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by admin
“Living Eden ~ a place for humane beings” is scheduled to open on May 11, 2013 (Apple Blossom Day) in Red Hook, NY. The new store is located at 29 West Market Street in a beautifully remodeled historic building.
“The niche of the modern vintage-inspired boutique is to offer stylish and affordable USA made, fair trade, cruelty free, vegan, and other conscious products all in one beautiful store designed to inspire customers,” says Bobbi Jo Forte, Co-Founder and Marketing Director for Living Eden. She goes on to say that “Red Hook, Tivoli, and Rhinebeck are home to an abundance of natives and transplants who are passionate about environmental and social issues, and want to feel the satisfaction of picking up a product and seeing where it is made, and what good it is doing for people, animals, and the planet.”
The boutique will offer eco-chic clothing for women, men, and kids, fair trade home decor, cruelty-free cosmetics, green toys, upcycled gifts, natural products for baby, and more. The adjacent “Market” will feature a selection of local farm market products such as jams, sauces, and syrup plus a variety of slavery-free chocolates, super foods, and vegan products. “This store is a dream come true—full of products I believe in—and it is an honor to share this more compassionate way of life with others who are equally inspired by conscious capitalism and social progress,” says co-founder Bonnie Schweppe.
The other draw of Living Eden will be workshops and classes hosted by artists, authors, fine crafts people, and other experts. “As social creatures we crave inspiration and knowledge so the workshops will provide a venue for learning fine crafts and trades, and will hopefully have a positive impact on Red Hook’s economy by bringing more foot traffic to the Village,” states Forte.
LivingEden.com will offer an online store and blog featuring most of what the brick and mortar store offers. It will launch on May 11, 2013, as well. Additionally, the company will have a strong presence on Facebook and other social media platforms.
Partners Bobbi Jo Forte and Bonnie Schweppe have been working on the Living Eden concept for more than a year. The two met when Schweppe was buying a barn for her new mini farm sanctuary and Forte was helping a stray dog. An instant friendship was formed. During their many animal rescue adventures, they discovered each other’s passion for living more compassionately—and the Living Eden concept was born. Friend and aspiring designer Kaitlin Forbes joined the team in February 2013.
According to Red Hook Village Mayor Ed Blundell, Living Eden is a perfect fit for Red Hook’s new vibe. “Our village has been at the forefront of developing the vibrant setting that residents need and want. Our work to improve walkability and seek new, exciting businesses is coming to fruition with the news that Living Eden is getting ready to open shop shortly. Landlord Jack Dillon had done a remarkable restoration of his building, and now we are getting a creative retailer with a conscience—a real win for the Village. We welcome Living Eden, and encourage residents and visitors alike to shop local and support all of our locally-owned shops.”
For general questions email Living Eden at info@livingeden.com, or call 845.475.2619. And be sure to check out the store in person in Red Hook Village, and online at LivingEden.com starting May 11.
Tags: artists, authors, Bobbi Jo Forte, Bonnie Schweppe, classes, conscious, cruelty-free, eco-chic, environmental, fair trade, fine crafts, green toys, Living Eden, local farm market, Mayor Ed Blundell, natural products, Red Hook, Rhinebeck, Tivoli, upcycled gifts, USA made, vegan, vintage-inspired, workshops
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by Jim Planck, photographs by Jennifer Barnhart
All who have ever lived in an old time house know full well how troublesome the upkeep can be. Windows that used to fit seamlessly into their sills now call to every draft and winter breeze to come visit, doors stick in their jambs on humid days, and foundations that once seemingly would have supported the Empire State Building now have shifted and sag, bulging where the rainwater swells the cracks.
Imagine, however, not dealing with those problems at 100 or even 125 years old, but spread those years over the sweep of more than three centuries – a full 350 years – and that’s precisely the challenge the Greene County Historical Society faces every day in preserving its Bronck House Museum, the oldest standing stone house in upstate New York.
To help them do that, and in recognition of the Bronck House’s 350th Anniversary, the Society is conducting Windows on History, a massive fundraising campaign to help correct the existing problems and prevent future ones.
GCHS President Robert Hallock explains, “As we often say during the tour of the houses, this house is older than the United States, older than the English colony of New York, and dates back to the time the Dutch had a colonie of New Netherland here in the Hudson Valley.”
 Upstairs window showing signs of age. Photo by Jennifer Barnhart. “Over the years – what these windows have seen, or more appropriately, what the Bronck family members have seen from these windows! The Dutch losing control of their colonie; the English settlement of the colony; the French and Indian War; the American Revolution; the formation of Greene County; the War of 1812; the Civil War; World War I; and the Great Depression.” Then, in 1939, the Bronck House was donated by the family to the Greene County Historical Society and residency at last ended.
The Bronck House Museum’s history, and the heritage it represents, truly are of international cultural value, as the Museum regularly draws visitors from all over the world. In 2012, people from the Netherlands, Brazil, Japan, Australia, and Russia all visited the Museum.
The Museum’s three sections – the 1663 stone house, the 1685 stone house, and the 1738 brick house – all need work. Wooden sills and frames have rotted, bricks have frozen and split, mortar has worn to dust – and all must be addressed, as together they form the strength and endurance of the structures.
Please help Windows on History fulfill its mission by providing whatever donation is possible. Visit our website at www.gchistory.org to make an online donation, or mail a check to Greene County Historical Society, P.O. Box 44, Coxsackie, NY 12051.
The Bronck Museum is a National Historic Landmark and a NYS Revolutionary War Heritage Trail site. Help preserve one of the Hudson Valley’s earliest structures in the year of its 350th Anniversary. Thank you.
To learn more about the Bronck House and farm and the 350th anniversary year, visit the Greene County Historical Society website, http//www.gchistory.org. The Bronck House kicks off its 350th Anniversary celebrations in May.
Tags: 350th Anniversary, Bronck House, Coxsackie, Greene County Historical Society, Hudson Valley, National Historic Landmark, NYS Revolutionary War Heritage Trail, Windows on History
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by Brian PJ Cronin, photograph by Kristen Cronin
I am sure the neighbors thought we were hiding a body.
Longtime readers of this column, i.e. my mom (Hi, mom!) will remember that when we started writing this column four years ago, it was actually about gardening. Not a gardening advice column; unless by “advice column” you mean “cautionary tale as to what to avoid doing.” Eventually, we realized that if we wanted to successfully grow more than two peppers and a sprig of rosemary, we were going to have to build raised beds, a higher fence, and a gate. Then we found out we were going to be parents and knew our limited funds and energies were going to be directed elsewhere. I threw down a cover crop and abandoned the garden to the elements.
Over time, the fence warped and sagged. The cover crop grew, bolted, and spread. It began to look less like a garden and more like a caged, mammoth tumbleweed. People who walked by it would avert their gaze. Children in the neighborhood dared each other to stick their hands through the fence. Birds that landed in the garden would quickly disappear within the tangle of thickets, only to be spit out hours later as gleaming white tiny bones. Every night I came home and expected to see the garden bathed in flashing sirens and police tape.
But it wasn’t the fact that my lawn wanted to kill me that made me think about pulling the gardening tools out of the basement again; instead it was the very thing that caused us to abandon to garden in the first place. Cooper is almost two years old now and loves to run around outside, plucking ripe blueberries from the bushes around our yard and picking cherry tomatoes with us down at the CSA. When rain or snow keeps us inside, he wistfully stares out the window and pretends to pick apples from the air. Cooper needs a garden, and it was time to consider that even a broken down scraggly garden is better than no garden at all.
The singer/songwriter Neko Case once wrote that growing your own food organically from heirloom seeds is the most punk rock thing you could possibly do in this country. You are taking “Do It Yourself” to its logical extreme and giving the middle finger to every single hierarchy and corporation that has wormed its way into our everyday lives. But what would have happened if the Sex Pistols had decided not to play any gigs until they could afford decent instruments and figure out how to play them and master basic hygiene skills? We’d all still be listening to Leo Sayer, and Don Henley would be God Emperor of America. The tattered fence was good enough. Leave the gates and raised beds for Quicksilver Messenger Service. It was time to stick it to The Man and pile into the van for one more tour of V.F.W. halls from coast to coast. Besides, what says “punk rock” more than an awkward suburban dad pushing 40 with New Balance sneakers and a secret fondness for the first four Indigo Girls albums (shhhh)?
So we bought seeds, lawn leaf bags, compost, kid-sized gardening tools, snake repellant, chain mail, and a vial of holy water. We put Cooper to work watering piles of dirt while we cleared the brush with axe and saw and fire, glorious fire. And then I decided to show Cooper how to plant seeds so that the boy and I could share a father/son bonding moment.
As stated previously, I am not an expert in matters of gardening. Nevertheless, I am quite certain that there are very few gardening experts who would advise you to, after meticulously planting several rows of seeds exactly 1/4” deep and spaced exactly 8” apart, run over all of the garden beds and kick the seeds every which way while shouting “DADDY DADDY BIRD BIRD BUGGA HUGGA HUGGA OVALTINE.” I suppose it’s possible that there is some obscure gardening method in which kicking and screaming and scattering is the recommended course of action. I am going to hold out hope that this is the case, for lack of any better options at this point. But it’s more likely that all we did is upgrade our garden from “The forest from the Evil Dead movies” to “Depression-era dust bowl.”
Then again, who knows? Even after I turned my back on the garden two years ago, the perennial herb garden flourished without me doing a damn thing. Maybe it’s best not to worry and let the seeds fall where they may. If something sprouts, then Cooper and I will care for it. And if not, then we’ll stand in the empty garden and pretend to pick apples from the air. I have a feeling that Cooper won’t mind either way.
Brian PJ and Kristen Cronin live in Beacon with their three cats, and their son Cooper James Cronin. View more of their photos at www.flickr.com/teammoonshine and Instagram.com/kristencronin.
Tags: Beacon, Cooper, Cronin, Gardening, seeds
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by Joanna Hess
April. Images of Spring, daffodils blooming, the sense of renewal. It is also National Donate Life Month. Established in 2003, this designated month commemorates those who have received or continue to wait for lifesaving transplants.
The New York Organ Donor Network (NYODN) celebrates this April with increased outreach efforts in hospitals, schools, and Motor Vehicle Agencies. While NYODN works year round to educate New York residents about the critical need for more organ and tissue donors, each April, these efforts are enhanced during National Donate Life Month. National Donate Life Month was instituted by Donate Life America and its partnering organizations in 2003 with the support of then Secretary of Health and Human Services, Tommy Thompson.
Across the United States, Donate Life Month features local, regional and national activities to help encourage Americans to register as organ, eye and tissue donors and to celebrate those that have saved lives through the gift of donation. Show your support by wearing the colors of the organization and celebrate National Blue & Green Day on Friday, April 19th.
In my experience speaking to people at public events, despite our efforts to raise awareness about being a donor, the number of people in need of transplants continues to rise. This month serves not only to honor the lives of those who have given and received, but it’s also an opportunity to educate the public about the lifesaving effects of donation and transplantation, and an opportunity to dispel the myths.
Nationally, more than 115,000 women, men, and children wait for a life-saving transplant—nearly 10,000 of them are New Yorkers (for specific numbers visit unos.org). For many, tragically, the gift will never be received. Nearly 6,000 people die a year – about 15 per day – awaiting the gift of life. Yet, every 2½ hours a person is added to NY State Donor Registry.
As of March 1, 2013, only 21% of eligible New Yorkers (age 18 and older) were enrolled in the New York State Donor Registry, compared to the national state average of 44.5%. New York State ranks near the bottom of the list on number of total enrollments.
Transplantation is one of the most remarkable success stories in the history of medicine. Transplantation gives hope to thousands of people with organ failure and provides many others with active and renewed lives. Out of tragedy, much good can be done for another human being waiting for a life-saving organ or tissue transplant. One person can save up to eight lives with organ donation. A tissue donor adds upwards of 50 additional lives – especially for burn victims.
New York residents can add their names to the organ donor registry when applying for or renewing their driver’s license at the Department of Motor Vehicles. There is a box to check off to say “yes” to being an organ donor. It will be filed with the NYS Department of Health and you will have a small red heart on your new license. This simple action while renewing your driver’s license could some day save someone’s life.
For me, my transplant is a “rebirth” to a healthy life. What better way to help one another than pledging to be an organ donor. I have been given 8 additional years to enjoy life and I thank my anonymous donor daily. My hope is that by bringing more awareness to the desperate need for organ donors through Donate Life Month, we can increase participation in the organ donor database and help the thousands more on the waiting list.
To learn more about NYDON Donate Life’s month-long activities, please visit www.SaveLivesNewYork.org.
