smells. No oppressive humidity. So why get up early at all?

We ate brunch at a restaurant that looked amazingly quaint – Handwritten specials on a blackboard behind the bar counter. Old-fashioned coffee mugs. Wooden tables and red plastic water glasses.

My goodness, the food was good. I had crepes covered in cherry compote. The boys had eggs and sausage. The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World had a suspiciously healthy-looking omelet, while our oldest cousin, who joined us for this part of the day, chose eggs benny.

It was the perfect small-town eatery.

Then we marched out into the sun to see what the town had to sell. The boys and I had seen everything there was to see in about 15 minutes. We got a pretzel. We smelled all the stalls that cooked meat on sticks. We found a Christmas store (where the Oldest bought a cool Felix the Cat clock for his girlfriend).

But there was a lot more to see and touch, merchants to talk to, and bargains to be found. Not by the boys, though. Nope. That was girl duty. My oldest cousin and the-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World had a great time laughing with the fellow who made bones for dogs, talking to all the jewelry makers, debating which Christmas ornament to buy, and generally inspecting all 22,000 stalls set up on the street.

They had a blast.

Then we went into the library.

Now, how to describe it?

Well, it reminds me of someone’s expensive, old home. Ivy covered the brick frontage. The entrance led into a reading room on the right with comfy chairs and a fireplace, while to the left were tables and chairs. Wood was everywhere. Wooden pillars. Wooden floors. Wooden beams.

The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World had found heaven.

We boys saw everything that needed to be seen in 15 minutes.

The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World and my cousin looked into every room, talked to the librarians and even some customers. However, unlike in Canada, here you had to use your library whisper. No shouting or swearing or shooting up drugs in the bathrooms.

At one point, a patron asked The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World to help her find a book (thinking that she worked there). Although she denies it, I think The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World was making sure all the books were aligned with the shelf edge at the time.

It was a fantastic library, I won’t lie – the type of place you could come and read a newspaper (yes, they still have those things) in complete comfort and quiet.

No piano though, so The-Oldest wasn’t a fan, and it was ‘too old’ for The-Youngest to give it a thumbs up.

With all the stalls seen, a pretzel eaten, the library thoroughly investigated, it was time to head off to pay our respects at my Auntie Ruth’s grave. Set high up on a hillside so she could enjoy the view, she is buried with her husband. Above her, her son lay buried. 39 years old.

Christ that’s young.

It was a beautiful cemetery, well-kept and peaceful. I felt bad I hadn’t thought to buy some flowers, but I was glad we made the trip. As I’ve said in the previous blogs, Auntie Ruth was a remarkable woman – brave, outgoing, funny as hell, and a strong believer in family. It was her funeral that brought me closer to my cousins and I think she’d be happy for that.

Personally, I don’t want to be buried. The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World wants her ashes to be shot out of a cannon at a Bruno Mars concert (bonus ghostie points if he’s covered in the ashes.)

I like that.

I need to get this sorted out. Much to my dismay, I am not immortal, and I don’t want to leave it to The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World (who will likely shoot my ashes at the neighbour who always has loud parties that last until 3 am.)

Me? Gosh, I don’t know. What’s my favorite spot? What place gave me the most happiness? Where should my final resting place be?

I left feeling, as I always do in cemeteries or after funerals, a little down, a little too contemplative about the meaning of life, and very much regretful that when someone dies, a lot of their life story dies with them.

I find that tremendously sad.

However, I knew the next place we’d visit would raise my spirits.