tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19009784951239442972024-02-22T04:39:57.673-08:00Columbia County Life Allison Guertinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14767682366444491819noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1900978495123944297.post-66429693608984399652017-11-29T13:56:00.001-08:002017-11-29T13:56:09.159-08:00Farms, Farms and more Farms: Columbia County Grown<br />
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If you live in Columbia County, you have noticed the many farms in the county. Some have been here for generations (Love Apple Farm just reopened last August on Route 9H in Ghent and has been a part of the community for 40 years) and some are just sprouting. Let's face it...not all of us love the cold weather...(I'm one of those people) and so as winter approaches, I like to think about the many possibilities that spring will bring.<br />
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It's here on my blog you can look forward to finding news about "Columbia County Grown."<br />
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I'll be writing a series of farm-related posts throughout the winter. In this post, I'm going to do my best to give you a list of the farms and their locations. Throughout the next few months I plan to add more details.<br />
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The more we preserve our agricultural roots, the more beautiful the County will remain. Here is the partial list and a brief description in alphabetical order. More details in the next post. Support of this blog will help me to expand the list, create an interactive map and add websites.<br />
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If you find any farms missing, please email me at: indgocomm@gmail.com...and of course, please feel free to share this blog with your friends. For information about advertising please call: 518-755-6061.<br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Blackberry Farm - Hudson</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Blackberry Hill Farm - Livingston- Wool/Herbs, plants</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Blue Star Farm - Stuyvesant - Naturally Grown Vegetables</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Bryant Farms - Claverack -</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Chaseholm Farm Creamery - Ancram</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Cherry Ridge Farm - Hudson - Fruits</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Cheval Farmstead - Hudson - Goat/Dairy</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Common Hands Farm - Ghent- Organic Vegetables</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Cool Whisper Farm - Hillsdale - Grass-fed Beef & Poultry</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Cowberry Farm - Hudson</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Cross Farm - Germantown- Fruits & Vegetables</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Darlin- Doe Farm- Germantown - Goats</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Don Baker Farm - Hudson- Orchard</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Dutch Belted Cow Farm - Hudson- Biodynamic Fruits & Vegetables</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Dutch Hollow Farm - Stuyvesant - Dairy</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Eger Brothers Farm - Hudson- Fruits & Vegetables</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Farm at Miller's Crossing- Hudson -</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Fix Brothers Fruit Farm - Livingston- Fruits/Orchard</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Foxhill Farm - Ancramdale</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Golden Harvest Farm- Kinderhook- Orchard</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Grazin Angus Acres - Ghent- Grass-fed Beef</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Green Acres Farm Market - Livingston - fruits, organic vegetables</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Hawk Dance Farm - Hillsdale- No Chemical Fruits & Vegetables</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Hawthorne Valley Farm- Ghent- Organic Farm Market</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Herondale Farm - Ancramdale</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Holmquest Farm & Greenhouse- Hudson - Fruits & Vegetables</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Honey Dog Farm - Hillsdale- Organic vegetables</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Hopedale Farm - Livingston- Apple orchard</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Hudson-Chatham Winery- Ghent</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Ironwood Farm- Hudson-</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Kinderhook Farm - Valatie - Grass-fed meats</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Le Farm - Germantown- Mushrooms & Herbs</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Little Apple Farm - Hillsdale- Organic Fruits</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Little Ghent Farm Store - Ghent Animal Welfare Approved farm store</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Little Seed - Chatham - Organic Vegetables</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Love Apple Farm - Ghent- Orchard & Farm Market, Cafe & Bakery</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Markrisco Farm - Hillsdale - Organic Vegetables</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Marshmeadow Farm - Germantown - Dairy, Meat & Eggs</span><br />
Micosta<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;"> Enterprises- Stockport - Fruits</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Millerhurst Gardens- Ancramdale</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Monkshood Nursery -</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">MX Morningstar Farm - Copake- Organic Vegetables</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">New Leaf Farm - New Lebanon - Organic Vegetables</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Philips Orchard - Claverack- Apple Orchard</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Pigcasso Farm - Copake- Pasture-raised meats</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Red Oak Farm - Stuyvesant - Organic Fruits & Vegetables</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Ronnybrook Farm - Ancramdale</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Roxbury Farm - Kinderhook - Vegetables</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Samascott Orchards- Kinderhook - Fruits & Vegetables</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Scarecrow Farm - Hollowville</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Shady Acres Farm - Canaan</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Sharon Farm Market - Kinderhook - Vegetables</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Shortcake Farms - Claverack- Fruits & Vegetables</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Sir Williams Farm - Copake- Beef & Pork</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Smith Farm - Livingston - fruits</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Smokey Hollow Farm - Ghent - Vegetables & Eggs</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Spencer town Farm - Spencertown- Poultry</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Stewardship Farm - Hudson - Vegetables</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Stonehouse Farm - Hudson</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Taconic Orchards - Livingston- Orchard</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Ten Barn Farm- Ghent- Vegetables</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">The Berry Farm- Chatham - Farm Market</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Thomas Fitch Farm - Ancram - Organic Vegetables</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Threshold Farm - Hudson</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Threshold Farm - Philmont- Biodynamic Fruits</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Tierra Farm - Valatie - Organic Nuts & Dried Fruit</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Trusted Roots Farm - East Chatham - Vegetables</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Vida Farm - Ghent - Herbs & Flowers</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Vosburgh Orchard - Elizaville- Brewery & Farm Stand</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Whistle Down Farm- Hudson - Organic Vegetables</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">White Oak Farm - Hillsdale - Vegetables</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Windswept Farm - New Lebanon - corn, plants, flowers, trees</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Times; font-size: 16px;">Yonder Fruit Farm - Kinderhook- Fruits & Vegetables</span></div>
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Allison Guertinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14767682366444491819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1900978495123944297.post-38660711536785561622016-03-15T06:31:00.001-07:002016-03-15T06:39:37.364-07:00Made in Columbia County, NY? I'm Asking For Your Help!Oh, my! It's been a while since I tended my blog. Life as a writer/entrepreneur gets a little unwieldy sometimes. That's why I'm back. I want to speak directly to the self-starters in Columbia County, of which I understand there are plenty.<br />
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I'm writing a lot these days, a new book (Hudson Valley Curiosities Arcadia Press 2017) and a new book which I'm pitching with my very first agent. If that's not enough, I'm producing a major history festival in Kinderhook, New York in October over the Columbus Day Weekend. Everyone can look that up on Facebook.<br />
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So while researching resources in Columbia County, I had the opportunity to talk with the Economic Development Corp. I kind of thought, by the sound of the name, that the EDC was there to support people like me, a self employed individual. Turns out that is what they do, but the resources they offer are things like loans and seminars. All good mind you. What came out of that conversation was a statistic that made me really think. The person on the phone informed me that one in two people in Columbia County are self employed. Wow. He even went as far to say that Columbia County was setting a trend in the country related to how new businesses are emerging.<br />
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Given this golden nugget of information I did a bit of informal research. First I scanned my friend network to see how many of them were actually self employed. In this basic exercise I deduced that of my 20 closest friends, nearly all, that's right, all of them were working for themselves. The range of jobs included: antique dealer, teacher, magazine writer/editor, media consultant, fashion trend forecaster, publicist, actress, author, editor, artist, farmer, beekeeper, consultant, potter, sales person, blogger, the list goes on! The next thing I did was to get busy writing this blog because somehow knowing this changed me a bit.<br />
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When I started this blog, my intention was to highlight the many extraordinary people who live here and write about the contributions they're making to our quality of life in the place I call home. I'm going to continue doing that, and as a way of helping my fellow entrepreneurs, I'm going to highlight and review as many of the amazing businesses and the products created right here in CC as I can.<br />
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That said I'm asking for <b>YOUR HELP</b>. If you know of any products created in Columbia County, please let me know, or even better, send a photo a web link or a small sample to: P.O. Box 162, Old Chatham, NY 12136, so that I can review the product and promote it on the blog. If the business or artist needs to have the product returned, I'm fine sending it back.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Made in Columbia County </i></b>will be a new addition to this blog!</span><br />
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I've already been in touch with some of you who make things and the range of items is so very impressive. Check your emails. So far I've discovered a person who makes perfume, a hat maker, and a very tasty nut butter cook/entrepreneur. Uncovering all of this creativity is super motivating for me....and I hope for you too.<br />
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Look for Made in Columbia County blog to be posted twice a month. Buying local has never been so much fun!<br />
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With thanks,<br />
Allison :)<br />
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This is a photo of Taconic Baskets made here in Columbia County in the 19th Century.<br />
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<br />Allison Guertinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14767682366444491819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1900978495123944297.post-73054793490621223162015-05-31T12:34:00.002-07:002015-05-31T12:34:49.270-07:00Information Self-Serve...."You Can Go To My Website"Lately I've been hearing this phrase a lot..."You can go to my website." Usually it comes in response to a question like, "Hey do you have product pricing? or What if I want to buy one ? or Do you have any press materials about your company?<br />
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I don't like hearing "You can go to my website." I don't like being 'redirected' when I ask a question. There's something inherently new about this problem. There's inherently something wrong here. It's like asking for a glass of water from the waiter and being told go get it yourself! "You can Go to My Website" lacks the possibility for a relationship. When someone says this to me I feel like saying, "Look, I'm here in front of you right now, can't you just tell me what I need to know?"<br />
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So let me take you back to 1983 when it was less of a self-serve information world. I'm going out on a limb here but, this is the year I entered the workforce in New York City. I graduated from Fordham University. Fell in love with New York's amazingly flavorful and wonderful people. sites and sounds and plunged into an entry level job in public relations.<br />
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At the time publicity was garnered the old fashion way. We wrote releases on paper, by hand, with pens! And then when we had perfected our words we typed them on a white sheet of paper using a manual typewriter, (electric ones came soon after). It was cool to see the typewriter smack the paper with ink and watch your ideas come to life. After erasing mistakes with a special liquid called White Out that usually just made an awful smudgie mess of the letters, you took your press release to the copy machine and ran off fifty or so. After this you went back to your typewriter to compose a letter to the editor you were trying to pitch. After more smudging and some under the breath cursing, you unbound your letter from the machine's roller and made a copy of that too. Release and letter in hand you grabbed what we used to call a 'media kit' filled with brochures of your product, place or service and whatever press clips you'd collected where your product hit the news previously and prepared a package. All of this went into an oversized envelope that you sealed and then addressed by hand or again, typed an individual label.<br />
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Creating media lists, writing letters and releases and reproducing the whole packet took a lot of time, it cost money, but it was all we had. In 1983 we didn't have the following: mobile phones, computers, desktop laser jet printers, camera's on our phones. In 1983 the internet didn't exist,<br />
