Did you know how important taverns were in the foundation of the United States? One might say they were monumental. In the Green Dragon Tavern Sam Adams (yes you can guess the name from the beer) plotted the Boston Tea Party. The Indian Queen in Philadelphia had elements of the Declaration drafted in it by Thomas Jefferson. Fraunces Tavern in Manhattan hosted George Washington’s emotional farewell to his officers.
In a small town called Tappan, there’s a Revolutionary Tavern called “The 76 House”. Established in 1754, it played a key role in the Orangetown Resolutions- a respectful notice (2 years before the draft of the Declaration of Independence) to King George III that enough was enough. It maintains it’s tavern like status today with an OLD bar and the decor of colonial America. You can order up some grub and see the area which housed Major John Andre- a British spy- who worked in hand with that dreaded traitor Benedict Arnold for the hand over of West Point- before he hung on a hill out back. The Great George Washington himself had been in and out here several times with stay at the DeWint House. A 5 minute stroll from the Tavern.
Taverns were a place of gathering, much like today. A place to gossip and find out news. Back then, they created a national unity, a network for the 13 colonies to correspond. Now… well- I guess it’s pretty much the same with the exception of TV’s, 225 years and 50 independent states.
Walking into a place like this is much like stepping back in time. There’s nothing like the feel of aged wood, gettin the vibe from such happenings, having a drink or two. I will need to revisit this place with my computer to write- WHEN the gout is better. Be well, be merry, and for God Sakes, have a drink on me!
I’ve read some 2 million people are effected by Gout in the United States. Unfortunately, I”m one of them. About 5 years ago I had my first attack on a weekend at work. I went in feeling fine, and by the end of my shift I could barely walk- as quick as that. It was the big toe and it was sheer agony.
In April, I had my second attack. It swelled my ankle and drove me to the doctor. I’d forgotten the first bout and was quickly reminded. Turned out I needed to watch what I ate (NO rich foods, and lessen the alcohol). The diet is a main part.
Friday night- 2am- I woke with a POUNDING sensation in my right foot. I knew exactly this time and went immediately to the computer to research how I’d overcome this painful situation. I had to work the entire weekend and was to be on my feet for a good 16 hours between days. When your toe winces at the feel of a bed sheet- you know you’re in for a wicked day.
For those of you who don’t have Gout, I might describe it like being in a medievel torture chamber with one of those iron spikes attached to a metallic plate. The edge of the spike is mounted beneath your foot and against your skin. You’re hung above it and every so often the “executioner”, or whoever holds the rope, lowers you on to the spike. Your entire weight slowly pressing it into the joint of your foot. This pleasant picture came to me this morning when I drove my weakened foot into the brake pedal to stop my speeding car. After struggling through yesterday, I damn near went through the roof this morning when I needed to put on the shoe to contain the swollen thing.
I’m not one to call out of work and I believed in my minds mind, I could do it again today up until the SHOE needed to go on. After that point, I knew I had to “tough” it out, at least for a few hours until I could hopefully get someone to replace me- besides I was in the presence of my son. After he heard a few grunts and winces I couldn’t conceal, he asked if I was ok. I said, “yea, sometimes no matter how much pain we’re in we gotta tough it out, work through the pain, make an effort to SHOW others you’re trying and at least do the best to get through. More resect is earned this way.
I read a wonderful article forwarded me. It was about the “Entitled” generation, and how people nowadays expect it’s their every right to deserve appraise and sit back on their tuffs to collect money and respect without work. It comes from parents who spoiled their kids with the unlimited credit card money people have come to expect. (we ARE in a recession aren’t we??) Don’t people realize the credit cards NEEDS to be paid back?! Anyways, all the kids got prizes because no one believed in “hurt feelings” and competition was thrown out the window. Everyone got gifts and learned to expect it, then all the sudden they hit a wall when they became 18 and don’t know how the HELL to handle it! They couldn’t believe there were people who could say NO to them. The college kids felt that piece of paper meant they didn’t need to get in the trenches and work. For those out there who might be young and reading this, understand, no real life situation works that way. Life itself you gotta work at. I thought my trudging to work today barely able to walk would serve two purposes- 1) a lesson for my young son and 2) a sign to other co-workers, this guy isn’t one of THOSE guys I just mentioned.
Now, how I got off on this tangent I don’t know. Point is if you’re in a situation where something gets to you (medical, emotional, optical, whatever), first analyze WHAT is the root cause. If you can’t find an immediate cure, DON’T give up and accept there is none, there’s always SOMETHING. Set examples for others!
