Rock & Run recap

SPAC ~ May 20, 2012

Can I blame my less than stellar time (28:27) on Max London?  No, probably not, but I can thank Capriccio Saratoga for the excellent Pasta Puttanesca carb load we enjoyed Saturday night.  I can also say,  that it was a hot morning and a hillier than expected course.  And a lot of fun!  I wish I had taken more photos but I learned during this event that it is really difficult to participate in and photograph the same event.  There were so many shots I didn't get, including of the bands scattered along the course, that I left feeling a tad disappointed.  Really though, how down can a girl feel after running on a beautiful day with a couple of great friends?

This was the third year for this event and I'm already looking forward to running it again in 2013.  And besting my time, of course.

Welcome!

image: downrangereport.blogspot.com

I wrote an awesomely bitchy note on my iPad earlier.  My intent was to work it into a blog post but, as I was polishing it, it somehow disappeared.  Poof!  Gone.  It was a verbose piece.  I used lots of big words, inspired perhaps by my stay last night at the Saratoga Hilton, formerly Cheryl Clark's digs.

The post was prompted by the dining experience I shared last night with two friends, each  of us restaurant server alumni.  We went to Max London's for dinner.  This was the second time around at ML's for two of us and, unfortunately, the experience was unerringly similar to our last visit - thoughtfully prepared food, nicely presented at the appropriate temperature contrasted with abysmal service.  I'm talking comically bad.  Epic.

It all began with the complete lack of welcome.  Both times I've ventured in to this place, the greeting, aka as the tone setter for the evening, in my opinion, was completely absent.  The folks standing behind the bar - posing perhaps for some unseen camera, didn't acknowledge us whatsoever.  All right then.

The hostess was busy and eventually got to us, estimating the wait for a table as about 20 minutes.  I set the timer on my phone and we walked and window shopped, returning in 12 minutes only to learn that we had lost our table.  A good hostess estimates a bit better than that, I think, and a great hostess notes the time she spoke with the prospective guest and does her best to honor it.

We elected to wait at the bar the second time around and, miraculously, 3 seats magically appeared.  We sat.  And sat.  And sat.  I would estimate it took a minimum of 5 minutes before we were acknowledged.  Please be aware that there were 4 or 5 people working behind the bar, none moving with any sense of urgency.  Not very impressive.  At last, we ordered 3 simple drinks (2 glasses of Prosecco and a g&t) and waited again, probably closer to 10 minutes this time.  By the time the cocktails were served our table was nearly ready and we were advised by the hostess to settle up at the bar because we would soon be seated.

Now, there's a nice way to convey to a guest that you'd like them to wrap up their check at the bar, I suppose, but her approach was not it.  The way she spoke, her tone of voice and her choice of words, was abrasive.  Nonetheless we attempted to pay the check as soon as it was presented (maybe 2 minutes after we requested it. Pretty good, right?), but after waiting more than 5 minutes to have our credit card processed, we ultimately took our unpaid check to the table.  And a tip?  Forget it.

Our server was earnestly green, a welcome change from arrogantly jaded, and he did his best to provide us with what we ordered.  And the food, by the way, was terrific.  Everything you've ever heard about their polenta fries?  All true - delicious!  When we ordered a second mixed drink and the wait to receive it was pushing the ten minute mark, we knew it was time to abandon any hope of the evening being redeemed.  I texted a friend and we headed to Capriccio Saratoga for the remainder of our dinner.

I would be remiss if I didn't share the funniest moment of the meal.  When we questioned our server about the missing drink he responded, without batting an eye, that the bar was very busy. The laughter that erupted from my table was the purest moment of joy prompted by our dining experience.  Overall impression: the kitchen deserves a much better front of the house presence - an effective dining room manager is sorely needed, in my professional and personal opinion.  You're welcome.

Attention: males over the age of 6!

When I see you wearing your baseball cap sideways, I know you think you look like this:

image:lefashionmonster.com

Hate to break it to you, but, in reality you look way more like this:

image:cedricstudio.com

 Now you know. You're welcome.

Commencement - a beginning or start

So, that's my natural hair color!

The word commencement is an odd one. While it is defined as a beginning or start, it clearly is most often used to describe a ceremony which acknowledges the end of something.  Seems that endings and beginnings can get all sorts of mixed up, huh?

Almost exactly  20 years ago, I received my college diploma. The path I took to that mass commencement ceremony was circuitous and prolonged. Or so it seemed to my-then-25- year-old self.  I remember that the morning was beautiful; a perfect May Day with blue skies and fluffy white clouds. The graduation was my first since my 8th grade commencement in 1980  - they didn't give GEDs with an iota of pomp, regardless of circumstance.

I wished I was feeling a bit more triumphant about my achievement, but I was nursing a broken heart and was just desperate to get the whole thing over with.   My plan had been to avoid the entire day by going to Syracuse for my brother's awe inspiring graduation from medical school, an event which naturally was scheduled for precisely the same day.  One of my best friends, though, had timed a trip to New York from Australia  to witness my achievement (with binoculars in the vast feeling Knickerbocker Arena) and so, there I was in a sea of fellow B.A., English, recipients.

Honestly, the entire thing is a blur now.  I don't recall who was the speaker or what the message conveyed was.  I just remember itching to get out of there.  Now.  I needed to go home, to Greenwood Lake.  I needed to get out of Dodge and see something new.  I needed what was NEXT.  I wanted to commence already, dammit.   I had a sense of freedom similar to possessing a passport and a credit card.  I could go anywhere.  And, unlike my bruised heart, no one was ever going to take that away from me.