so when we wanted to research the names and titles of editors, we bought large, expensive, cumbersome lists that came in huge bound books produced once a year. The directory was usually outdated by the time you got it so a lot of the time I called the magazine to get the correct editor's name and address. We then stored the name, address and phone of editors on index cards and they lived in a little neat box on my desk, like recipes.<br />
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When you were ready to pitch a story you had to send materials via the post office kind of mail. In those days we simply called it "Mail" and not snail mail, because there were no other options. When we needed a photo we called a photographer, we set up a photo shoot. We then made prints of the photos. Today we whip out our phones and snap.<br />
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On some occasions we'd invite the editor out to lunch. We would meet in person and talk. Sometimes we orchestrated trips taking journalists to visit a site. We learned about who they were, and how they worked. But it always started out by sending a media kit.<br />
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Press materials were an essential part of doing PR in the early days and if you didn't have those materials with you or available quickly for busy editors on deadline, then you were usually SOL when it came to being included in the magazine article, newspaper story, radio broadcast, or tv program. In those days that was where we got our information.<br />
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Now it's different. I was at a trade show recently and I did an experiment. I went from booth to booth asking if the proprietors had a "media kit." Most of the young people looked at me perplexed and called over a senior person. I explained that I wanted to write a story about their service and wanted press materials. They paused and then handed me a business card. "Ok, so you can go to our website. On the left just scroll down to the "press" page and then you'll find the information."<br />
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It happened in every booth. I couldn't even get a brochure. I walked away deflated.<br />
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Mind you, I'm all for a paperless world, don't get me wrong. Why have a press kit created when you can just find the information in the cloud. Well here's why. Because by the time I get home, and I'm ready to write the story, I've lost the enthusiasm I was feeling in the booth when I learned about a new book, a new product, a great idea. My inspiration had evaporated hours later holding an itty-bitty business card and trying to get that feeling back. It's perfunctory to retrieve information on someone's website, but it's fun to take a press release and add your notes and then write the story from cool impressions you had actually, in real time, in the moment while it was it happening<br />
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Call me old fashioned, but the delay in getting info about something that you're jazzed about, let us say, is a real buzz kill!<br />
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So these days I'm still providing public relations services to clients. I've recently added pr packages for authors looking to promote their books. I'm thinking about how to best serve their needs, and decided to create some press packets and mail them to the writers and editors of big magazines, radio talk shows, etc. I'm going to do this as a service to the media person. It may look excessive, or that I'm paying homage to an era that's dead and gone, but I think not. I want the experiment to play out and see if there's still room in the PR world for delivery of cool information direct to a person's hands, like we used to do, in the olden days, when life happened in the moment and not later, on someone's website..... More....Allison Guertinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14767682366444491819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1900978495123944297.post-50757473742692316312015-05-06T12:38:00.000-07:002015-05-06T12:47:42.810-07:00When it's Good, its So Good...Hudson Children's Book Festival.<br />
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So I had the pleasure of being included in the 7th Annual Hudson Children's Book Festival last weekend. Because I've organized events before, I know what a huge undertaking it is to run anything like this which included 75 authors and illustrators from around the Northeast and beyond, and just one day to funnel some 5,000 attendees through a gymnasium so that we, the authors, could promote and sell our books to students. Ultimately the event was designed to promote reading. What a wonderful goal!<br />
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My book, The Hidden History of Columbia County- NY, was included because, well, Hudson is part of the book and the book is all about shining an interesting light on Columbia County.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgsmQH81X7X-sivqMxO8t0XKhqfqblCU_XW0FRgh6IpDo1fplJ8XnHR2ia5Ce7wZ5EYtZR2AsHjCSt3DQNfXwiXys7qQHHSj0eXn5h70YC6f-ybLrT6MyzuVO8YWakNPQHXMqCZQ6Lyt0/s1600/did+barrett.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgsmQH81X7X-sivqMxO8t0XKhqfqblCU_XW0FRgh6IpDo1fplJ8XnHR2ia5Ce7wZ5EYtZR2AsHjCSt3DQNfXwiXys7qQHHSj0eXn5h70YC6f-ybLrT6MyzuVO8YWakNPQHXMqCZQ6Lyt0/s1600/did+barrett.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Allison and Assemblywoman, Didi Barrett<br /></td></tr>
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The women, volunteers and contributors of the festival deserve a resounding round of applause. Everything ran like a well oiled machine...from the fun cocktail party on Friday night at the Hudson Boat Club, to the breakfast Saturday morning at the Elks Lodge, to the event itself. Every detail was considered and planned for and it showed.<br />
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I was truly thrilled and honored to be a part of such a professionally run event. And what was most astounding was that it was free to authors. Wow...what an opportunity. I must have meet over 300 people during the five hours we were in the Hudson Junior/Senior High School gym (which is gorgeous by the way). My favorite conversations were with students who came over to leaf through the pages of the book and buy it to take home. There were shy teenaged boys and gushing sixth grade girls dressed head to toe in pink and green. I met boys and girls from many different towns who genuinely couldn't wait to find out what happened in their own back yards 100 years ago. It was a thrill. Best of all was when Didi Barrett stopped by to buy the book and tell me about how much she's doing in the state to marry (finally, thank you!) history and tourism.<br />
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This is the kind of event that really brought the community together. Thank you to Lisa Dolan and Jennifer Clark the co-directors from the Hudson City School District for their fine fundraising and exceptional event skills! You knocked it out of the park ladies. And I owe a huge debt of gratitude to my "author handler" Kath, (you heard correctly), she was my designated volunteer who brought me coffee, retrieved a delicious boxed lunch and sat in my booth when I needed to run to use the facilities. Wow, I could get used to that kind of personal service!<br />
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The sales were extraordinary too and that was due to the fine work of Kelly Drahushuk the co-owner of The Spotty Dog bookstore in Hudson. Kelly and Alan handled all of the book sales with grace and professionalism. So grateful!<br />
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If you happened to miss it this year, please mark your calendar for 2016. You will truly enjoy the experience...I know I did!<br />
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<br />Allison Guertinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14767682366444491819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1900978495123944297.post-65033747613371082092015-03-10T10:54:00.001-07:002015-03-10T10:54:19.046-07:00Pizza in ValatieWhen I was growing up in a tiny town in Connecticut in the 1960s, there were a couple of places my family would go for pizza. Now mind you, I came from a very (and I mean very) Mediterranean home where my Dad was French (my grandparents only spoke French), and my Mom (my Mom's parents spoke Italian) was Italian and so we ate home cooking a lot. And why not? It was really good home cooking...A subject that I can't wait to write about later this month. And furthermore, our cousins were the owners of the original "Pepe's" Pizza in New Haven (pronounced Na-Haven, btw).<br />
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But on Friday nights, we'd go to the local pizza 'house' which was next to the supermarket, near the shoe store, around the corner from the butcher. In those days, the pizza parlor was just one big room, with big square tile floors, paneled walls, ceiling fan and a guy behind a counter making pie.<br />
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The booths were covered in marbled green vinyl and the formica tables were speckled grey. Like I said, it was sparse and in the 1960s they packaged up your pizza in big cardboard dishes; one on the top and one on the bottom. Then the pizza guy would slide your scalding hot dinner into a thin brown bag! I can still remember having to hold those hotties on my lap in my Dad's huge black Buick.<br />
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The Pizza always smelled delicious, but they nearly burned the skin off my bare knees. Driving back to house was torture...the smell, the pain...despite all that, I learned to love pizza early and I still do.<br />
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Later in my life I moved to New York City. Going to college in the Bronx at Fordham, you have the advantage of being close to one of the most popular Italian neighborhoods on the planet; Arthur Avenue. I ate there as often as I could. We made regular nights at Pugsley's and other great pizza places. This kind of food gets into your veins. You get spoiled for life.<br />
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As I later settled in Columbia County, an early transplant here in the early 1990s, I naturally searched for some fabulous food and of course, great pizza.<br />
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My unending search eventually turned up a funky little joint in Nassau, NY, on the edge of Malden Bridge going toward Albany. The building was tiny and it literally straddled a fork in the road between 203 and Albany Tpk. It was called "Lou's Pizza Hub."<br />
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Now no New Yorker worth her weight would even consider going into something called a "Pizza Hub" (what is that anyway?), but I went. And OMG! What I found was a cool guy named Lou with a thick Sicilian accent, slinging dough like a pro. Not only that, Lou was so fastidious about his food. Lou told me one day that he actually smuggled fresh Italian basil out of his native country each time he went there for a visit. The basil leaves were then hand ground to preserve the flavor and mixed with precious extra virgin olive oil also packed directly in Lou's baggage. The result was amazing grass-green pesto.<br />
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Lou's specialty (when he had the basil) was fresh pesto over homemade tortellini. I was home! Italian heaven. Hold that thought. It wasn't long after I discovered Lou that he was gone. I'm not sure Lou was fully appreciated in Upstate NY. I often heard the locals refer to this dish as "Paste-A with Paste-O." Go figure!<br />
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Lou's pizza was also awesome. Cripsy, crusty, thin with slow cooked tomato sauce and finely dusted with fresh mozzarella cheese. Yum. I felt no need to look further with Lou virtually at more doorstep. It wasn't long after I discovered Lou that he was gone. I'm not sure he was fully appreciated in Upstate, NY. I had often heard the locals refer to his speciality dish as "Paste-A with Paste-O". Go figure. Lou eventually packed up his basil and retired back in Italy. I was crushed like a ripe plum tomato.<br />
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Down the road was Kay's Pizza, another institution on a local lakeside. The Pizza was so so, and adding insult to injury, they had a rule that you couldn't take the pie out, and so you were forced to eat it sitting on old picnic tables in all kinds of weather.<br />
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Beyond that, I couldn't find much in the way of really good pizza. Nothing like the pizza I had grown up on. Well that was until Labella's opened in the Hannaford Shopping Plaza in Valatie a few years ago.<br />
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I have to say that I'm not the type of person who will voluntarily eat in a strip mall unless you count the time I was stuck in Farmington, New Mexico, about 200 miles into the desert away from true civilization and it was either eat in a shopping mall or dine on burritos in the convenience store. But that episode is for another day.<br />
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So I got a tip from a reliable source that the guy at Labella's can "really cook." By that I mean he's thinking about the ingredients, he uses his hands in the food, he sings, perhaps a few lines from an Italian opera while he's in the kitchen. You see where I'm going with this.<br />
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And so I venture in one night and order the recommended dish, the Marguerita Pizza. Now here's a little history (if you know me, you know I'm into history).<br />
Pizza originated in Italy as you might have guessed. In fact it dates back to the 1st Century B.C., in Roman times.<br />
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For a wider look go back further and you'll find that Persian soldiers baked flatbread on their shields and added cheese. And before that you had the Greeks, Egyptians, Indians and naan bread and so on. But let's start with Pizza Italiano!<br />
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In Naples (referred to as "the old country" by my relatives) pizza was always made in a stone or brick oven. It was around 1760 when it became popular in Naples to bake tomatoes on top of flat bread. For this we can thank Ferdinand, King of Naples, who rather liked street food and hanging with the locals. People actually thought he was kind of vulgar in that he loved flat bread with olive oil, tomatoes, garlic and a splash of oregano. Sounds like pizza to me.<br />
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Despite the King's cravings, his Queen wasn't so hip on food from a cart. The Queen in question would be Maria Carolina of Austria, the sister of Marie Antoinette. She thought her husband's choice of food was, rather, disgusting (I'll bet you he had a man cave too).<br />
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Though she wouldn't allow pizza on her own dinner table, she gave in and let her husband install pizza ovens in the palace of Capodimonte. Voila! The first pizza party was launched.<br />
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In 1889 it was another Queen Margherita who wanted to try Neapolitan pizza so when she visited, they called on their very best pizza maker, Raffaele Esposito, to make her a pie. To make the pizza special, he added mozzarella cheese and whole basil leaves and Boom! the Margherita pizza was born.<br />
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Now the reason I mentioned this is back in Valatie, Felice Salvioli, the owner of LaBella's, is from Naples. His family moved to NY, and he transplanted he and his family to Valatie from Brooklyn. Thank God, because he's the real deal. Felice makes the best Margherita pizza around.<br />