In this case, distraction served well and when it came down to treatment- the internet helped along with a change in diet. TIME is ALWAYS an issue, so I’ll just wait patiently and accept the fact I want to KEEP my foot and walk normally again some day.
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I’ve always been a great believer in irony and the way it churns itself into the creative machine. Only yesterday, I read an article in the New York Times on the influence of the sour economy on fashion. Turns out some of these “Fat Cats” who have been happy with the norm of bringing in money and not working to do so, have gotten so lazy others have jumped the line. The recession has weeded out the followers (through cuts in employment) and there’s been a jump in creativity, not just in fashion but all creative fields. The angst between classes, especially those who have little money is great and those who need to make money becomes even stronger. The desire to KEEP jobs OR make more becomes crucial. Those who have been happy to sit, watch and get fat find themselves behind the eight ball. In times of great crisis- there comes a movement of spirits- which knows only one direction- climbing free. The shakeout is happening, and if you ask me- it’s about time.
Theodore Roosevelt once said, “Far better is it to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in a gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat.” Each of those triumphs can be measured in small spaces of time, small steps which accumulate and build stairways, whose infrastructures are housed in great monuments, that add to the culture of cities on the edge. Cities that make states, and countries noticeable by it’s inhabitants. In the age of Impressionism, Paris (which was the primary city most notable artists emerged from) was in the throngs of great change. Much like our country is experiencing. A need to change the infrastructure creates passionate voices that must be heard. It’s a fight between familiarity and the foreign; those people open to change, and those who are not.
As a child, my visions of New York City were grim. They were painted by my father- a great story teller who worked in Hells Kitchen (not the program with Gordon Ramsey) and his powerfully paused voice to invoke horror on unimaginable levels. He was passionate about “tale telling” and found joy in scaring the “bejesus” out of us. Movies like “Fort Apache the Bronx” didn’t help, but also deterred me from EVER entering the the upper end of the five Boros.
Within the past year, since I moved to the area, I’ve had clients and neighbors from the Bronx and my opinion has changed. It’s opened up like that first terrifying trip into Manhattan to work. A will to change a foreign world into a familiar one. I took a giant leap today to that deep and dark place memorialized in horror as a young boy- da Bronx.
Thirty years of unfamiliarity, worries of loss on strange foreign streets, directed by a riddle of signs so dense one seems to be the polar opposite of another. A city where “slowness” is un-accepted and regularly leads to jams on horns or flying fingers- even cars with New York plates aren’t given mercy; irony in all forms. On the upper end of Manhattan, General- and once President- Ulyssis S. Grant is buried. I was told the place which was once a mecca of impression is over grown. It’s monumental construction, a lost piece of history except to those who find lessons hidden away in places which have now become obscured.
I’ve lived my entire life in New Jersey up until just over a year ago, but today I was guided by the safety it was only thirty minutes from here; the Bronx Zoo. I imagined nothing like this could ever exist or occupy a space in such a LARGE city. That was my first perception of Central Park also. The zoo appeared plopped in the middle of the great urban and concrete jungle. It’s fences, some of which bordered busy interstate highways were topped with barbed wire. The houses, which became obscured by dense forestation, were there. It was in these conditions I could see how a creative soul could make a movie like “Madagascar”. The comedy is evident and the characters their own personalities. It struck me when I walked through that amazing place- I’m a New Yorker.
I find courage with my new domain and I took an adventure into the once scary unknown. Adults remember change in environment, especially drastic change. As I looked into the face of a male Silverback Gorilla who made it’s way across the jungle created “box” and leaned it’s back against the glass only inches from my own, I could see the sadness in it’s face. A majestic beast whose human look saw more than playing children; it saw loss; pain; a wildly tamed mentality- a neutered ape that twiddled a stick between it’s fingers. Behind a thick layer of glass, he’d turn to glare into his created landscape much like my own retreat into my imagination. With a lack of speech, he spilled it out in his eyes. It was a moment; one I knew he had no choice in. One to live as a caged gorilla, doing the best he could outside of his true environment.
The adventure lasted the entire day. I walked through places which invoked stories told to me by my Dad; of jungles and mosquito nets, poisoned fangs and warthog teeth, of treehouse hotels, and mysterious stone monuments, of stick bugs the size of TRUCKS (exaggeration was ALWAYS a potent effect). All the sudden, I realized I was in a place more familiar than any town I ever lived in. I was home…..