About the Dutchess County NYODN Chapter:
Jon Nansen, Dutchess County Team Leader:
Jon’s energy toward the effort to enroll people in Dutchess County to be organ donors is endless. Heart issues run in his family, and his kidneys crashed in 2005 from high blood pressure. He had end stage renal failure, and needed to start dialysis.
After several years, his mentor Elaine Ling at Dutchess Dialysis Center in Poughkeepsie firmly told him that it was time to seriously consider transplantation, or face the loss of his kidney, or even his life.
Jon was on the waiting list for three years before getting that all-important phone call. “I was in dialysis when I heard my cell phone ringing. It was in my pocket, but I was all hooked up with hoses and tubes. When I answered the phone I heard, ‘You feel lucky today? Come on up, we have a match for you.’ This was in July, 2008.”
Jon strongly encourages people on dialysis to go through testing to be approved for their transplant. It can take seven months to be approved for the list, and that’s when the clock begins. “Get to a nephrologist, don’t mess with your kidneys,” Jon adds.
Jon is active throughout Dutchess County. He initiated DMV drives in Poughkeepsie and at Adams Fairacre Farms. He speaks at college health fairs, the Poughkeepsie Plaza, and Naturalization Ceremonies.
Barb Adams, co-owner of Adams Fairacre Farm:
The importance of organ, tissue and eye donation came to the forefront of awareness at Adams Fairacre Farms last year, when owner Pat Adams received a heart transplant. One year later, Adams is healthy and active as ever. He and his wife, Barb, as well as many others at Adams, are committed to helping spread the word about the need for donors.
Barb enrolled the Dutchess County group in the recent Campaign4Life, a friendly competition between the 10 counties in NYODN’s district. The intent was to increase the number of designated organ, eye and tissue donors through registration. Surprisingly, the Dutchess County group won with more than 100 new registrations.
“We are proud of our efforts. The $1000 prize will be used to help our education campaign with the purchase of a flat screen TV showing interviews and updated information for the various health fairs we attend, especially the Dutchess County Fair,” Barb explained.
Barb also created a Facebook page for the local group, and continues to write a blog describing local activities and recent news about transplantation. To learn more, ‘like’ Donate Life of Dutchess County on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/DonateLifeOfDutchessCounty
Joanna Hess inherited Polycystic Kidney Disease (PKD) from her father, who inherited it from his father. She focuses much of her volunteer time educating people about organ donation. Her transplant occurred in February 2005, which she considers her “2nd birthday,” giving her the opportunity to help and support others in similar situations. She considers each day a blessing and encourages others to keep an open mind and an open heart.
Tags: Adams Fairacre Farms, Joanna Hess, National Donate Life Month, New York Organ Donor Network, Poughkeepsie, transplant
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by Brian PJ Cronin, photo by Kristen Cronin
I did not complain about winter this year because at least we had a winter this year. Last year winter was a three day stretch in late October followed by four and a half months of grey skies, brown grass, 40 degree days and a river that never froze. It was supposed to be Cooper’s first winter. Instead it was just dark and windy. All of his snow clothes went up to the attic in April with the tags still on them.
This year winter was winter. It snowed on Christmas Eve. It snowed on Kristen’s birthday in March. It snowed and snowed and snowed. Instead of putting winter gear away in the attic, we went up to the attic and pulled out my Flexible Flyer sled from the 1970’s and found that it, despite being somewhat of a rickety death trap, still has a few years left in it. Twenty one months old, and Cooper finally had a winter.
Guess what? Turns out the kid is crazy about winter. Emphasis on the word “crazy.” He ate about a pound of snow a day. Kristen came up with the idea of filling a casserole dish with snow for him to play with indoors. Instead I watched in awe as he ate the whole thing with all the deliberate plotting and easy pacing of an Elks Club Treasurer at a pie eating contest.
We tried to make sure that, no matter how cold it was, Cooper always spent part of the day outdoors. This led to a lot of Saturday mornings in which Cooper and I were the only ones at the frigid, barren playground as he happily ran around hunting for ice and snow. He has an uncanny ability to, even on the driest days, find a freezing puddle of icy water somewhere that he can repeatedly shove his hands into. This is a problem because he refuses to put on gloves. I tried putting them on him once and he screamed so loud I almost got arrested. We attempted to compromise with fingerless gloves, but let’s be honest with ourselves: fingerless gloves are useless. It’s the fingers that get cold in the winter. You never hear anyone complaining that their palms are cold.
