My favorite view Dec. 10, 2023
My favorite view
Dec. 10. 2023
We found a new place to go to for our walk to the cliffs
overlooking the Hudson River and Manhattan, a small porch below the monument park
in the town where Burr shot Hamilton, although a section further north from where
the shooting took place.
During the summer of COVID, we took daily walks from our
house to the overlook, settling into a park still further north along the promenade.
These days, these walks come once a week, after our food
shopping on Saturdays, a slow stroll from out of the town where we reside and
into the la la land of the superrich.
This has always been my favorite view in the world, something
I first saw at age 6 when Selma, my mother’s best friend, drove down the
Boulevard towards the newly opened Lincoln Tunnel for a Christmas trip to New
York City, the sparkling lights of the Manhattan skyline magnificent even then.
Years later, as a teen, I tried to catch the New York City
bound bus from my house on Crooks Avenue that took Route 46 east and came down
this road as the alternative route from the one Hank and I took through the slaughter
houses in Secaucus.
Because we refused to be made prisoners in our own home
during the summer of COVID and refused to wear face coverings while out of
doors, we sought places where we could go and not be intimidated by authorities,
forcing people to comply, including the mayor of our town which mandated people
wear masks in or out of doors. This meant to get to the waterfront, we had to
walk up streets in the neighboring town which did not have such ludicrous
requirements, sometimes walking along the street that bordered our town.
Once to the waterfront, we settled onto benches along one
overlook, trying to ignore the ominous omens of circling hawks and vultures settling
on the branches of trees along the cliff side.
These days, only the most brain dead still wear masks, and
authorities do not require them in or out of doors and so we boldly walk
through the streets of our town, to and from the waterfront, passing the
historic water tower and other familiar landmarks.
For some reason, before, during and after COVID, the porch
we go to these days had been locked, apparently in need of repair that federal COVID
money eventually brought about (since the feds threw money around like confetti,
most of which had nothing to do with battling the dreaded virus).
Finding it open, we descended the steps from the upper park –
which also included a strange umbrella like piece of art, and settled onto
benches, where we could look out at the river, searching for cruise ships that
were restricted from sailing during COVID. Yesterday, the berths were empty,
and a heavy haze hung over the whole skyline, an unpleasant reminder of yet
another national tragedy, 911.
The skyline has changed dramatically from the one I viewed
as a kid or a teen, sillier cartoon-like towers that clutter the waterfront and
testify to the changing nature of our city and our lives, and yet, as silly as
it looks, it still draws me, especially in the evenings when the lights come on.
I’ve even forgiven the Empire State Building’s recent light show dedicated to
that God-awful band, Kiss, the lights being far more art than the band could
ever produce.
Walking home again brought back the reality of our world as
we transitioned from super wealthy to super poor, passed the old hotel (once grand
then a drug den, and finally housing for senior citizens), several churches,
new coffee shops, the old liquor store, the supermarket parking lot – all of it
more than a little gritty, even when new, especially the classic stone bank
building which is now abandoned (set for redevelopment) but had the unfortunate
establishment date of 1928 etched on its corner stone.
While I have lived other places in my life, this will be my
last place, and this is fitting since it is the place I came to on my way to
New York City, aching for a view that has since become a significant part of my
daily and weekly life (I see the lights of the skyline glowing as I travel the
light rail to and from those places I still cover as a reporter).
It was and remains my favorite view.
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