Anyone Can Whistle

Hello World, Happy Jewish New Year! If you haven't already wished all of your friends L'shana Tova, you're way behind schedule, because legions of the faithful were already ringing in the new year of 5773 on the 17th, and don't spare the latkes! The Holiday Police may quibble, but I always say there's no wrong time to wish everyone a bright shiny future filled with health, happiness and prosperity, whether you celebrate the New Year in September, January, February or at Samhain in November, along with the rest of the Druids, and I ought to know. So feel free to go ahead and kick up your heels, paint the town red, or trip the light fantastic wherever the whim takes you. You can tell the Holiday Police that I sent you. For anyone who wondered, my time at Jury Duty was interesting in its own way, and blissfully brief. I thought since I had already been there once before in 2000, it would be a piece of cake this time around, but when Bill and I made a rudimentary reconnaissance of the area on Sunday, we found that everything had changed in the meantime. For instance, we found the Juror parking with no trouble, but discovered too late that it was not the right lot for prospective jurors, only ones already assigned to current trials. That left me driving around in circles on Tuesday morning when I had to report, and taking my life in my hands crossing the streets from the municipal parking at the shopping center down the block. After navigating the security gauntlet in the courthouse, I discovered that they don't let you take the stairs in the building for safety reasons, and the lines for the elevators were enormous, or about what you would expect for a 19-story building in the heart of White Plains. I brought a few puzzle books with me to while away the hours, that were supposed to be fast and easy, so the fact that I was routinely stumped by their brain teasers was quite embarrassing, to say the least. Fortunately, there was a wide-screen TV in the juror break room, for those of us who wanted to keep up with the Kardashians, rather than challenging our poor addled brain cells (both of them, who I have renamed Oliver and Wendell for the occasion) with math riddles and word games. One big disadvantage to the building was a continuous high-pitched whistle everywhere you went in the hallways, perhaps related to the surveillance equipment, that was trying to be faint, but was still way too noticeable, and overly sensitive individuals would have run from the premises screaming. I can tell you that Oliver and Wendell didn't think much of it either. I was first called to be interviewed for a case involving a bar fight, where one of the combatants sued the bar owners, but luckily I was pulled out of there in the nick of time, and claimed as 2nd alternate in a different case - and while I can't tell you anything about the particulars, let's just say it was along the lines of "Miss Edna Flapdoodle sued the Town of Upper Crankcase when her prized Peke-a-poo, Confucius Bonaparte, stepped into some wet cement and ruined his expensive pedicure." My second day, which was the first day of the actual trial, we sat and listened to a steady stream of witnesses and experts, none of whom could seem to remember anything at all about the incident. We dutifully showed up the next day, prepared for another tiresome round of boring witnesses parading before us, but we were surprised to get some good news - the parties decided to settle instead, and we were all released with thanks. Not only that, they gave us all certificates and parting gifts, and let us go our merry way with a song in our hearts and the satisfaction of a job well done. The legendary Oliver Wendell Holmes would have been proud. Here is my favorite story from Jury Duty this time around. Once I was assigned to a case, I was allowed to park in the designated area of the gigantic parking garage across the street, which features a handy pedestrian bridge to the courthouse, although it is for employees only, with special access keys, and not open to the public. Crossing the street there is not for the faint-hearted, as it is 6 lanes wide, and the traffic is not only constant, but dangerously manic as well. It was on my last day that another juror enlightened me to the secret elevator in the corner of the parking garage, that somehow comes up right in the lobby of the courthouse, which is technically across a very wide street from the aforementioned parking garage where we started. When the doors opened, I just stood there gaping, with my mouth opening and closing, but no words coming out - wondering how they accomplished this particular special effect of an elevator that moved not only horizontally, but diagonally from the deepest recesses of the structure far across the street, and mysteriously ended up smack inside the courthouse lobby in one seamless motion. It reminded me of those capers from the old Mission Impossible TV series, where the bad guys would go into a phony building, and the IMF team would turn the whole building around, so when the poor schnooks came out again, and thought they were in the same place, they turned out to be somewhere completely different, and they had no idea what happened. It was a real Candid Camera moment for me in the lobby, I can tell you that. After my adventures in the justice system, we felt that it was time to go back to Cold Spring once again with our friends, or as the announcer used to declare ages ago on The Lone Ranger show, "Return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear," revisiting our first excursion to the area in 2009, when we loved everything about it, especially the sumptuous