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I love the atmosphere at LaBella's too. It's like a neighborhood bar in the front...Old School...the tv is on, guys are drinking beer in work clothes, people know each other. Around the bar and in the back are acres of tables. There's a semi open kitchen like when I was a kid where you can see the pizza's being made. Nice!<br />
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The walls are lined with wine and chianti bottles. Music on the weekend is...what else? a nice old gentleman playing and singing on an electric keyboard. I love it.<br />
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When my grandmother used to serve me some super Italian dish that I didn't like, she would say, "You don't know what's good." But thanks to Grandma Rose, I learned.<br />
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Go to Labella's. The pizza is only the start of the menu. They have every item for every taste and enough room for a small Italian wedding (say 200).<br />
Labella's is good and they're open until 10pm. 6 Broad Street in Valatie, NY. 518-758-6611.<br />
<br />Allison Guertinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14767682366444491819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1900978495123944297.post-70378364450443867682015-03-03T06:12:00.000-08:002015-03-03T06:14:51.511-08:00A Million Reasons Not to Go to Yoga ClassSo here's a million (maybe that's a lot, but here's some) of reasons why I never wanted to go to a yoga class. Maybe some of these sound familiar:<br />
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1. I don't like the way I look in yoga clothes.<br />
2. I don't like doing things in a group.<br />
3. I don't know how to do yoga.<br />
4. I'll be the only one in the room that doesn't know how to do yoga.<br />
5. I don't do THAT kind of of yoga.<br />
6. I'm not a "yoga" kind of person.<br />
7. I'm not into traveling to do yoga when I can just stretch in my living room.<br />
8. A friend of mine got hurt in yoga.<br />
9. Yoga people are weird.<br />
10. I haven't worked out lately.<br />
11. The person next to me will be much better at it.<br />
12. It costs too much and I don't want to spend money.<br />
13. I already go to the gym.<br />
14. I'm an athlete so why bother.<br />
15. It's boring.<br />
16. I can't cross my legs.<br />
17. I'm too busy.<br />
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Ok so there are a few of the reasons. I get it. Yoga isn't for everyone. But here are a few things that might surprise you.<br />
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1. It's no one's business what others think about you.<br />
Meaning, if the person next to you is judging your outfit, your fitness level, your hair, your thighs, then maybe they have a lot to of work to do...it's none of your concern.<br />
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In yoga class...it's all about you and what goes on on YOUR MAT. Kind of like you're on your own private island, in the sun, enjoying yourself. The teacher is the sun. It's just you and them. So in that light, it's easy to ignore the group, the girl next to you and focus on yourself.<br />
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2. Knowing HOW to do yoga is a process. That's why it's always called a "Yoga Practice." We go to practice.<br />
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Here's a secret. Few yogis actually graduate from yoga. Talk to anyone who's been in it for 20-30 years and they will tell you they still have a 'teacher.' If you graduate, then you hit nirvana...think about how many people you know who have hit nirvana.<br />
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That's the point of yoga. Accepting that we are all humans in training. Once you feel that in your bones, it's freeing.<br />
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3. Though there are several schools of Yoga that teach postures (asanas) in many different styles, Yoga is really only one thing. Yoga is an ancient philosophy... a practice that brings joy and harmony on the deepest most lasting level.<br />
You can achieve that joy by practicing yoga in many different ways; like flavors of ice cream. But in reality, it's really simple.<br />
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You can go to yoga, lay on your mat and breath, and that qualifies as a valid yoga practice.<br />
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So pick your flavor and then find an instructor that serves that up. You'll be happy you did.<br />
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4. Getting hurt in a yoga class is a real fear, a real concern and you can avoid it. It's important that you follow one simple rule in a yoga class since all teachers are trained differently. Decide what's best for you and stick to your own, personal limits and don't waiver even if you're tempted to compete or do exactly what the teacher tells you.<br />
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I have often just sit on the mat when I'm tired no matter how funny that looks and I'm a yoga teacher with a lot of years doing this work.<br />
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In the most cliche terms, listen to your body, and obey it. If something pinches, strains, or causes a biting pain, stop and slow down. If the stretch is within your limits and you're breathing and expanding then follow your body and go with it.<br />
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Yoga does offer a fair amount of "discomfort" and that's a totally different subject and something I teach in my classes to discern.<br />
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When in doubt consult the teacher, or just stop. Don't be afraid to be different when it comes to protecting your own body.<br />
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5. On the subject of being boring, let me say this about yoga. I think there's a perception today that anything that's not loud, fast, and produces money or sweat isn't worth the effort. I'd like to cordially disagree with that.<br />
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Yoga is like talking to an old person. At first glance you may see used up body, a feeble mind, a person out of synch with the world. But if you take the time to sit down and talk to them, you learn how fascinating their life has been, the cool lessons they've learned, the creative thoughts they have, the people they've loved. You walk away changed and you're not sure how that happened.<br />
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That's yoga, in a sense. It will change you for the better, and you won't know how that happened.<br />
The thing about slowing down is that it's scary for some people. The idea that you would remove all the distractions and be alone with your thoughts for an hour is quite daunting.<br />
I invite you to try. You might find it's a cool exploration and who knows, it might be as amazing as mountain biking.<br />
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So in conclusion, when you think of going to yoga class, be sure to run down your list of reasons why not. That exercise alone can burn a few hundred calories, but you will have missed the opportunity to try a new adventure.<br />
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I teach yoga at my home in Malden Bridge and at various studios in Columbia County. Please come. You are invited always.<br />
<br />Allison Guertinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14767682366444491819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1900978495123944297.post-62289778053960462992015-02-12T19:10:00.003-08:002015-02-13T04:42:58.008-08:00Coming home to YourselfWell, this is so cliche from the outside, I am self conscious about writing a blog about loneliness, but here goes. My Dad's birthday was yesterday. He died 36 years ago...I was named after him...This one's for you...<br />
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This post was inspired by a friend who's a poet and who just published a new book of poetry on this very subject of loneliness. She just lost her Mom (a friend of mine) to cancer. The reviews of her new volume of poems were great. They called her work "brave" and "courageous." They heralded her ability to tackle such an unpleasant subject.<br />
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Now some of you may be thinking that being "lonely" is a prerequisite for any writer, a natural fit, like the shoes that every writer walks in are the shoes of a loner. Like maybe writers (I am one) prefer to limp along, sad and reflective. Well if you believe that you also probably believe that all writers are drinkers, and that all football players beat their wives (did I just say that?).<br />
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The bottom line is it's not just writers who are alone, we all are. We enter into the world solo, and we exit the same way...the trip we take through life is singular...one body, one mind, one soul (if you will) all neatly packaged inside YOU. You can hold someone's hand, you can make love and feel joined, you can marry, you can co-habitate, you can ride around life with a companion, a significant other, a friend, a dog even, but no matter how you look at this, it's <b>you</b> and whomever is standing beside you is <b>them</b>, and that still leaves just <b>you </b>standing with <b>them</b>...but in reality, it's still just <b>YOU</b>.<br />
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Few people live alone out here in the northern parts of Columbia County, but some of us do. I've talked to people about this. Some <i>non-couple domestic dwellers </i>(*I'm trademarking this phrase so don't get any ideas Gweneth Paltrow) seem content, others are clearly making up stuff in their heads to get by. It's all good.<br />
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If you've always lived alone, then maybe you're used to it, but if it's new to you, then maybe you're just <i>getting used to it</i>, or maybe you're not. I'm in the <i>'maybe you're not</i>' group...but tracking toward, '<i>getting used to it.</i>'<br />
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However, here's what runs through my squirrelly little mind...I'm a glass...<br />
Is the glass half empty? Is the glass empty? Is it just a glass with great potential to be much more...full? Is it time to refill the glass? Is it really a glass after all if it's not filled with something? Why does anyone even need a glass...oh right, to fill it.<br />
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To me, that's what "alone" is all about....<br />
You can be inside the lonely house looking out at a full world, or retreating to the lonely house taking refuge within the walls. You can reach out, or, reach within. You can fill the house with things and still feel alone among them. There are activities you can take part in by yourself and yet, whom do you tell them to later? Is it really a life if you're not sharing it? This is what being alone gets you thinking about.<br />
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But here's the kicker...if you're on the inside of an empty house looking out and waiting for the house to be full...let me tell you...you'll be waiting a long time, cuz Santa is definitely not sliding down the chimney tonight.<br />
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After many, many months of pondering this, it finally occurred to me what the problem truly was. I was waiting for something to happen "to" me. As if some brave super hero was going to swoop down into my kitchen and arrange things so that I wasn't feeling so alone. Huh? How old are you?<br />
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That's what a childhood friend of mine used to call "Birthday Cake World."<br />
Here in Birthday Cake World, there's pink icing on your super, duper creamy cake and what you expected as your birthday <a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1900978495123944297#" id="_GPLITA_0" in_rurl="http://s.srv-itx.com/click?v=VVM6ODI5NDk6ODk2MTpnaWZ0czo4MmNlYjRmOTFjM2M5YmU4NWEzYTVlNjQ3MjVjZGMxMDp6LTIyNDMtMjc1MzE5NjM6d3d3LmJsb2dnZXIuY29tOjI0NTMxMzoxNGRhMWNlYTMwZWQ0ZmE0ODZhZWJhNGMyYjNjN2EwNzplNzk3ZGIwYzY0YmI0NjQ4ODY5YmUzZTk1ZGM5Mjg5ODoxOmRhdGFfc3MsNzc4eDEyODA7ZGF0YV9mYixubzs6MzE1MTU5NA&subid=g-27531963-c4bc323b37e84abc8e089ab30af258bc-&data_ss=778x1280&data_fb=no&data_tagname=P" style="background-attachment: initial !important; background-clip: initial !important; background-color: transparent !important; background-image: initial !important; background-origin: initial !important; background-position: initial initial !important; background-repeat: initial initial !important; border-bottom-style: none !important; border-color: initial !important; border-left-style: none !important; border-right-style: none !important; border-top-style: none !important; border-width: initial !important; display: inline-block !important; float: none !important; font-weight: bold !important; height: auto !important; margin-bottom: 0px !important; margin-left: 0px !important; margin-right: 0px !important; margin-top: 0px !important; min-height: 0px !important; min-width: 0px !important; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important; text-decoration: underline !important; text-indent: 0px !important; text-transform: uppercase !important; vertical-align: baseline !important; width: auto !important;" title="Click to Continue > by CinemaPro1.2">gift<img src="https://cdncache-a.akamaihd.net/items/it/img/arrow-10x10.png" style="background-attachment: initial !important; background-clip: initial !important; background-color: transparent !important; background-image: initial !important; background-origin: initial !important; background-position: initial initial !important; background-repeat: initial initial !important; border-bottom-style: none !important; border-color: initial !important; border-left-style: none !important; border-right-style: none !important; border-top-style: none !important; border-width: initial !important; display: inline-block !important; float: none !important; font-weight: bold !important; height: 10px !important; margin-bottom: 0px !important; margin-left: 3px !important; margin-right: 0px !important; margin-top: 0px !important; min-height: 0px !important; min-width: 0px !important; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important; text-decoration: underline !important; text-indent: 0px !important; text-transform: uppercase !important; vertical-align: super !important; width: 10px !important;" /></a> gets delivered with a giant red bow on top! Yippee.<br />
Ugh...not so...<br />
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The truth is, I think the Birthday Cake World notion is right on. I fantasized that someone was going to make this better. It wasn't until I got brave, mustered some courage and examined the feelings I was having did I understand what was truly going on.<br />
