Falling Waters Preserve

Alternate Title:  Google Maps Still Hates Me

Today is Black Friday.  There is not enough money in the world to make me go near a mall or shopping center today.  I don't care how fantastic the deals are supposed to be.  I went once a few years ago with my mother, and some woman practically knocked me down in her effort to yank a salt and pepper set out of my hands.  A salt and pepper shaker set!  I have no desire to deal with that level of overzealous shopping insanity ever again.

Also, it was absolutely beautiful out today!  Temperatures in the mid 60s at the end of November?  There is no reason to stay inside and let such a day go to waste.

So I decided to go on an adventure.  The destination: Falling Waters Preserve.  I had never been there before, and the name just sounded really cool.  (Yup.  That was the entirety of my decision-making process.)

You might be wondering what Google Maps has to do with all of this since there are clearly directions on the website. You're correct, there are directions.  But I'm not coming from Saugerties, so I needed different directions.  Google Maps has been behaving itself of late, so I decided to rely on them.  The drive should only take about 35 minutes. 

I had a rough idea of where I had to go.  The beginning went swimmingly, as Google Maps was in agreement with the general direction I knew I needed to be heading.   Until it wasn't....well, not really.

Friends, you would be forgiven for wondering what the hell is wrong with me for blindly following Google Maps when it has tried to lure me to my death, gotten me very lost taken me to some unexpected destinations in the past.  I assumed it was just taking me the "less traffic route", and I went with it.  It did recognize Falling Waters Preserve as a place when I entered it in, so I figured I would get there eventually.

Bad, bad mistake.

The silver lining to this little trip was that it wasn't on dodgy dirt roads, and was conveniently located around the main road near my brother's old house.  If I got completely lost I already knew how to get home.  Bonus!

So I followed Google Maps.  It was a pretty drive.  I remember noticing a sign that said "Arthritis Hurts" on the way up, but I didn't get to read the rest of it.  Probably true, although it was odd to announce on a sign. This will become relevant later, I promise.

The street must have changed names about 12 times while I was driving.  Somehow in the middle of all this I missed whatever turn Google Maps had wanted me to take.  I eventually wound up on Main Street in Saugerties -- north of where I was supposed to be.  Also, for no reason I could ascertain, Google Maps had gone silent.  My phone was not on silent.  It was hooked up to my car, so Google Maps should have been announcing all of the turns to me through the freaking blue-tooth connection, but it wasn't.  Google was giving me the silent treatment.  I was trying to make all of these turns  while driving and checking the screen.  Not fun..and probably not terribly safe, either.

Finally, Google gets us turned around and going back basically the same way we just came. (When I say "us" and "we", I mean Google and myself.  No one else was with me.)  This time I actually found the street it wanted me to turn on.  The sign was bent and hard to read, which is probably why I missed it the first go-round.

I'm driving down the street, and I notice I am coming to a dead-end at a closed gate.  A closed gate with a big sign that says Private Property.

Damn it, Google Maps!  What have you done to me this time?

Apparently it took me to the wrong end of the property.  Not the first time this has happened.  Also, it would appear, not the only time GPS has failed to get people to the correct location.  There is actually a sign by the gate saying that you need to go south to York (Street?  Road?  Didn't specify.) to get to the entrance of Falling Waters Preserve.  Fantastic.

So I pull back out onto the road I was just on, and I start heading South, looking for a street called York.  I was mad at my co-pilot, so Google was being ignored since I didn't have time to reprogram it and it wanted to send me back to the wrong place again.

I knew I had once again gone too far, this time going South, when I passed the "Arthritis" sign. Okay.  Time to find somewhere to pull over before I ended up back down in my brother's old neighborhood. I found a convenience store and pulled into their parking lot.  

How am I going to find this place?  It should not be this difficult.  My phone was for crap, and it wouldn't let me pull up the Scenic Hudson website to get the actual street address.  I literally typed in "York Street" in Google Maps and hoped it came up with something that looked to be in approximately the right area.

Success!  York Street found, and I once again set off following Google's directions.

"Arthritis Hurts

Jesus Can Still Heal"

And on trip number 3 past the Arthritis sign I now knew it was for a church.  Fun times.

Finally, I found the place.  It took and hour and a half to reach a destination that should have taken about 35 minutes.  Oh, