Writer, songwriter, story teller, I write poems and songs and essays. I post them here and hope they find who they are supposed to find.

I recently stood on the roof of the ETEC building of the State University of New York at Albany's campus and looked west toward home. The day was clear and sunny and the view was a stunner. I live at the base of the Helderberg Mountains (hills really) which are, I think, the dark blue line above the tree line (photo 1), also known as an escarpment.

As predicted I had to toss more than half a box of crackers due to expired staleness. I had to buy them when I needed them and then when I needed them again "it's too late baby, now." I hate being right. About 45 years ago crackers sat next to my alarm clock on the night stand. Nine months or so later they were back in the cupboard and became a go to accompaniment to a bowl of Campbells tomato soup, or still the occassional tummy upset.

As this 'second season in a row that I have not paddled' begins to close I have come to accept that I no longer crave a kayak. After 15 years of needing to chase every paddle I now accept this change. The feel of a summer afternoon on my skin and the scent of the river at dusk no longer makes my blood tingle with the need to be in a boat.

Surrounding myself with things I love makes me happy. The thoughtful arrangement of trinkets, tools, and toys (!) makes the ordinary everyday a celebration. And finding reasons to celebrate in these crazy times is essential to my mental health. To create beautiful insulation from the ugly reality while practicing self care and not going so far as to become a Long Island Edith is a difficult battle for balance.