Invariably, after about twenty minutes of barehanded snow slapping and ice punching, Cooper would run up to me crying and screaming. He would hold out his pink, swollen hands and say “OW OW OW!” Often, he would still be holding snow. “Your hands hurt because of the snow,” I’d say. “If you put the snow down, your hands won’t hurt anymore.” Then I would nod my head in a sagely dad-ish sort of way and wait for my progeny to absorb this latest nugget of hard earned wisdom. Cold things are cold! I have so much to pass on to the next generation.
Have you ever tried to reason with a toddler? It doesn’t work. Toddlers think that cats want to have their tail pulled and that “hang glider” is an acceptable career choice. Instead of putting the snow down, Cooper stared at me like I was an idiot. “Put the snow down?” his expression seemed to say. “But then I won’t be holding snow. So make it so that I can hold the snow and not get cold but I refuse to wear gloves or a hat and quite frankly you’re lucky I let you even put this coat on me.”
It was always at this point that the wisdom of the ages would fail me. Cooper was miserable but having the time of his life and wanted it to stop and go on forever. Do I take the snow away, making him upset? Do I take him home, making him upset? Do I let him keep splashing in ice cold puddles with his bare hands, making him upset? Do I just stand there with a stupid look on my face, making him upset? Every week we run into this problem and every week I never have an answer.
So I will not complain about winter, but I am glad to see it go. I am in desperate need of long walks after dinner wearing a light jacket and my old Mets cap. I am ready for our herb garden to flourish once again so that I can stop spending five dollars a week on sickly damp chives and crumbling rosemary. And I no longer want to stand helplessly by as Cooper continues crying and screaming and laughing with tears running down his frostbite bloomed cheeks, jamming tiny pink fingers into snowbank after snowbank after snowbank, unable to ever get enough.
Brian PJ and Kristen Cronin live in Beacon with their three cats, and their son Cooper James Cronin. View more of their photos at www.flickr.com/teammoonshine and Instagram.com/kristencronin.
Tags: Beacon, Cooper, Cronin, March, winter
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by Brian PJ Cronin, photograph by Kristen Cronin
Is it ok to call 911 to say “thank you?”
I’m guessing it’s not, that it’s one of those things they frown upon because it ties up the line. It’s just that the dispatcher I got when I called was so calm and reassuring that his serenity rubbed off on me a little, even though the reason I was calling was because our 20-month-old son, Cooper, was having a violent and terrifying seizure. The dispatcher was extraordinarily helpful by explaining that it sounded like a febrile seizure, which is fairly common amongst toddlers. That as long as he was making sounds, he was still breathing, even though his mouth was filling with foam. That even though it seemed like it was taking a long time for the ambulance to get to us, it was only because time was slowing down for me at that moment and we had actually only been on the phone for 90 seconds. So I’m wondering how I can call 911 back, get that same guy on the phone, and say thank you.
And while we’re at it, how can I find out the names of the firefighters, paramedics, EMTs and police officers who showed up? Is it weird to want to thank them for being so calm and helpful and courteous, and to apologize that the house was such a mess and that they all had to run up that very narrow staircase with all their equipment and maneuver through two sets of baby gates and I didn’t even offer them coffee? Oh god, I should have offered them coffee, I made a fresh pot about two minutes before Cooper’s seizure started. And it was nice how, in the ambulance over to the hospital, they gave Cooper a teddy bear that they happened to have in the back, so that he wouldn’t be so scared. Do they need the bear back? Was it a loaner bear? I’m kind of hoping he gets to keep it, because he’s become quite attached to it.
Is it strange to want to thank a band I’ve never met? I’m sure the band Amor de Dias isn’t reading this, but I happened to have one of their albums in the car, and listening to those softly beguiling bilingual songs about rivers and alleyways really helped me out on the drive over, because it was nice to briefly think about the influence of Belgian surrealism on pop music, and the feeling of psychogeographical dislocation that comes on the outskirts of suburbia, as opposed to the fact that I was driving 20 miles over the speed limit while following an ambulance that had my son inside.
It’s probably stupid to want to get in touch with the people who make those Baby Einstein videos and say thank you, right? I know that I have publicly referred to those videos as “Baby Stock Footage and Some Puppets We Found in the Dumpster Behind Hobby Lobby,” but watching the one about cars and trucks on my phone helped calm Cooper down, even as the doctors were sticking him with needles.
Is it odd that I want the names of all the other patients that were in the ER that night so I can thank them? I’m sure that’s odd. It’s just that even though each one of them was in there with their own problems, most of them much more severe than what Cooper was going through, and even though I’m sure their loved ones sitting next to them were all nervous wrecks, it was quite astonishing that as we wheeled Cooper down the hall for X-rays, every single one of them smiled and waved and said something encouraging, even if they were riddled with wires and tubes. They really didn’t have to do that.
And I know it’s dumb to want to thank all the doctors and nurses from the ER for being so reassuring and helpful because I know they were just doing their jobs. I’m sure they all learn in med school how to soothe a freaked out toddler who doesn’t know what’s going on, and how to soothe freaked out parents who don’t know what’s going on. So it’s dumb of me, I know, to want to thank them in some way for doing the exact thing they’ve been trained to do, and I shouldn’t even thank the security guard for yelling to Cooper, “So long and don’t come back!” when they discharged us, because I’m sure he uses that joke a lot.
But, anyway.
Thank you.
Brian PJ and Kristen Cronin live in Beacon with their three cats, and their son Cooper James Cronin. View more of their photos at www.flickr.com/teammoonshine and Instagram.com/kristencronin.
Tags: Beacon, Cooper, Cronin, febrile seizure
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by Andrew Nelson, photographs by Jen Kiaba
 Photo by Jen Kiaba Two Boots was created by two indie filmmakers who loved pizza, beer and all things New Orleans (the two “boots” refer to the geographical shapes of Italy and Louisiana). Still owned and operated by co-founder Phil Hartman, Two Boots brings its unique Cajun-Italian cooking, funky folk art and deep commitment to the community wherever they go.
Hartman opened the very first Two Boots Pizzeria on Avenue A in New York City back in 1987. As a young filmmaker he only set the goal of using the restaurant to fund his next film project. Little did he know that the idea of blending Cajun and Italian would take off like wildfire. The result is a respectable chain of pizza joints spanning from Hell’s Kitchen to Baltimore to Los Angeles and a 25 year run of serving top shelf pies to an ever-growing fan base.
In the summer of 2012 Hartman unlocked the doors to his latest venture, Two Boots Hudson Valley. Of the nearly 15 restaurants on his roster, this one holds a particular spot in his heart as it sits directly across from his Alma mater, Bard College, from which two of his children are also graduates.
The cuisine at Two Boots Hudson Valley blurs the line between that of easy comfort food and tasteful creative eats for the foodie. The meatball sliders, for example, are just off of what Grandma made as it’s laced with andouille sausage, tucked into a garlic knot and served with a side of tangy sauce.
 photo by Jen Kiaba You can experience the best of both boots’ (Italy and Louisiana) traditions in one-of-a-kind pizzas like the “Tony Clifton” and “The Dude,” which showcase organic and artisanal ingredients from Fleisher’s Meats in Kingston and nearby Newton Farm. Customers can enjoy a “Grandma Bess” pie, with organic San Marzano plum tomato sauce, mozzarella, garlic, olive oil, fresh basil and parmigiano blanketing a square sheet of crispy Sicilian crust, at the restaurant or for delivery. Or plunge into a blackened catfish po’boy sandwich with remoulade and homemade Cajun slaw. Or indulge in the “St. Tula,” which is only available at Two Boots Hudson Valley. It’s a white pie with roasted garlic and peppers complimenting Fleisher’s Sausage of the Day and topped with a drizzling of sweet red pepper pesto.
The bar is stocked with local treasures like Keegan Ales and the Mekas Family’s special Limoncello, plus creations like the Beastie Boys-themed “Sure Shot.” (The late Beastie Boy, MCA, attended Bard.)
The fun doesn’t end at the table either. The stage and dance floor are often the setting for live performnces, DJs, films, readings and more.
February marks a special time for Two Boots as a whole, as February ushers in Mardi Gras. Two Boots Hudson Valley is making a month-long celebration of it with a list of the Hudson Valley’s best local talent peppered with guests from NYC and beyond.