The following month, my brother and I traveled to Europe for 3 weeks of debauchery family visits and sightseeing. We hitchhiked, staying with family, friends and in hostels, both of us smart enough to recognize that this opportunity to travel together would probably not present itself ever again. I returned to Albany with an increased awareness of where my family was from, and a pocketful of fresh memories to cherish as I began the next chapter in my life. 

In the two decades since graduation, there have been other heartbreaks survived, additional diplomas bestowed and numerous European adventures.  And, of course, countless endings and beginnings. I've come to learn that, unlike my sheepskin, some things just aren't meant to last forever.  Some courses are finite, pass or fail.

Very nice, funny and huggable

image: www.prlog.org

At least that's how my youngest described me in this year's utterly precious Mother's Day card.  Yep, it's a keeper.  This was my 16th Mother's Day and it contained both poignant and annoying moments. Kind of like motherhood,  in general,  I guess.

Quinn gave me a marigold, Griffin gave me a song and dance about the present I was going to receive at some undetermined point in the future, Liam gave me hope that he will one day shave that caterpillar of fuzz from above his top lip and they all gave me a hard time about walking the slightly over a mile distance to the Capital City Gastropub, our chosen brunch spot.  Just another day in paradise, right?

The death march walk on a beautiful late spring day was filled with conversations and complaints, probably in nearly equal measure.  I don't really remember Mother's Day 2011, my first as a separated parent, but I believe that this year was my first public Mother's Day as an unattached mom.  And it was a little weird.

The boys and I sat on the Gastropub's sunny front patio seated next to another unaccompanied by a partner Mom and thoroughly enjoyed our bountiful brunch.  I felt proud of my children for their appetites and their manners, Quinn's requests for a beer, aside.   When it was time to walk home, the older boys went ahead of Quinn and me, moving at a different pace than a 7 year-old with comparatively short legs and a 45 year-old with a belly full of smoked salmon and eggs.  As we approached Albany Academy, I suggested that Quinn hand his glasses over to me and take a tumble down the grassy hill, an idea that he enthusiastically embraced.  After his third spin, he staggered to his feet and remarked that he would have missed the opportunity to have that fun experience had we driven rather than walked.  

Very nice, funny, huggable and, dare I say, sometimes able to teach my boys that taking a walk and roll or two down a hill is a much more enjoyable way to travel through life than merely being a passenger. Hugs for everyone.

If I were mayor - crosswalk etiquette

To me, living in a city means not always relying upon a car to get my errands done.  As a matter of fact, my favorite days are those when I don't have to even get in my car.   

I've noticed there are some problems when negotiating one's way around Albany on foot - namely cars and their drivers.  If I were mayor I would make it a priority to both educate the public, and enforce the existing laws regarding  pedestrians and crosswalks.  

 A couple of years ago when Delaware Avenue was improved, a number of crosswalks were included in the plan. These crosswalks are clearly marked on the pavement and are actually engineered from an alternative material from the rest of the road. some sort of faux brick outlined by white striping.

Now, you'd think that drivers would take note of this and perhaps abide by the law and allow pedestrians to cross the street safely.  Unfortunately, this is not the case and crossing Delaware Avenue continues to be a risky prospect.  I have to admit that sometimes I yell at drivers who refuse to yield to pedestrians.  Yep, that crazy woman shouting "Crosswalk!!!" and pointing at the previously described street markings was probably me. 

Is it possible that drivers are unaware of the status of the pedestrian?  Maybe the crosswalks need to be even more clearly defined?  Perhaps additional signage, or even lights, could be added to attract the attention of the drivers who do not seem to notice the crosswalks.  And, for those on foot, utilizing the crosswalks is the civilized way to get from one side of the street to the other.  Enough of this "crossing wherever I feel like it" nonsense.   

Pedestrians and cars - it's a two street.  Let's make it better for everyone, Albanians.  

Light(en) up

image: edia.treehugger.com

After a day booked so full of errands and chores that the only thing I didn't schedule was time to breath, I took a long run tonight.  There were moments when I knew I needed to take a break and walk, but I didn't.  The route I took was  a new one to me and I mentally dubbed it the "big girl route."

The run was the perfect, late spring evening run - absolutely sublime.  There were only good smells, and the moisture in the air which felt like dampness this morning, now only added to my glisten.  My mind let go and provided a good example to my muscles which released as the miles ticked off.  I began considering all the meanings of the word "light" and realized that I had been using it pretty exclusively as a measurement of illumination.  But, didn't it describe so many other actions?

I ran past gatherings of people on porches and decks and stoops.  One group of second floor porch dwellers taunted their buddy in his convertible to "Light 'em up!!" I hadn't heard that particular phrase in so long that it caused me to remember another phrase of the same era - "Light up." I smiled a bit broader. 

I approached a corner and continued straight instead of making my usual left turn.  I was unfamiliar with the traffic light I now faced - new territory, more exhilarating than scary.  I saw a beautiful grassy lawn behind a romantic brick wall and the most meticulously maintained home I had never noticed.  

I continued and thought about how important it is to lighten up sometimes.  Stop carrying that which weighs us down.  Or maybe share the burden with someone.  Consciously release to something new.  

You remember the steps - Stomp hard on the gas.   
                                          Inhale deeply.        
                                          Let go.