Well Look at What I Found

By Joshua Sipkin

Tuesday | January 19, 2022

It’s always the last place you look, isn’t it, that thing you so desperately seek. Found it last night in South River, New Jersey, because of course that’s where it was. 

 

Always the last place you look. 

 

The moon was stunning Monday evening, arresting even, as it began its rise in the central Jersey sky having suddenly appeared as the most welcomed pop-in guest of all time. Low enough to reach out and touch - could have sworn so - flawlessly round, wide and bright. That dapper yellow of Baskin-Robbins vanilla. It was perfect. 

 

Dinner, with the groceries procured over the course of two hours and five locations because life is too short to eat something less, would have to wait. The moon needed to be chased.

 

Didn’t know a secret spot so just started driving toward that aforementioned hamlet, thinking it was a bit darker and made for better viewing. River Road, has anyone noticed there’s always a River Road, had fabulous sightlines with its elevation and barren trees. But there was no place to park and Jersey drivers just love to tailgate. Couldn’t stop. Couldn’t slow down. 

 

Nothing like being in front of a Jersey driver to make you feel like Anakin Skywalker speeding through nightlife on Coruscant.    

 

Still chasing, made a random turn and came upon the cemetery on a hill across from which was an empty field bisected by a narrow road. Pulled to the side, turned off the ignition and rolled down the window to gaze at the natural wonder. 

 

Silent awe, blissful stillness. 

 

Another car came by and turned onto that small road, lights off. Noticed another beside it. Others captured by the same thing. And by the light of the moon realizing a bond with people never to be met or known. 

 

Goodness, we’re all so the same. 

 

It was then the jog came and remembered some new friends had recently mentioned their secret spot. Let’s go. This time had to plug in the GPS but four minutes later found that spot, along with the elusive, exclusive jewel from the opening sentence. 

 

The moon, now a little higher and a little less OMG but only a little, was still incredible. But then I remembered why I remembered. Because there, perched up on that hill at the far end of a parking lot, overlooking a baseball field (because the universe somehow always brings you back to your first love) and far out on the horizon, were the unmistakable flickering lights of New York City, glimmering regally in the distance.

The eternal muse doing muse things. 

 

Those streets will make you feel brand new. Those big lights will inspire you. Even from 41 miles away. Guess you always can go home again. 

 

You just have to know where to find it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Magnificent Mirage

By Joshua Sipkin

Tuesday | March 17, 2020

It was a few minutes before 7 p.m. when I left my apartment for the first time in 24 hours. Probably closer to 29 but, for now at least, that’s just a triviality. Hangovers and bad weather weekends kept this from being record hibernation time but for lots of reasons, shared by us all, this one felt much longer. But there was trash to take out, bottles to recycle, and fresh air to breathe. 

On the way downstairs sounds of idle chatter coming from another apartment suddenly were significant. Made so perhaps by heightened senses dully sharpened from all that solitude. A lonesome pet picking up the sound of house keys two blocks away. Ah, other people are still alive. 

Greeting me upon reaching street level was the sight of various packages strewn about the base of the mailbox wall. Not one to snoop unless expecting something, for some reason I checked the names. Good thing, too, because sure enough one was for me. 

Que? What the heck is the Makeup Mall in New Hyde Park? Ohhh, must be the Fresh stuff I ordered off Amazon. Thought that was coming Thursday. Cool. Two extra days then, of their wonderful Age-Delay Eye Concentrate. Ironic, isn’t it, to be so excited about turning back time while desperately wishing it forward. To whenever all this becomes history.

Checked the mail, just in case. Junk, for this or that. Forget a global pandemic, nuclear obliteration could come yet those direct mail placards would still show up in our mailbox. Neither snow nor rain nor mushroom cloud. 

Then noticed my New York Times hadn’t been delivered. Oh yeah, it’s Tuesday. It never comes on Tuesday. 

Stepping outside was bizarre, most noticeably because of the genuine happiness in seeing cars and buses roll by. Just a smattering but still, nice to see. It is astounding to grasp the normalcy we barely notice. 

Those precious moments of placidity lasted till the corner, where stood the wine shop merchant passing paper bag pickup orders through the bars of his shuttered gates. Sobering. 

Crossed the street and walked into the familiar corner deli, looking to see if they had any paper products. But first had to play matador to get out of the way of the barreling, hooded, sunglassed, putting-his-earphones-in man self-importantly barking to the cashier that his boss was on the phone and he was going outside to take the call. Some things never change. 

Got napkins and tissues before heading down the block for a fountain soda Diet Coke. Can’t stop, won’t stop, how stop? 

The serenity of the street, and how’s that for more irony, was immediately interrupted by Mr. Phone Call pacing and shouting. Some things never change. 

But then I looked across the way and stopped in my tracks, taken in by the stunning sight before my eyes. 

Perfectly not making sense in a world not making sense, with the calendar still saying winter, against the contrast of urban backdrop, amid its still barren neighbors, stood a bright tree in full bloom. And in that split second everything was alright, even if just for a moment. 

It was a sight for sore eyes, a salve for sore spirits, and it was a reason to smile. It was a sign of spring and spring means hope and hope springs eternal. Even if a few avenues west there was no parade today. Even if a few miles north and east there will not be baseball in a couple of weeks. Even if, well who knows what else if. And who wants to think about it. It was a reminder of all that once was good and could be again. Will be again. 

The photo proves it was there, this lighthouse guiding the city ship. But it would be easy to believe this tree planted itself just for that trip to the store. Easy to believe nobody else saw it. Easy to believe it isn’t there right now. Easy to believe it was a mirage, a rose in the desert. 

Nothing quite as uplifting, or beautiful, as a rose.  

The Heart Among Hearts

By Joshua Sipkin

Perhaps because of his youth. Perhaps because of his exuberance. Or perhaps because he was such a good guy. Though not in that cliched, perfunctory way of saying it. 

Craig Lichten was such a nice person. 

So it is likely all of the above why this one feels a lot sadder and why this one hurts with the pain of a thousand gut punches.

Craig, of course, wouldn’t have hurt a fly. In fact, he probably would have complimented the thing. 

“Cool wings, dude. Pretty awesome those eyes on top of your head.”

In recalling his knack for amassing people, Craig was eulogized as being an “instant friend.” Indeed. A stranger could approach him, introduce themselves and Craig would say something like, “You’re friends with someone who knows someone I know? Come on in!” 

Without judgment or pretense Craig welcomed all he encountered. You, whoever you were, could be yourself. Quirks, idiosyncrasies and all.

Because Craig, perhaps most impressively of all, was happy to be himself. Without doubt he would say he was lucky to be him. Quirks, idiosyncrasies and all. 

Attributes both rare and marvelous.

Adjectives we might otherwise use to describe a gem.