 Pamelech Klezmer Orkester. Photo by Jen Kiaba. To learn more, visit http://www.twoboots.com/TW2008/bard, or http://www.facebook.com/TBHudsonValley
February Happenings at Two Boots
Friday, February 1, 7 p.m.:
Author Tony Fletcher reads from his new book “A Light Never Goes Out: The Enduring Saga of the Smiths” with Smiths music by Robert Burke Warren and DJ Grasshopper of Mercury Rev.
Saturday, February 2, 9 p.m.:
DJ Dance Party with In The Cut (DJs Effie and MarMar). Cover: $5
Saturday, February 9, 9 p.m.:
Mardi Gras Celebration with DJs Mr Chips and Mikey Palms (SouthPaw Bklyn). Cover: $5
Thursday, February 14, 7 p.m.:
Valentines Day Dinner and a movie night
Friday, February 15, 9 p.m.:
The Grape and the Grain, Nightmares For A Week and Leonard Banks. Cover: $5
Friday, February 22, 8 p.m.:
Alexander Turnquist & Avondale Airforce. Cover: $5
Saturday, February 23, 8 p.m.:
Sweet Clementines & The Argentine (Bklyn). Cover: $5
Plus every Monday night, 8:30 p.m.:
STUMP TRIVIA with trivia jockey Michael Nickerson.
Tags: Bard College, Cajun, Fleisher's Meats, Hudson Valley, Italian, Keegan Ales, Kingston, Mardi Gras, Mekas Family, Newton Farm, Two Boots
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by Brian PJ Cronin, photograph by Kristen Cronin
I enjoy repetition. Hand me a dozen carrots to dice, a hundred envelopes to seal, a thousand of my son Cooper’s tiny toy dinosaurs to put away every night. I do not get bored. I do not get frustrated. I revel in the Zen-like state of acceptance that comes after your hands have been doing the same thing for hours at a time. But even the Buddha had his limits.
I enjoy repetition. Some days at work, I just loop one long song, like Eluvium’s “Taken” or Coltrane playing “My Favorite Things,” for eight hours straight. I do not have the same tolerance for “Rappin’ Ernie Raps About Bathtime,” a 20-second shout-out to clean living that Cooper is constantly playing on the Cookie Monster toy iPod that a well-intentioned neighbor gave him one fateful and wicked day. Initially, the song is not without its charms. The beat is legit, the flow is smooth. “Stayin’ healthy and getting cleeeeeeeaaaaaan,” Ernie raps, the word “clean” slowly rolling out of his mouth like the stickiest of cough syrups. “We’re takin’ a bath, YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN,” and Cooper and I would wave our arms in the air. After the 100th time, I stopped waving my arms in the air. I did not care. By the 500th time, I was beginning to wish that the eternal urban legend about Sesame Street deciding to kill off Ernie was true. By the 1,000th time, I was constructing a time machine so that I could go back to the Bronx in 1973, find DJ Kool Herc, and break both of his hands.
I enjoy repetition. There are certain books, like Robert Olmstead’s A Trail of Heart’s Blood Wherever We Go or Michael Ondaatje’s Divisadero that I read every two years. I do this in order to measure the journey of my life against theirs, to check in with their boundless wisdom and endless grace. Every reread illuminates. I cannot say the same for Maisy Makes Lemonade, a book that Cooper has insisted I read to him approximately 75 times a day for the past three weeks. I would provide a summary of the story, but the title already tells you every single thing that happens in the book. There is no rising action, no falling action, no graph of tension. Maisy makes lemonade and the book is over.
I enjoy repetition because I delight in the surprises and undiscovered nuances I find every time I return to something. There are no surprises or nuances in the things Cooper insists on experiencing over and over and over. Yet there he stands, happily jabbing the Cookie Monster toy iPod with his chubby fingers, Ernie’s rhymes drowning out my pleas for mercy.
I could, of course, smash the toy iPod to pieces when he’s sleeping. But I don’t. And even though Maisy Makes Lemonade is due back at the library soon, I have already ordered Cooper his own copy. Not because I am a glutton for punishment, but because when I try to see the world through his eyes I realize how important these routines are to him. When almost every thing you see, touch, and feel throughout the day is new, then the comforts of repetition become more than a security blanket: They are a way to prevent your brain from burning out. Being a toddler is hard enough. You understand little, and control nothing. You do not know why you are in pain, or how to find snacks, or who the man in the white coat is who keeps jabbing you with needles. But you know Mommy and Daddy, and Maisy making endless pitchers of lemonade. That is what you cling to in order to navigate your day. I enjoy repetition. Cooper needs it in order to survive.