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Finally, one day, while walking the country roads that circle around my neighborhood I got the nerve to say to myself..."what the hell is this feeling after all"....What Is <b>IT</b>? I walked and walked thinking and crying and feeling like plain old shit. I dug inside my heart, I yanked on the pain, I heaved it up to the surface and laid it on blacktop. I looked it in the eye...it was black and bloody, like a tick I has scratched out from under my <a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1900978495123944297#" id="_GPLITA_1" in_rurl="http://s.srv-itx.com/click?v=VVM6ODE2Mzg6OTIxNDpza2luOjMyMzQ0OWJkMjQwNTI4MmUwMTdjNGFmM2MxYjY3OWQxOnotMjI0My0yNzUzMTk2Mzp3d3cuYmxvZ2dlci5jb206MjQxNDMzOjA4ZGY2NjVlYjljMGVjNWNmOWY2MGZmNTM3YzMyZjM0OjM5ZmZkYWFlZjJjODRkMjA5ZWE2YzE0OWUwYmRjYTJmOjE6ZGF0YV9zcyw3Nzh4MTI4MDtkYXRhX2ZiLG5vOzo0MzU0MjMx&subid=g-27531963-c4bc323b37e84abc8e089ab30af258bc-&data_ss=778x1280&data_fb=no&data_tagname=P" style="background-attachment: initial !important; background-clip: initial !important; background-color: transparent !important; background-image: initial !important; background-origin: initial !important; background-position: initial initial !important; background-repeat: initial initial !important; border-bottom-style: none !important; border-color: initial !important; border-left-style: none !important; border-right-style: none !important; border-top-style: none !important; border-width: initial !important; display: inline-block !important; float: none !important; font-weight: bold !important; height: auto !important; margin-bottom: 0px !important; margin-left: 0px !important; margin-right: 0px !important; margin-top: 0px !important; min-height: 0px !important; min-width: 0px !important; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important; text-decoration: underline !important; text-indent: 0px !important; text-transform: uppercase !important; vertical-align: baseline !important; width: auto !important;" title="Click to Continue > by CinemaPro1.2">skin<img src="https://cdncache-a.akamaihd.net/items/it/img/arrow-10x10.png" style="background-attachment: initial !important; background-clip: initial !important; background-color: transparent !important; background-image: initial !important; background-origin: initial !important; background-position: initial initial !important; background-repeat: initial initial !important; border-bottom-style: none !important; border-color: initial !important; border-left-style: none !important; border-right-style: none !important; border-top-style: none !important; border-width: initial !important; display: inline-block !important; float: none !important; font-weight: bold !important; height: 10px !important; margin-bottom: 0px !important; margin-left: 3px !important; margin-right: 0px !important; margin-top: 0px !important; min-height: 0px !important; min-width: 0px !important; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important; text-decoration: underline !important; text-indent: 0px !important; text-transform: uppercase !important; vertical-align: super !important; width: 10px !important;" /></a>. And it was ugly, but we were going to have it out, a good old fashioned "come to Jesus" moment once and for all.<br />
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There it was, the God awful thing I didn't want to see...FEAR.<br />
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Fear. Yep. I was totally afraid. Yikes. I was afraid that I couldn't be alone. Couldn't cut it. Afraid that I couldn't take care of myself. Afraid I couldn't make happiness real without another human. Afraid of spending a holiday alone eating cereal out of a box. Afraid of being unknown, unseen and forgotten by the world...and the f-ing list goes on.<br />
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But the thing that I was most afraid of was not having that joy I used to feel having someone I love come home at the end of the day. When the sun started to set, I would get physically ill. I longed for that Donna Reed, Father Knows Best, Beaver Cleaver, Brady Bunch, kind of warmth that you're supposed to get at the end of the rainbow, if you do your life right and win the prize.<br />
<br />
I hated that it was missing. I hated that I missed that feeling. I hated myself for acting like a child...yet...it was the essence of loneliness for me.<br />
And then this happened. I got a phone call from a friend who said, "you may be lonely, but you're not alone." I could have kissed this person for illuminating that simple truth. And there it was. WHAMMO. The real answer to this problem.<br />
<br />
<b>You</b> can come home, damn it. You can be the one that comes home to you. You can be the one that's warm and happy to see you and loving and kind and brings flowers and great news and plans. It can be you! You do this for others, now do it for yourself.<br />
Wow...was that a revelation.<br />
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Now a days, I'm going to like me better than anyone else does. I welcome me at the door. Honey, I'm home!<br />
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And even though there is a new special someone in my life who might come home some day...I'm not just getting used to being alone, I'm kind of liking it.<br />
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For right now, I'm still dating myself, and I don't want to hear anyone out there laughing because you could be doing the same thing some day. It makes perfect sense. I can treat myself to me...and just for today, that's plenty.<br />
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<br />Allison Guertinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14767682366444491819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1900978495123944297.post-46951711862480078912015-02-03T13:18:00.000-08:002015-02-03T13:18:16.732-08:00The many ways to spell "Cabin Fever"?It's been a while since I've blogged. It may be because I have cabin fever. This affliction is unwieldy. What I mean is, cabin fever isn't like other types of fevers like say, spring fever or yellow fever...it's different.<br />
<br />
The right definition is something like:<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 15px;">cab·in fe·ver</span><br />
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noun</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">Yes. What a pretty little package of words indeed. Just reading it makes me, rather, um, irritable. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">But hey, wasn't everyone crying when they shoveled snow this morning in minus 2 degree temperatures?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">Ok I've gotten a hold of myself long enough to write this.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">To really, "right this" one must harken back to an old wise man saying and it goes something like this: When depressed, stop thinking about yourself and do something good for others." Bingo...and just like that...like a cold bucket of snow over my head...I got it...ugh...again for the millionth time.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">Wallow, wallow, wallow...in the depths of self pity....I've created a mountain of things I don't like and was nearly swallowed by the damn thing.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">Just to recap...I don't like living alone in the middle of a blizzard. I don't like feeling sick with the flu and living alone in the middle of a blizzard. I don't like the pressures of work, relationships, money, getting older and did I mention having the flu!</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">Ok, that's out finally...I feel better already...</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">Now on to how I'm going to do good things for others. It's so much easier to wallow than to swallow hard and kick one's self in the ass...</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><b>Let the kicking begin...</b></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">I'm inviting the world to my house for a yoga fest. I know that sounds stupid but I want everyone to get the hell out of their homes and join me for a one hour yoga class at my home on February 19 at 6:15 pm. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">Maybe you can't make it, but there will be a vegetarian supper following the class and did I mention wine?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">I can honestly say that I've never felt bad after a yoga class. Here's why...</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">Yoga gets me breathing. Often in the winter when it's cold and I become shut inside, breathing seems, well, less important...I literally forget...I breath less and that has a way of shutting down my energy...stopping the flow...as they say...</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">When I do yoga in a group, I no longer feel alone...It's easy to get isolated in the winter, even when you live with people. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">Yoga stretches the stiffness out of my tired limbs...stagnant body only leads to a stagnant mind...</span></div>
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 16px;">I may have room for 20 people so don't hesitate.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 15px;"><table style="font-size: 14px; width: 549px;"><tbody>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">It could be the cure to what ails you....reservations are appreciated....allisonmarchese@aol.com </span></div>
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</span>Allison Guertinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14767682366444491819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1900978495123944297.post-68177109841891085002014-08-18T18:35:00.001-07:002014-08-18T18:35:13.609-07:00Golfing on Course with Lucas and Laura...Now it's getting InterestingIt's not hard to understand how golf gets...let's say...under your skin...into your psyche...here's why.<br />
Today I made my maiden voyage onto Meadowgreens golf course in Claverack with my favorite golf pro buddy, Lucas Cohen (Start to Finish Golf), and my favorite girl golfer and best bud, Laura Vonk.<br />
We schedule to go on a Monday so it's deserted. This is by design I believe to take the pressure off of a newbie like me.<br />
<br />
Since all this started, I've practiced at the driving range, but I have not really stepped onto the course. It's daunting. It's vast. Everything is green and looks really far away. I feel like Horton in Who-ville...me and 500 acres of grass and greens.<br />
<br />
It's ok because I have Lucas and Laura and hell, no one's watching.<br />
<br />
What I love about Lucas (including the fact that he's got the most perfect boyish smile, which he gleans as often as possible), is that he's a true professional and he brings his best each time you take a lesson with him. And this is good. Hell, we're out here to learn and so we move right along to the first tee without delay.<br />
<br />
I learn that the women get to start closer to the hole (I have issues with this, but for another time). I learn that etiquette demands that you shushhh during the time another player is hitting the ball. I learn that you take aim, practice your swing first, do your thinking before you approach the tee and when you get up there, just do what you've learned in practice like one-two-three.<br />
Sounds easy...well...it's not.<br />
But hey, we have a picture perfect day. Sun is out, there's a light breeze coming out of the north and no clouds. It's Monday when most people are at work and here we are, three of us fooling around and having fun. Life is pretty perfect.<br />
<br />
Lucas makes a point of not really coaching us. He says that this isn't the time to perfect your swing. I get it. I'm being thrown into the deep end of the pool after weeks of learning the breast stroke. Time for the big leagues. I like the challenge. I'm strange that way. For fun I became a yoga instructor at age 50.<br />
<br />
Laura has played some golf before, on weekends with her boyfriend, even so, I wave off the opportunity to start closer because I'm a virgin on the links. And yes, I probably took nine strokes to get past the first hole....I'm ok....this is so much fun.<br />
<br />
Lucas is our caddy for the day. He teaches me about which club to use at what distance and in what turf. It sort of goes like this. At the tee I take the wood/driver. When I'm in the tall grass, I reach for the 6 iron. When I get just off the green, it's time for the pitching wedge and on the green, always the putter.<br />
<br />
And while my fellow golfers zoom around me in their carts, I decide to walk. I do this for a couple of reasons. One, it gives me time to relax and enjoy the beauty of the course. This place is huge and the up and down terrain is quite lovely. The grass is trimmed and it feels good under your feet. Two, I tend to unwind and lose my thoughts when I walk. I walk a lot at home. I love to walk for hours in my beloved NYC. Three, I like the exercise. I run, I do yoga, I ride horses. Exercise for me is like nourishment. But now the walking is relieving some of my nervous tension, I'm feeling my hamstrings let go and it loosens up my lower back which is a bonus. For this reason I trot up to the next tee.<br />
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It's trickier than I think and Lucas steps in to remind me to "aim for the ice cream cone tree." Laura and I stare at each other and wonder if this is a technical term we've failed to remember from the 5 lessons we've completed with Lucas in the last month and a half. He points to tree off in the distance that's sprouting a bunch of high branches. We don't question our instructor, but rather, aim where he directs us... at the ice cream cone tree. It helps us stay on the fairway. We proceed.<br />
<br />
Laura's game is going great. She got a new driver last week with a big bulbous head on it and she's hitting the ball like there's no tomorrow. I'm both pleased with a few of my shots and baffled by others that skirt the ground with unsatisfactory performance. These are called "worm burners," as I was told recently by another friend.<br />
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I am reminded by our ever happy golf pro who's guided us masterfully to this point, that playing on the course today is simply a way to show me where I need to practice. I love it. He's professing a totally Buddhist point of view. <i>Observation without judgement</i>...very good advice for anything I do, including golf.<br />
<br />
Well, now I really have to tell you about my favorite hole at Meadowgreens. If we were at an amusement park, this hole would sort of be like being at the highest point you reach on the roller coaster. Lucas stops his golf cart on a precipice and Laura and I pull up behind him. I'm riding with her shotgun now and I hop out to peek over the edge. Holy Crap. It's about a 100 foot drop down into high grass, a pretty hefty size pond and then the green is on the far side. Off in the distance is the most spectacular view of the Catskill Mountains you'll ever want to see. I suggest that you go to Meadowgreens just to get to this hole and enjoy the view.<br />
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This is Laura and me ready to tee-off on the big hill!</div>
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Ok. Lucas goes first to both give us confidence and show us it's totally possible. He pulls it a little to the left and frowns. </div>
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Laura has the next shot and she well...she drops hers in the drink and gets a do-over, and then nails it. I go next and I have to say, I'm kind of distracted by the height of the place we're teeing off of, the distance of the hole and those damn pretty mountains out beyond the green. I totally blow it the first time. Lucas takes an unusually strict position and asks me if I even looked at where I wanted the ball to go. I say "not really" and he says, "that's a no." Yikes. I am put properly into my place and obediently look at the target. This time, I clear the high grass, I clear the pond and hit the ball into the rough near the green. Lucas concludes, "at least it's dry," and we can't help but laugh.</div>
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But then again, we did a whole lot of laughing throughout the day. And why not. First and foremost, this is a game. This is a game that's designed to be fun and social and it happens in a place that's full of trees and grass and open fields. The course is quiet, it's free of people, buildings and streets, fumes, cars and traffic. This is a place you get to go enjoy being with your friends. In that we accomplished all of the above, Lucas, Laura and I had a hell of a day on the golf course.</div>
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Here's what I can say now that I've graduated out of school and landed on the golf course playing the game. If you didn't get this from my first blog, I'll mention this one more time. Learn to play golf from a great teacher. Lucas is a great teacher. Not only is his instruction so totally digestible, Lucas is a blast to be around, he's kind, respectful, direct and won't waste your time or your money. I believe the three of us are bonded as friends for life as a result of this experience, which pleases me a ton.</div>