accommodations. Not so fast! One of our favorite hotels of all time, the incomparable Sierra Suites in Fishkill, had changed hands and become the Hyatt House instead, right out from under our very noses, and thanks ever so much not. We were still ready to give the new place a try and hope for the best, but it turned out that they had no vacancies for the weekend anyway. Our hearts sank, and it was with resignation that we opted for the Holiday Inn Express instead, and didn't dare to expect much, but we were pleasantly surprised. Although they had no gift shop, banquet rooms or business center, there was a very nice pool with hot tub, located in a tidy enclosure right off the lobby, as well as a small fitness center, and a bountiful new diner that is conveniently adjacent to the parking lot. We found Cold Spring much as we had left it, with a few changes here and there, but mostly the same motley assortment of shops, with just about anything in the world that might be weird, wacky or wonderful, and everything in between. Lengthy browsing through the shops can be overwhelming to the senses, and the village has thoughtfully provided plenty of benches to rest, and places to eat along the way, so tourists can restore their flagging spirits and continue their explorations with renewed vigor. Saturday was a sort of changeable day, but it didn't actually rain, and we spent hours traipsing up one side of street and down the other, enjoying the sights on every side and drinking it all in. We passed under the train tracks to the esplanade on the waterfront, where the sweeping views of the mighty Hudson River and majestic Hudson Highlands are worth the trip all by themselves. By late afternoon, we had worn ourselves out, and don't think that I haven't got the souvenirs to prove it, by golly. After a quick change, we took a chance on the Red Line Diner next to the hotel, and found it much to our liking, with a wide-ranging menu, friendly service and tasty food. Nothing tops off a long and busy day like cavorting in a pool, and we considered the hot tub to be just the proverbial icing on the cake, and glad of it. Sunday morning we availed ourselves of the hotel breakfast, which offered plenty of choices, although we found the seating area a little bit cramped for our tastes. Next stop was historic Mt. Tremper, to see the Kaatskill Kaleidoscope, which bills itself as the world's largest kaleidoscope near Woodstock, and is famous enough to have its own entry at wikipedia, so that tells you something right there. They will inform you that it was built in 1996 and located in a 60-foot silo at the Emerson Country Store along Route 28, although it's actually a lot harder to find than you would think it would be, and a wanton lack of signs would make casual tourists drive right past the place without a second thought, even with the most elaborate GPS technology right at their fingertips. Unfortunately, you don't actually get to see the kaleidoscope work for real, but they do present an entertaining video show of kaleidoscope images with music accompaniment in its place. We agreed that the best part of all was The KaleidoStore, where the engaging staff will show you their astonishing variety of very expensive kaleidoscopes, of every imaginable description, and for those of us whose last experiences with them were cardboard tubes full of plastic baubles, it was certainly an eye-opener in more ways than one, believe me. These remarkable beauties will dazzle you with their interplay of light, color and reflection, in infinite combinations that thrill and delight at every turn. Nowadays, deluxe kaleidoscopes are lovingly hand-crafted by renowned designers whose names are as revered by aficionados, as sports heroes are to the hometown fans. I could have watched those things all day, and we hated to tear ourselves away. You can also have lunch in the cafe while you're there, and on a beautiful day like Sunday, dining al fresco on their patio would be a real treat. But wait, there's more! Besides the homey charm of The Country Store itself, the establishment also boasts a plethora of antique shops bunched together along a cozy hallway, with just about anything you could think of, and many that you couldn't possibly, no matter how hard you tried - as well as contemporary apparel, jewelry, cosmetics, and organic personal care products to please the most discerning customers. After our fill of kaleidoscopes, snacks and antiques for one day, it was finally time to bid our fond farewells and head for home. We noticed on our way out that the area seemed familiar, and turned out to be on the other side of the road from the charmingly quaint Catskill Mountain Railroad that we had visited way back in 2004, and had so much fun on their short tourist railway along the scenic Esopus Creek - and which certainly explained all of the train whistles we had been hearing while we were there. For a town that no one's ever heard of, there's a lot to do in this one small corner of the hinterlands, and that train's not just whistling Dixie, Casey Jones. We stopped for dinner at Denny's in Newburgh, where they whipped up all of our favorites, and just as good as ever. The trip home was uneventful, and less traffic than we expected on a Sunday night. We arrived home tired but happy, brimming with all of our memories and souvenirs from our travels. Our cats met us with their trademark indifference, which at least provides reassurance that we haven't somehow stumbled into the wrong house by mistake, where those other cats are actually glad to see their human companions, and that's also not just the Druids whistling Dixie, Confucius Bonaparte. Elle