I remind myself of this at the beginning and end of each day with Cooper, the two of us sitting together on the bed with the bright colors of Maisy Makes Lemonade laid out before us like a road map. The world is unpredictable. Here is one thing that is not. Maisy will make lemonade. The book will end. We will flip back to the beginning. Maisy will make lemonade. The book will end. We will flip back to the beginning. Maisy will make lemonade.
Brian PJ and Kristen Cronin live in Beacon with their three cats, and their son Cooper James Cronin. View more of their photos at www.flickr.com/teammoonshine and Instagram.com/kristencronin.
Tags: Beacon, books, Cooper, Cronin, Ernie, Maisy, Sesame Street
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by Brian PJ Cronin, photographs by Kristen Cronin
It begins with a quick “woof, woof”, then pawing at the window, then excitedly running around the room while barking in short, percussive blasts. I’m not talking about a dog. I’m talking about Cooper, who has just seen a dog outside the dining room window. His day is made.
Cooper is into dogs. Well, he’s also into cats and cows and horses and monkeys and foxes and owls and dinosaurs, but mostly he’s into dogs. Probably because dogs are like 18-month-old children who never grow up: They’re loud, fast, curious, and every time they poop it’s somehow your problem. Even their toys are interchangeable; I once tossed Cooper one of those doggie soccer balls with the ropes coming out of either end and he was enthralled for hours.
Here’s the problem: We don’t have a dog. We have cats, three of them. I’m happy to report that they are all wondrous companions who have never felt threatened or disturbed by Cooper’s arrival into our family. They run over with worried looks when he cries, and our indoor/outdoor cat, Dusty, follows Cooper around protectively whenever we go for walks around the neighborhood.
But they are not stupid. When Cooper runs towards them with outstretched arms and hands full of toy trucks, they know what they are in for. Bear hugs and tail tugs and accidentally taking a truck in the face. Cats, even the friendliest ones, are basically as affectionate as your average everyday Victorian dowager. Whereas dogs are always at their first rave in 1994, accidentally just took three hits of ecstasy and NEED TO GET AS CLOSE TO YOU AS POSSIBLE. Their desire for contact is limitless.
We spent Thanksgiving week down in South Carolina, visiting my mother-in-law (who owns a very small dog) and my father-in-law (who owns a very large dog). Both dogs were tireless fonts of affection. Cooper acted like a kid who has just discovered cotton candy for the first time (although I don’t think he HAS discovered cotton candy yet, so time will tell how apt this metaphor is). He could not believe that there were animals that actually wanted to be hugged and petted and followed around. And as Cooper and whichever dog we were visiting would collapse on the floor together in one tangled mass of fur and tongues and tiny shoes, someone would say, “Well it looks like you’re getting a dog.”
About that: I had always figured we’d end up getting a dog someday. But in my mind we would wait until Cooper was old enough to tell us how much he wanted a dog, about how he would do anything for a dog, about how he would always walk it and feed it and clean up after it. Then, and only then, would Kristen and I secretly make a trip to the local animal shelter one late December day, pick out a dog, and make sure it was wagging its tail happily under the Christmas tree on the morning of the 25th as Cooper staggered down the stairs into the living room. We would be, at least for one morning, the Best Parents Ever.
Now it looks like we might not be able to wait that long. It looks like I will not be waving to Cooper as he trudges out into a snowstorm to walk the dog while putting my feet up and drinking my coffee, content that the boy is building character and learning about responsibility. No, it’s going to be me standing in that blizzard with the dog while Cooper waves from the window and the cats drink my coffee. But for now, Cooper continues to bark at the dogs across the street, the cats are running to the basement to hide, and I’m left standing by the dining room table wondering how “someday” turned so quickly into “today.”
Brian PJ and Kristen Cronin live in Beacon with their three cats, and their son Cooper James Cronin. View more of their photos at www.flickr.com/teammoonshine and Instagram.com/kristencronin.
Tags: Beacon, children, Cooper, Cronin, dogs
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