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But really, the biggest thing I learned today is how to abandon my negative self on the golf course. Bad balls are "good misses." Crappy shots are "learning opportunities." A "high score" is just one more reason to return to the course the next week to try again. I want to Golf like a kid on the playground. Satisfy myself and the hell with what other people do or think. I'm considering making this t-shirt to wear next time: <b>G</b>-Go - <b>O</b>-Overboard- <b>L</b>-Loving - <b>F</b>- Fun - G-O-L-F! </div>
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TY Lucas and Laura...see you next week.</div>
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Allison Guertinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14767682366444491819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1900978495123944297.post-4585016068100050262014-08-06T10:31:00.001-07:002014-08-06T10:31:02.706-07:00Death, friends, time...So this post is about the death of friends. I know, it's a horrible subject. The reality is this. Friends die. Pets die...we're in line for this same thing and time, time is swift.<br />
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I want to honor the first friend that passed recently, Marybeth Gotchall. Marybeth and I met over 20 years ago. She was part of a pack of people I hung out with when I first moved to Old Chatham in 1990. We were younger, much younger. I was merely 29 years old. Though Marybeth was older by about 10 years. She was single. I was newly divorced. We melded together with a bunch of boys who were also single. We had a blast together... this motley crew... this little rat pack.<br />
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What was interesting about Marybeth was that unlike the rest of us, she had a young daughter, she had a cool cat named Bubba and her attitude toward life was very, let's say, Buddhist. It may have seemed that she just didn't give a crap about things, but that was just an illusion. She cared, but remained unattached. This is so very much the mind of a Buddha and this stuck with me.<br />
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I liked Marybeth right away. She loved to laugh. She loved to joke. She was happy with the little things, stupid stuff that others might find unsatisfying. She had a little piece of land in Michigan that she loved and talked about building a house on. She had a long time distant boyfriend called "Mr. Wright." We laughed about the irony of this person who wouldn't commit.<br />
Marybeth was a talented painter. Some of her most distinctive art featured lillypads. This is a wonderful metaphor for Marybeth. She was beautiful and loved to float with only the slightest bit of attachment that lay under the surface that you couldn't really see.<br />
Marybeth liked to enjoy herself, she worked when she needed to work and relaxed often.<br />
Unfortunately she smoked cigarettes, and I think that this may have contributed to her poor health.<br />
For a while we shared an apartment until I moved in with my boyfriend. Marybeth and I eventually parted ways. She started living and working in Albany, while I worked in the Berkshires. Occasionally we would run into each other. Like the time her daughter published a book of poetry and the day our group had a reunion at a fourth of July brunch. Through the years we remained friends and I wished, often, she wasn't so far away. Time passed and the years too and well, just a few months ago she discovered she had an aggressive cancer that took her quickly. Our mutual friend, Michael was at her side for months and is managing her affairs now that she's gone. It's truly admirable and kind that he is, was, remains so generous. I don't know how to process her passing really. It seems strange and sad to lose these people as they are hitting mid-life...acceptance is all I can manage now.<br />
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The second person to pass is not a friend, but the brother-in-law of my oldest brother, Dan. The reason I know him so well is similar to the first story. While in my 20s I was married and so were my brothers. We all lived very close to each other then in Connecticut and my Mother was alive then. All of us would hang out together. Me and my husband, my brothers and their wives and even the extended families. I got to know the brothers and sisters of my in laws. We were all the same age, newlyweds, there were no kids yet. It was so much fun.<br />
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John was the brother of my brother's wife. He was incredibly handsome, tall, gorgeous and smart. He had a sense of humor. He was kind. He was generous. What struck me most about John was he was humble and unassuming for a guy with this obvious strengths. Later he went to Wall Street, made millions of dollars and built a custom home in Westport Connecticut. I met and talked to him at family gatherings. The most recent was the wedding of my nephew in North Carolina three years ago. John always looked strong and healthy. He always made time for his sister and his parents.<br />
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Today I got a message from my brother Dan, that John had died during cancer surgery just two days ago. I was in mild shock. It seemed incredible as this news always does. How? I asked when I called Dan. It was a delicate surgery. Something went wrong. He died while under anesthesia and my brother wondered if maybe this was merciful.<br />
I gulped back a big bunch of tears. It's news you just don't want to get during the middle of your work day.<br />
In conclusion I only have this. Time is swift. Lifetimes are limited. It's a blow when you hear someone has passed. It wakes you up in a way that no other news can. I feel the urge to get to it. Tell the people I love how much I love them. Write another book, close a few books still left open. Get to it, get going, get on with it, whatever it is....<br />
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<br />Allison Guertinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14767682366444491819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1900978495123944297.post-76895149878709177372014-07-28T06:29:00.001-07:002014-07-29T05:43:10.965-07:00Where do you find Peace?This is a highly personal question. I know. Where do you find peace? It's something I think about. I'm experimenting here. I had an experience last night I'd like to share.<br />
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Confession. I'm not a stickler for where to find peace. I don't judge. A few examples are: I find peace when I'm riding. I like to walk. I'm good at sitting in meditation. I'm at peace with my cat in my lap. I love being by the water. A few moments of silence for me goes a long way. I find peace and fulfillment in a room full of yoga practitioners chanting OM. My heart opens, I stop thinking, I'm filled with joy. This may or may not be your experience. I'm opening the discussion widely.<br />
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While in Manhattan recently, I have been back to visit several Catholic churches. I was reminded how Peace lives there. Let me back up and set this in context.<br />
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I was raised in a rather strict Catholic home. My father and mother were both raised Catholic. My mother's family is Italian, authentically. To be more specific, my great grandparents were from Naples. When I was a kid, I don't recall anyone speaking English.<br />
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On my father's side, we trace the history back to the 1600s to Anjou, France (no kidding). They immigrated to Canada. My grandfather spoke only in French.<br />
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For me the influence of the Church came early. I was in mass every Sunday without fail as a child, baptized, confirmed, Sunday school, and later, I chose a Catholic College for the opportunity to be in NY to be taught by brilliant Jesuit priests, in the Bronx, at Fordham University. When my Dad died in my sophmore year in college, I turned to the Church for solace. I prayed, I cried in Fordham's lovely gothic chapel. I felt supported somehow, and knowing the teachings, the universal lessons, saved me from going over the edge. I got married in that same chapel. The church was good for me later too, during a personal crisis of divorce, I went back to church for all the same reasons. I needed help and felt good praying for the answers.<br />
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Once ensconced in a spiritual practice based in yogic philosophy and Vedic teachings, I made my place of peace not the church, but the world at large. It's a concept I know that doesn't form fit to everyone, but for me, it's practical and beautiful all at the same time. Finding nature, finding inner solace, it's all good.<br />
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So back to Manhattan. For the last 4 months I think I've been to mass at maybe 6 different churches. All of them have been interesting in some way or another. I especially love the beauty of the structures, the art is stunning, the grandeur can take your breath away. I slowly adapted myself back into the practice of prayers, though to tell the truth, it felt awkward at first, to try to sit in rituals and recite words I had almost forgotten. It didn't matter. For me, spirit was present, God is God in all forms.<br />
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This past weekend, by chance, I ended up at Our Lady of Pomei for a 7pm mass on Sunday night. This was a strange coincidence. Here's why.<br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';">Our Lady of Pompeii has it origins in the Saint Raphael Society for the Protection of Italian Immigrants. This Society was founded to care for the many Italian immigrants of the day, who, it was feared, would fall prey to those who would exploit their labor or overcharge them in the course of their travels. In 1890, Father Pietro Bandini came to New York City to organize a branch of the Society. Father Bandini purchased a building at 113 Waverly Place, which is still standing, and began his work ministering to immigrants. He helped them negotiate the legal hurdles of migration, contact relatives in the United States, to find work. He also provided spiritual assistance at a chapel, which he named Our Lady of Pompeii.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';">Well that resonates so closely to my own heritage it was a little scary. But what was really great about this church was the huge sense of community. Everyone sang. People were super friendly and happy to be together. Let me take this a step further. After the mass there was a little get together....I went with a friend.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';">It was in the church's parish house. Most of the attendees were really young. We felt ok being the senior members. We drank home made Sangria, snacked on some really great guacamole. We met a young man. He was so excruciatingly shy, and we couldn't help but offer him refuge and someone to talk to. His name was Nathan. We were wearing name tags. He was clearly uncomfortable at first, but we broke the ice. Nathan said he had forced himself to attend the "social" as a way of meeting new people. I thought how incredibly hard it was for him and others, in a city full of millions, to put yourself out there. His shyness faded as we quizzed him about his job (a computer programmer), his upbringing (Colonial Williamsburg), his education (MIT in Cambridge) his hobbies (architectural redesigning of historic buildings in NYC for current use. WOW). This kid was brilliant. We liked him. He seemed happy to relax and talk. We made him laugh a few times telling him about our trip earlier that day to Govenor's Island where there were so many buildings that could use his expertise.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';">What I noticed about the church setting was that it naturally gave people permission to be themselves. It was safe. There was a built in open door policy of sorts that allowed us to attend, allowed the young people a place to be together in comfort, and I guess for Nathan, it felt like a place where he could be accepted. The yogis have a phrase, 'observation without judgement." It fit this scene.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';">We chatted with him for about a half hour. I heard a sense of self deprecation. I wanted him to feel confident in his own possibilities. We finally left Nathan and said goodbye and watched him wonder into the crowd. His peaceful nature seemed hidden and I hoped it would be illuminated. We may never see him again.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';">Community is a place of peace for me. It's everywhere if you want to find it and help build it. The key is it's a give and take...you need to put yourself out there in your own place whether it's yoga class or church, or work, or the neighborhood....give what you get...give peace, get peace. I learned this in my yoga community in Hudson. I was reminded of this in the Catholic churches in Manhattan....sow, reap, chant, sing, connect....and there in that connection is beauty, spirit and a path to Peace.</span></div>
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Allison Guertinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14767682366444491819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1900978495123944297.post-88548576854858183932014-07-23T19:11:00.000-07:002014-07-24T03:56:08.943-07:00Golf? Really? Yes! ReallyOk, so this blog post is about golf. Wait. Before you skip ahead or turn this off I have to say this...I realized I'm not too old to learn something new. For reasons I'll discuss in later posts, I asked my friend Laura if she'd take a golf lesson with me. She said sure, and she said she could suggest a good golf pro not far from where we both live in Columbia County. His name is Lucas Cohen and he runs Start to Finish Golf in Claverack on Route 9H just before you get to the new Hannafords (we all need some landmarks).<br />
Anyway, I didn't think much about the golf thing. Actually, like most people, I thought it would be perfectly deadly, boring, ho-hum, what's all the fuss, a club, a ball...zzzzz. And Hey, I ride horses, that's about as thrilling as sports get as far as I am concerned. But I went because, well, I wanted to see what it was all about and take a turn at hitting those little balls right into their little cups.<br />
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Someone should have scrawled "NEWBIE" on my forehead when I arrived at the school. I didn't have a clue , but the pro was, let's say, was gentle. Laura on the other hand owns her own clubs, looks absolutely divine in her golf shirts and her swing, well, I was instantly humbled.<br />
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First dumb anti-golf thing I do is I stand too close to Laura as she's swinging her club. This is an absolute beginner no-no. I am politely directed to go ten steps backward. My first introduction to golf... I learn how not to die from being hit in the head by a metal club. The lesson had began.<br />
Lucas, the owner and pro is an absolute sweetie. He's tall and fit and he smiles the entire time he's teaching us. I thought he might be flirting, but realistically he's just enjoying his job. Who wouldn't! This is all about fun, chattering about the minutia of golf and yes, you can bring your own libations.<br />
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Anyway, I learned fast not to let Lucas' little boy image fool me. He means business out there because like most great instructors, he truly wants you to learn, get good at golf and have an absolute blast. We wanted that too.<br />
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After a brief "interview" with us...we got to stand and watch. I could see Laura out of the corner of my eye was itching to grab her massive wooden driver and whack a few balls way down the fairway, yet we agreed to listen patiently to Lucas.<br />
