In a Beautiful Place

Let me say that basically I am an optimistic person. Not, I think, to the point of being unreasonably sanguine on every subject, but I tend to have a good time even when bad things are happening. I've had my share of tragedy and stress over the years, but somehow I remain upbeat.

That's why it isn't extraordinary that I love my new life in New Paltz. But something has come over me. I look around as I drive through the beautiful spring-green surroundings--from one event or meeting to the next, inhaling the fragrance of fresh-mown grass--and the realization hits me: I am happier than I have been in years.

My daughter persuaded me to make the move a few months ago. I  had finally accepted that the tiny apartment I had bought in Hoboken was inadequate for my life. Pretty and well-decked out with amenites, it was too small at 530 sq. feet to have more than one couple over at a time, a bit of an awkward location as I had to walk everywhere, and my arthritic knees were getting worse; and then there was Hurricane Sandy, which wiped out the summer clothes and the hot water heater I had in the basement. I was thinking about relocating in Hoboken to a bigger place--which would be a bigger monthly payout whether bought or rented. I was ready to do it.

The real difference was that it was my daughter who wanted me. She really wanted me nearer, and as long as I was sure I would move, it was enormously appealing to move where I was wanted. Hoboken had been pleasant. I had met some very congenial, interesting people--but the town hadn't put its arms around me. Alison and her family, my wonderful grandsons, her new partner and his wonderful 20-year-old son, honestly wanted me nearby. I liked the area and had always admired New Paltz out the bus window when I visited them in Kingston. It was reason enough to make the move.

So I packed up and moved December 1. After being here a couple of months Alison, knowing my fondness for Buster Keaton, urged me to attend a matinee of The Cameraman at the Rosendale Theatre one Saturday. She said she loved attending movies at The Rosendale, and that it was run by volunteers who seemed to be my type of people.  My experience at that event was so heartwarming that I wrote a blogpost about it.

If you scroll through this blog at the posts since then you'll see how important The Rosendale has become in my life. I've been to meetings, joined committees, had lunches--and even helped a virtuoso actor a little with his one-man show. And I'm on a team producing a fund-raising festival of one-act plays next month.

I'm back in love--this time with a place, with a mood, with a raft of projects. Spring came, and with its melted snow, a happy feeling of anticipation. My grandsons are big, strapping boys with plans and hopes, Alison is conquering her own world, and I wake up feeling better than I have in years.

I'm adding years to my life, too. Just ask my doctor. My knees are improved (not so much pounding of the pavement, more hours at the gym), and I've reduced my intake of cookies and cake. Who needs them? I'm feasting on well-being.