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He first taught us about alignment to the hole, and alignment of our body to the ball. He taught us the "athletic" stand and positioned us squarely on the green. He maneuvered our fingers into a proper grip. He taught us how to find the "target" how to 'clip the tee', but most importantly, he taught us how to 'finish in balance." For a newbie like me, this was basically a foreign language, but intriguing. I was taking it in mentally and physically. I wanted to go faster, get it quicker because basically, I'm a born competitor.<br />
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I place the blame for this squarely on my parents. I was raised behind an older sister and two older brothers who like most older brothers, were merciless in their torment as we all grew up together as teenagers in a small split level ranch house in a tiny town in Connecticut. So being good in sports goes back to the insane whiffle ball games we all used to have in the back yard, the not-really-touch/tackle football tournaments on the street in front of our house. In high school I competed in gymnastics, track and then volleyball. Then I made the varsity college volleyball team at Fordham. Later in New York City, I played some tennis, I ran races, and I took up riding seriously when I moved to the country. I enjoyed it all...now...here I stand with an 8 iron in my hand readying for a new adventure.<br />
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Lucas' expert instruction continued. We finally get to approach the tee with our clubs, our perfect grips, our athletic stance, and place the little ball down readying to take a swipe at it.<br />
Lucas is now behind us taking photos (really unnerving by the way) and barking orders after keenly instructing and adjusting us for about a half hour. Laura and I want to finally have at it so we start hitting the ball.<br />
I'm pretty ok but I whiff a few times and Lucas comes over to show me something remarkable. When hitting the golf ball off the tee, it may look like you swing through the air and it flies off gracefully, but in reality, you kind of attack the turf under the tee so you can catch the ball from underneath. On tv you can't really see this happening, but<br />
I took his advice and hit "down" on the ball and though it felt totally awkward at first.... boy that made a difference. My ball got some air and that's supposed to be pretty good for a beginner. I started smiling a lot after that.<br />
We suddenly got the hang of it and soon my shots were gliding well beyond the target about 100 yards away. Cool!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's me finishing in balance...</td></tr>
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I have to say that golf is a little like gambling. Once you get the feeling of hitting through the ball and seeing it sail, you kind of get the itch to repeat that.<br />
Lucas is a great cheerleader. He loves to tell you you're "doing well" or you hit an "excellent shot." He's encouraging, yet he jumps up immediately if you break his mantra...look at the target, clip the tee, finish in balance. Repeat that three times. His keeping it simple really helped me learn.<br />
What I loved a lot about golfing is that it mimics yoga, really. I think it comes fairly naturally for me because when your in a yoga class, you're thinking about alignment, you're breathing as you move, you learn to relax your mind in stressful postures. Golf requires a lot of the same elements. Understanding where you body is in relationship to the earth is what yoga asks, golf is the same it just puts a ball in front of you and a club in your hand.<br />
So listen up ladies. If you want to learn to golf, go to Lucas. He really knows golf, but more so, he really knows how to TEACH Golf. There's a difference. Your husband can try to instruct you, your boyfriend, your daughter or a friend. Maybe that tell you to loosen your hips, bend your knees, follow the ball. Well they would be wrong, and you need a pro like Lucas to tell you what's right. He makes it simple, he knows his stuff. He's kind, he's cute and doesn't waste your time. For a package of 5 one hour lessons (and by the way, you get this awesome pink polo if you buy the package) it's $225 if you do a semi-private, two people...I think that's pretty good. And you get Lucas all to yourself for an hour if you pay for the $400 package for private instruction.<br />
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Lucas is holding many events at his golf school in Claverack this summer. He's got spots open for lessons if you call and reserve. You can practice (and he likes when you practice) any time at his driving range, putting green, etc. on Route 9H. Ok, it's not like riding horses, but it's totally fun, social, athletic and interesting. Go golf with Lucas Cohen at Start to Finish Golf!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's Laura Teeing off...</td></tr>
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<span id="goog_498897040"></span>Allison Guertinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14767682366444491819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1900978495123944297.post-22994527547683552042014-07-17T09:18:00.000-07:002014-07-17T09:18:21.598-07:00I Wrote A Book of Stories about Columbia County New YorkI wrote a book. I wrote a book of stories. I wrote a book of stories about history. I wrote a book of stories about the history of Columbia County, NY. This book's stories are beautiful and bizarre. Above all, these stories are true. I want to say I loved writing this book.<br />
Let me go back to the time when I was eight years old. Without my mother's knowledge, in the summer without a lot to do, I did something indulgent. At this moment I can't remember what magazine it was, but in the magazine was a book club, and I signed up for one of those mail order book deals. It was impulsive, I admit it, because at the time I didn't have a way to pay for the books that would soon be coming in the mail. I did it anyway because the idea of it sounded, rather, delicious.<br />
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When I was a kid reading was a true joy, an amazing adventure into imagination. It was wonderfully solitary and satisfying. It was private, it was personal, it was something I could do for myself, by myself, without people, without limitations, without interruptions.<br />
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The book club sign-up itself gave me a particular thrill, but receiving the book was even more exciting. I remember the first one that arrived. It was a simple little story called "The Mysterious Bender Bones." It featured the private adventure of a young lady turned detective. How fun is that! I read this book under a tree in my back yard. It was hot and muggy in the middle of August. The tree provided shade and solace. I luxuriated in the words. I loved the way my mind completed exited real time and relished the altered reality I had entered. I was living in another world, in another person's life. I was transformed and transported.<br />
Some experiences stay with you. This one did. From that moment on, I decided to be a writer. I wanted nothing other than this. I wrote diaries, and later journals. I wrote letters to people. I wrote poetry, songs, plays. When in school, I wrote essays that captured some attention early on. I felt connected to words. I loved being in the library, near books. I still do.<br />
The years passed. I went to Fordham University as a creative writing major. The work of writing was easy, because I loved it. After college things changed. I took a career path where writing was technical, useful and the pay was good writing press releases, brochures, ad copy, you name it.<br />
My personal writing waned and waxed and didn't amount to too much as I was in a time of my life where acquiring things was important. Then marriage came and went. Then horses came into my life and that love captured my heart, my time.<br />
I ended up moving to the 'country' out of New York City. I found time to write again when I moved there. I published articles on the local people. I wrote a novel (that remains in my computer.) I enjoyed a writer's group.<br />
Then I turned a certain age, and revisited my desire to write a book and see it published. That's today. The Hidden History of Columbia County is now published and selling, I think.... This is a dream, in a way. It was a long time ago that I read that mystery book. I'm so very happy to share this book with everyone. May it bring you joy and fun!<br />
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<br />Allison Guertinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14767682366444491819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1900978495123944297.post-14665120720293104682014-07-09T14:42:00.002-07:002014-07-09T14:42:39.320-07:00Fresh Food in Chatham New York part IOk so here's a disclaimer. I'm a vegetarian trying to eat in restaurants in Chatham near where I live. I like not having to cook, especially in the summer so here's my experience. I like Destinos on Main Street in Chatham for a couple of reasons. It has an outdoor patio, which I love, even though it has a view of the busiest corner/traffic light in Chatham. In summer, who wants to sit in a stuffy dining room on a beautiful night. I also like their happy hour, and the friendly staff serving at the bar and elsewhere. There isn't a lot of attitude among the waitstaff and as a matter of fact, I find them quite attentive. If you get there early, they serve you free chips with guacamole, sour cream and my favorite, this amazing salsa. As far as I'm concerned, everyone should go there just to taste this salsa. I could be wrong, but I think the chef there must put tequila in it because I always feel pretty good eating it. Either way, it's super with big chunks of flavorful ingredients and fresh cilantro. In hot weather, (and just about any time), fresh cilantro is heaven. Go eat this salsa. I usually get the big salad tropical which includes greens, mostly arugula and mango. Totally delicious. I think it has candied pecans too, which I'm not too crazy about. In that I've eaten there with lots of friends, I've seen them enjoy fajitas, and once or twice I've had the fish tacos which you can smother in salsa (I'm obsessed). There's a ton on the menu to choose from and I've never left there hungry. Margaritas are the way to go if you're drinking, unless you're like me and enjoy beer in these temperatures. I can say that both are good choices. There's a full bar and most nights a crowd four deep standing there enjoying the social environment. In the restaurant there are plenty of tables and I've never had to wait for more than a minute to be seated. If you miss happy hour you still get chips at your table and no one really cares if you linger for as long as you like. Weekends the place is packed so enjoy the scene.<br />
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The Old Chatham Country Store is about two miles from my house. It's technically part of Chatham and an interesting choice for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I've not had a chance to dine there at night, so I can only speak to the other two. I've lived close by for a number of years and this place has gone through a true evolution. One of my favorite things at the OCCS is their iced cappucino. I know that this isn't technically breakfast or lunch, but I put iced coffee into a major food group in the summer. Warning, this pleasure isn't cheap, maybe $3.50 or more, but go for it! It's delicious. The other thing I like at breakfast is their egg sandwich. They 'build' the sandwich any which way you want so pile things on as you prefer, but again, each item comes with a pricetag. If you go with the standard egg and cheese, it's about $4.00. The baked goods are locally made but go quickly. The french bread is yummy and they sell frozen baguettes you can pop in the oven at home. They have great rolls too and will create pancakes and omelette too. Specials are their specialty so on any given day you can find something rather creative from quiche to tartes and so on. Brian posts daily specials on their Facebook page.<br />
Eating inside is kind of noisy, especially if the weekend crowd has piled in after a day of riding or tennis. Go for the al fresco seating which wraps around the patio and is ample. For lunch they really mix it up. While the previous owners had wiener Wednesday, Brian and Patrick create great big salads (I mean huge. The cob salad is the favorite), burgers, gourmet sandwiches, hot dishes, chowder, creative pizza, and pack the freezer with delicious organic ice cream. One of their signature desserts is a fudge brownie the size of a small brick stuffed with sinful chocolate chips. It hardly feels like it's been baked, which is what makes it so good. Enjoy reading the newspaper, chat with friends, dine alone, it's all good. Maybe soon I'll get there for dinner and write about them again.<br />
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Our Daily Bread Deli - Well I've saved the best for last. This is owned by the people who have Destino's and have the other eatery down at the traffic circle. It's new and big and lovely. You walk into the bakery deli part and it's hard to know that there's a large restaurant dining room to the left. Don't think you have to squeeze into the small area for lunch, ask to be seated. I kind of wish they wouldn't call it a deli because it really is a restaurant. The best thing about this place is that they've worked really hard to make it delicious and healthy with organic everything. I love that they cater to those of us who don't eat meat. Organic eggs, french toast, lox on bagels, fried potatoes if you go for that, amazing crispy toast, juices, pastries. I tend to eat la lot when I'm there. It's really good and certainly not expensive. The coffee is strong, the cream it thick and I'm a glutton for refills. No one seems to balk when you ask they bring the pot over again. In the winter it was really cold in the dining room, previously an old house and there are actually three rooms in all. It's pleasant in the summer with an added garden patio. For lunch you have 50 things to choose from and I enjoyed my veggie burger packed with toppings. Go on line to see the menu in advance. Kids are welcome here and are always part of the crowd. On your way out snag some of the baked goods or a fresh loaf of break which they bake on site. In the freezer there are other delicious things to go like local cheese and yogurt from our own Sheepherding Company. Next food entry I'll include dinner at the Blue Plate and a trip to the Co-Op. Stay tuned.<br />
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<br />Allison Guertinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14767682366444491819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1900978495123944297.post-54805774970533608882014-07-08T05:42:00.003-07:002014-07-08T09:48:45.232-07:00See Sondra at Sadhana in Hudson for a True yoga experience<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Behind every great thing in Columbia County is an amazing person. This blog is about yoga. It's been about 4 years since I received my yoga teacher training certificate in Hudson, but that's not what this is about. Well, not exactly. I want to shine a light on the amazing Sadhana yoga studio and its owner/creator, Sondra Loring. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let me roll back time just to set the scene. I had practiced yoga for many years in the Berkshires at Kripalu (didn't live there when it was an Ashram, but did work there directing the communications for a bit). My first really amazing teacher here in Columbia County was Keli Lelita (aka Kate Reddy) who was teaching a bunch of us first in a friend's basement (yep, pre-the yoga boom) and then in her lovely converted barn. Our little core group practiced under Kate's unbelievable direction for four full years. As life would have it, the yoga group dissolved and Kate now teaches at her place and in Hudson.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At the point we stopped, I turned 50 and decided as a present to myself, I would enter the intensive yoga teacher training offered at Sadhana. When Kate was my teacher, she introduced me to a super yogi from New York who was visiting (he eventually moved here and that's for another blog entirely). His name was Ray Cappo and goes by Rahgunath or Rhagu. He's a muscled up hunk of a guy, with a wicked smile and sense of humor and an amazing ability to completely dominate any room he walks in. He can make you go to places in your practice you couldn't imagine and he trained my body and mind masterfully for about a year. With this deep practice under my belt, I felt confident going to his teacher training which he was conducting in Hudson, though his following was still mostly in New York and L.A. (where the stars still fly him out for weekends).</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rahgu was sharing the training Sondra Loring who owns Sadhana. It turns out, they are totally matched. For every bit of braun and brazen-ness he brings, she brings grace, patience and elegance to the training. I learned quickly that I was going to experience one of the best and most comprehensive teacher trainings anywhere! </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The first day I gratefully meet a man at the door who happened to be driving the exact same car as me. We greeted each other at the door at 5am. He and I bond instantly like two kids entering kindergarten. I am equally grateful that he was around my age (though a four years younger) and but I was still the oldest trainee in the session.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Raghu of course sweeps into the room singing at the top of his lungs, and we start our four month intensive chanting like crazy people as the sun rises. He's so lovable that you unquestionably do whatever he says and smile while doing it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Later in the morning I experience Sondra. Mind you, Sondra is no wimp. She just shows up differently than Raghu. She's pointed, demanding and very purposeful in making sure that all of us learn yoga from top to bottom. It was immediately evident to me that anyone not signing up for this serious training need not stick around. I appreciated her no nonsense demeanor and admired her tremendously when she started to demonstrate asanas. Her body was so limber and strong, I felt humbled. She's an ex-dancer and it shows, but more than that, she's a studied professional.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I may be going out on a limb here, but I feel there comes a time in one's life when you can simply pull the plug on bullshit. As a matter of fact, that time came for me on this birthday.When you hit the midway mark (if you consider living until you're 100) you realize that the time clock is ticking much louder than it ever has, and if you're going to get to do the things you've longed for, dreamed about, collected on a long list, this is the time. You start weeding your friend garden, you change jobs, you tell people you love them and you no longer tolerate crap. Or at least in my case, this is how it went down.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I could see that Sondra also had no time for crap, and I think this comes from the fact that she very much wanted us all to learn. In my case, I did, because of her encouragement, her dedication and because she showed up, every day, present, energized and giving it her all.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I realized that Sondra's wealth of information was possibly endless. I can't say that I know her resume very well, but it's pretty clear that Sondra is dedicated. She plunged into yoga opening a studio in Hudson far before it was even remotely hip to do so. Her individual classes, which she offers on Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays (check her website) are always creative, well planned, thoughtful, thorough and honestly, quite amazing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">She weaves just the right amount of traditional teachings, music, theory, alignment and humor (I need that humor). It's never gym class, never mechanical, never easy. Oh, that's one thing you should know about Sondra. She's a master teacher, an upper level practitioner, a total female, strong yogini. Don't take this lightly. If you go to her class, prepare to give it your all. What makes Sondra stand out further among her peers is her need for, how shall I say, "correctness." If your butt is up in the air in plank pose, she'll march over and help you lower it. If you've never done a headstand, she'll ask you to simply take the first phase and do it against the wall. If you're experiencing a physical limitation, she'll want to know about it up front. I love that she offers hands on with adjustments (don't worry if you don't like to be touched, you can say so). It's a strong and growing community of yoga in Hudson and without a moment's hesitation, I put Sondra as not just the pioneer of yoga in Hudson, but the best of the best.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I want to highlight plethora of great yoga in the vicinity. TJ at Bodhi Spa in Hudson, Parmananda at Govinda in Chatham along with Keli, Raghu who just started a retreat center in East Chatham. They're all what I would consider amazing teachers, deeply knowledgable and walking the talk, living the yogic lifestyle for real. They eat, breath, and think, feel, teach yoga because it's who they are not what they do. Everyone should put these people at the top of their list of yoga teachers if you plan to do yoga in Columbia County. We are a strong yoga community. Don't think twice about that. I'm honored to be a part of this spiritually moving group. Namaste.</span><br />
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Allison Guertinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14767682366444491819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1900978495123944297.post-22553701545569979472014-07-02T14:46:00.001-07:002014-07-02T14:46:10.019-07:00 If you Ride Horses in Columbia County- See This Lady about a Saddle<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So for anyone who knows me, the fact that I ride (horses that is) is no secret. I’ve been riding in Columbia County since I moved here full time in 1989. Yep, that long. I’ve probably sat on over 100 different horses and been in multiple barns from the Berkshires and back. I’ve spent a lot of time riding in Malden Bridge and of course, Old Chatham, the epicenter for riders now, in the past, and probably in the future.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This post is about riding and the critical role of saddles. In sitting on over 100 horses ("sitting on" the colloquial term in riding for “having ridden”), I’ve also probably sat in more than 150 saddles. Most of them were pure crap, broken, second hand, or just cheap. This happens when you’re first learning, you’re under the impression that a saddle is a saddle. Kind of the “one-size fits all” theory. This couldn’t be more wrong. It would be like assuming that my shoes would fit your kid or your husband.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Saddle fitting is truly an art form, and often it’s the area that gets most ignored by riders, though I have to say, the awareness has risen quite a bit. I'm going to tell you about a master saddle fitter, and a really nice person.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I met Laura Vonk a couple of years ago when she and I were boarding our horses in the same barn. She had just purchased a spitfire chestnut horse named Roxy, and I was riding my horse, Louis, whom I’ve raised from a 4 year old. Laura didn’t stay long at this barn with Roxy, but somehow, probably through mutual friends and Facebook, we stayed in touch.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My first instincts about Laura were that the she was a humble, yet an awesome dressage rider. The barn we were in didn’t do much dressage, and that could be why she left. It was ultimately why I left. Anyway, Laura impressed me because she was so unassuming, polite, friendly and upbeat. It’s not often that someone at her riding level (way up there in the dressage scale ) is so nonchalant. In the riding world, and especially in competitive riding, there’s a lot of people with big egos, big agendas, big dreams, deep pockets and tunnel vision when it comes to needing to be in the ribbons (aka...winning). What I liked most about Laura was what I call her compassion for horses. She was sensitive and her demeanor with Roxy, who could pack quite a bit of energy at times, was always calm, controlled, and effective. "Wow," is all I could say each time she’d enter the ring.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Time passed, perhaps a few years, and I felt compelled to move Louis to a different location. I wanted to be closer to where I was working in Hudson, and he needed higher ground, less mud to help his feet which seemed to suffer in moisture. I wanted to be among fewer competitive riders and certainly in a barn that fully focused on dressage.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> For anyone reading this who doesn’t exactly know what dressage is, here’s a brief, but succinct definition. Dressage (often pronounced in French with the accent on the second syllable, so it sounds more like Dress-ig) is most commonly translated into “training.” It is a competitive equestrian sport defined by the International Equestrian Federation as the “highest expression of horse training,” where “horse and rider are expected to perform from memory a series of predetermined movements.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Some talk about dressage as a dance or horse ballet, where the horse performs beautifully and the rider appears to be doing nearly nothing, (which couldn't be further from the reality). The sport or training methods go back to the Renaissance period where in Europe riding masters developed a sequential training system and little has changed since then. (Wikipedia).</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I got into this aspect of riding after years of trailing riding, riding cross country, jumping horses and so forth. Dressage appealed to me for the same reasons yoga appeals to me. Both of these practices require intense concentration, agility, flexibility, balance, control of the mind and performance of the body. They both tremendously develop every part of the body, the mind and nurture your spirit as cliche as that sounds. The difference is that yoga invites you have a deepen your relationship with yourself and dressage allows you an intimate relationship with your horse. These two things yoga and dressage, go hand-in-hand, or should I say, hand-in-hoof. I’m a practicing yoga teacher and dressage rider, and for me, that’s perfection.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So back to Laura. Laura, in the time since she left the barn we were in to the time we reconnected, had decided to build her own place where she could train, teach and rescue horses and ride. I’d seen her post photos of the progress of the barn building on Facebook. It looked quite amazing and gorgeous. At some point last spring, I stopped by to see it. Laura greeted me in her gracious manner, with a big hug and showed me and a friend around. It was truly becoming a magnificent facility. I congratulated her. A while later we talked about moving Louis in with her group of horses which consisted of two upper level dressage horses, two rescues off the track and two orphaned babies whose mothers' had died. She had no real borders, and I was basically becoming the first. I felt honored and needless to say, super excited.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Come to find out months after we moved in, Laura represents Trilogy saddles. We spent many hours talking one day about her work with the really unique company that was started by a woman who just didn’t think that the dressage saddles out there were really working for her. Leave it to an entrepreneur to reinvent the wheel when the wheel no longer works. So Trilogy was born with this idea of making real saddles for real bodies and real horses. The founder, Debbie, went to England to find the best saddle makers and now the saddles are widely used by both amateurs and high level dressage riders. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">For years I’d changed saddles on my horse. To this day I still have four saddles I’d like to sell. My problem was two-fold. Louis changed shape over the years and that is the plain fact about most horses. From a skinny four-year-old, he filled out and grew taller by the time he was six. Now he’s eleven, big muscled, 16 3hh and a lot of horse. Through the many phases of his growth and our training, his body matured, muscled up and in places, slimmed down in other places. I changed saddles many times to keep pace with his metamorphosis. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">One day Laura invited me to ride in her Trilogy. The first thing that struck me was that Louis was instantly more comfortable. I know this because he dropped his head, which in turn lifted his back and filled up the seat below me. It literally felt like I was suddenly sitting on a massive beach ball. He blew out a big breath which told me he was relaxed, and when we trotted off, he was smooth and swinging, two more indicators that he liked what he was feeling. I, too, felt more comfortable. The saddle didn’t rock, sway or tip to any side. The seat was comfortable and totally balanced and sat flat. My leg hung in a really great spot lining up my heel with my shoulder, and I stayed put when he had a little falter. When I asked him to go round (that basically means he pushes from the rear legs and carries himself very lightly, with his neck arched), it was smooth and even and elegant. Wow. Laura watched and I know she was smiling. She didn’t say much except that I should ride in that demo saddle a few more times, which I did.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, I guess that many of us have slipped on the perfect pair of jeans or sat in the front seat of a sports car. There may be other experiences to explain what this feels like, maybe, but for me, being in this saddle, it was like being carried on a magic carpet...no kidding. I loved the feeling.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">If I had thought about investing a boat load of cash in a new saddle for long, I may not have taken the plunge. I didn’t think too long. Later that day Laura did meticulous measurements on Louis, tracing his back, measuring his sides and having me sit in a variety of tree sizes (trees are the middle part of the saddle and vary from wide to narrow to fit the rider’s body). I’m not that big of a person and the narrower tree worked well for both me and Louis. She did the ‘fittings” and put the order in with my down payment. Since the saddle was to be made in England, it could take 4, 6 and sometimes 8 weeks to complete. I figured that the saddle would arrive somewhere around my birthday, May 4, and I might be able to justify the expense, somehow.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It’s July 1 and the saddle and I had our first date today. Laura popped it on Louis’ back to see how it fit yesterday. We both marveled at how beautiful it was and how level it sat on him. Only a dressage rider can appreciate this minutia. She added just a bit of flocking (real wool that is inserted into the panels, the place where the saddle meets the horses back) which gave it a better cushion. Finally came the test drive I’d been waiting for. I added my leathers and irons (stirrups) and I climbed aboard. Instantly I smiled. This was amazing. Louis, who had been kind of stiff and cranky in the last few rides, sighed deeply and dropped his nose. With a gentle bump of my inside calf he took off and we did a big rising trot around the arena on a long rein. The more he flowed, the more I smiled. Laura was again watching from the corner silent. She offered a few observations which helped me focus and the ride got even better. Had it not been 90 degrees, I would have ridden for quite a while longer, but I got off and gave Louis a long cool bath. My Trilogy got a good long oiling and put to bed. The maiden voyage was more like a luxury cruise. Go to Trilogy.com and talk to Laura Vonk. She’s by far the most professional and knowledgeable saddle fitter in Columbia County and a really nice person.</span></div>
Allison Guertinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14767682366444491819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1900978495123944297.post-57308719049778048802014-06-29T14:22:00.002-07:002014-06-30T05:53:03.279-07:00Columbia Memorial Hospital ExperienceSo my friend Lisa posts on her Facebook page Saturday night that she has been really sick and hasn't been out of the house in five days. I know she's on deadline to finish her book (the History of Hudson) so I call her to see what's up? She didn't want to trouble her friends, she says, but tells me she'd really like to go the emergency room. I'm house sitting for another friend so I say, "I can be there in ten minutes."<br />
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Now mind you, I hate the emergency room just as much as the next guy, but I'm foregoing personal preferences for a friend in need. I pick her up at her house just outside downtown Hudson. It's early Saturday night and lots of people are hanging out getting some night air. Lisa looks rather dreadful, her face is swollen, her eyes are puffy, but she doesn't need to hear that. I load her in the car, and she tells me she thinks she has Lyme disease.<br />
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Columbia Memorial is a fairly big place. As a matter if fact I was once treated for Lyme here. When we arrive we are greeted by a nurse, I think, with a cart who takes Lisa's info. She's polite, like a hotel concierge and asks "what brings you here?" to my friend who again reports headache, fever, body aches. The nurse nods and offers us a seat. So far the waiting room has very few people. There's a small girl with her Dad inquiring about her mother. There's a young blond girl with her foot in a cast sitting in a wheelchair watching television. Several people, some bandaged, others not, are exiting a locked glassed-in area in front of us. I think maybe it's clearing out. Our timing is good.<br />
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The nurse/concierge asks if we've been seen. In unison we say "no." She apologizes and tells us to follow her in through locked double doors. Once past the entry gates, we're moved to another waiting area and informed that Lisa will have blood drawn. "We are waiting for a bed," says the attendants, a young girl who is wearing a baby doll top making is seem like she might have just rolled out of bed. The bed on which we are waiting, apparently needs to be disinfected. Lisa is slightly slumped in the chair next to me. I'm worried that she's been sick for a long time, she's in severe pain and we're still waiting. Finally the bed is ready. I deposit Lisa there with a nurse who takes her temperature, and blood pressure and I'm satisfied momentarily that my friend is finally resting.<br />
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The temperature is high at 100.8 but no one seems worred. I sit around for a while getting anxious that still, no one has taken Lisa's blood. It's past 8pm and I make one of many continual trips to the desk to ask for a "progress report." I am assured that the Phlebotomist has been summoned. I find a diet pepsi in lieu of real food because it's after 7pm and the cafeteria is closed. The nice concierge shows me the vending machines. She's trying very hard to continue to be helpful. I know I shouldn't, but I find this surprising. The service here, so far, is pretty good. It is far better than I've had at some local restaurants.<br />
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When I go back to Lisa's bedside, the Phlebotomist is there searching for an elusive vein in Lisa's limp arm. They poke her hard to try to draw blood. Lisa is taking the multiple stab wounds quite well. I grab her hand and guide her through some breathing like maybe she's in labor. I've learned a lot about breath. My yoga teachers are masters and at this moment, I am grateful I was taught how to take one breath per minute. I relay this technique to Lisa. We start to do visualization together, but instead of going with me to our happy place, Lisa starts on some tangent about how if you make room in your closet, metaphorically that is, then the right man will show up. This launches me, Lisa and the woman taking her blood into a strange conversation as to whether, in truth, any woman ever really wants to live with a man. Since the three of us apparently aren't living with men at the present, we agree that it's a bad idea if it means giving up your closet.<br />
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Lisa's arm won't submit and give blood, so they poke her again in the back of the hand and this works. She gives up nearly ten vials of blood for every imaginable tick related disease out there and possibly a few more.<br />
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After the blood there's a lull, and I watch Lisa's discomfort grow. She's complaining of pain. They gage her pain by asking "on a scale of one to ten how's bad is it?" Lisa reports a solid "9" yet they administer no method of relief. I make another trip to the desk to ask, "Do you think there's something you can give her? I say this rather sheephishly. In truth, I'm not sheepish, but I can see that battling it out with nurses in the ER can only result in a collision of power. I go the humble route. And after all, they're trying very hard. "Yes," is the reply I receive, and soon the nurse shows up. She's a 50 something lady with a bob hair cut that's laced with pretty grey streaks. Slim, athletic, she's in some cool running shoes and deep grey colored scrubs which I think fit her quite nicely. I suggest something to get the fever down. An ice pack arrives. "Can you give her tylenol?" I ask. The nurse agrees Tylenol is a good idea and asks Lisa if she's taken any today. Lisa says yes. They compare notes and finally the nurse leaves to get some.<br />
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Before the meds, they take another reading of Lisa's temperature and it is alarming. Her fever has suddenly spiked to 104 degrees and this adds some speed to the women attending her. So far, we've not seen an real MD which at this point seems really questionable. Though this concerns both Lisa and I, we figure that he/she will come later. Now, with a fever on the rise there's talk of Lyme disease.<br />
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I've had acute Lyme disease. It also landed me in the ER just like this in the late 1990s when they knew less and cared less about Lyme disease in Columbia County. It didn't help that I was in a Massachusetts hospital (not recommended). It took a lot of yelling and screaming on my part for me to see an infectious disease doc, (that's after a spinal tap) who finally diagnosed me correctly, but not before I was losing the ability to use my left arm. This for another time.<br />
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I think that Lisa has Lyme and probably half of the world might have guessed this as well. She reports to the staff having been bitten by a tick back in May. The pit crew working on her want to see the bite mark, but there are no remains of the attack when we all examine Lisa's lower back. But the brief investigation reveals something very alarming. There's a hideous raspberry colored rash growing like wild fire around Lisa's lower half. It's disgusting, quite frankly, and I don't want her to see it in case it scares her. The nurse practically jumps back when it is uncovered. It looks like someone wrapped a nasty, abrasive rope around her middle and yanked on it tight consecutive times or dragged her around the block a few times with it.<br />
Suddenly they start IV fluids and there's talk that once the fever comes down they'll add antibiotics to the feed that's wired to the back of her other hand.<br />
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Lisa is also getting a dose of morphine. When they pump this in I know they were taking her condition seriously and answering the call to the question, "on a scale of one to ten, how's your pain."<br />
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She rests. I hang with her chatting until I recognize that the morphine is kicking in. She's giggling a bit to herself, and I take that as a good sign and leave the half curtained cubby for a while so she can sleep.<br />
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Lisa is in the dimly lit space half asleep with tubes in her hand, and a steadily beating monitor pounds out an mechanical alien beat. The nurse asks for a urine specimen which means we're going on the road. I help Lisa get out of bed holding the IV bag above her head and steadying her body while trying to keep her gown closed in the back so she doesn't flash the entire unit. The method somehow works as I guide her into the toilet across the hall. She pees in the cup while I stand outside with the door half closed to offer the illusion of privacy. It's past 9pm. Several thousand people have been in this bathroom and the odor confirms this. It's gross, but I'm rather sensitive to smells. Lisa emerges with the yellow cocktail cup, capped and ready for transport. She slides back into bed. I'm hoping that the blood work and urine reveal enough to get her on the antibiotics.<br />
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At 10pm I tiptoe toward the Physician's Assistant desk. She is a no nonsense woman who smiles at me though I know she's seething at the notion that I'm questioning her work. I hope not to be threatening, but hey, I'm the patient advocate now. This is my job...to work for Lisa. The PA assures me that giving Lisa antibiotics is on her "agenda." I find that a strange use of terms, but this is no time for semantics.<br />
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Back at base camp Lisa is looking less red. When the fever spiked she was about as bright as a beet. She seems more tired. We both are. There's a rumor circulating that she might be admitted. I think that it's a strong possibility she might spend the night, and she's in favor of that decision if it should fall that way.<br />
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I close her curtain because it's nearing the witching hour in the ER. You know, that time when crimes happen, parties end badly, fights occur. Hudson is a small city, but a city all the same. The history of its sordid past still lingers. There are still lots of drugs, stabbings and stealing left on the streets. It starts like a parade of zombies through the halls outside Lisa's cubby. There's a kid with a blood splattered t-shirt, and a woman with him in a pink top who has a nasty bruise on her forehead. I conclude that this is probably a car accident. There's a guy in a neck brace with gauze wrapped around the back of head, the front of his head, the side of his head. He is bleeding from all three bound areas. I watch him as he gingerly enters the disgusting bathroom. I make a mental note not to pee for the rest of the night. It's a miracle, but later I watch a quiet attendant with a pail and brushes rework the bathroom into a more inviting place. That cleaning lady deserves a medal. She exemplifies the meaning of selfless service.<br />
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Another hour passes. I'm exhausted. I had spent the earlier part of the day doing three hours of yoga, a sun salutation series to be exact 108, ringing in the summer solstace. The spirit of yoga is a wonderful thing right now.<br />
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It's nearing midnight. Lisa is asleep. The second round of morphine put her out this time and gratefully, the flow into her veins now includes a megadose of antibiotics. We have settled in until further notice. I sit on a plastic chair at the foot of her bed. I rest my head against the wall and pass out for a half hour. The second string nurse, helper comes in to check Lisa's temperature which has mercifully plummeted to 99.9 degrees. We're out of the woods. And then the PA comes back to issue the conclusion to our episode. They feel ok about letter her go home. Next steps are to unplug her and get the discharge papers in order. This ultimately takes an hour an a half.<br />
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The shift has changed. We greet a new nurse in bright green scrubs named Chester. He's the first person who's taken time to introduce himself. I think he likes us. The professionals agree, said Chester, that Lisa has Lyme disease. And though I feel that's rather obvious, I'm delighted to hear the news. Chester is in charge. He seems fixated on Lisa and despite Lisa's medical extravaganza, she seems to notice.<br />
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We leave with a cotton hospital blanket under my arm. I tell her it's our souvenir along with a script for doxycycline. It's 2am. I speed through the 24 Hour Price Chopper to grab a tooth brush and some water.<br />
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I sleep on Lisa's couch after tucking her in. I've been up for 23 hours. It's been a long night. Before I doze off, I think about it. Columbia Memorial did a great job of managing Lisa's medical crisis by being calm, attentive, human, sensitive, empathic, and professional. I think that helping urgently sick and injured people night after night, day after day is a crazy thing to want to do, but in reality, those people are amazing. Lisa is safe. I am happy and grateful.<br />
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Allison Guertinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14767682366444491819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1900978495123944297.post-3767671661582845292014-06-27T11:37:00.001-07:002014-06-29T15:10:34.287-07:00Columbia County New York is a TripLiving in Columbia County, New York, is a minute-to-minute, changing experience. One day life here can be simply about surviving three feet of snow that's accumulated near your front door when you only expected a dusting or a manageable inch of fluffy stuff. The next could be about saving an historic site that you've driven past a hundred and fifty times and wondered when that old house was built and who lived there. On any given day your attention might be centered on finding a restorative yoga class to rest your stressed mind, or securing the services of a caterer who can help you serve 100 people an organic brunch on a budget.<br>
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Yes, it's that diverse. I've learned, no matter where you live, life is never one thing, it's everything. And that's what we have here. A growing community made up of people who are diverse, devoted, and different, because they're intentionally living here, in this unique corner of New York, Columbia County.<br>
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I'm one of them. I've taken a rather intense interest in the lifestyle here and therefore, I've written a book about The Hidden History of Columbia County, New York (The History Press 2014) and I've created this blog, to continue the conversation, as they say.<br>
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My purpose is to bring you the things you're interested in: Food, Travel, Art, Culture, History, Love, Health, People, Sports/Outdoors, Happenings and, not to be forgotten, a focus on the "Four-Leggers" in our lives.<br>
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Life in Columbia County is quite a ride, so hold on to your seat.<br>
<br>Allison Guertinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14767682366444491819noreply@blogger.com0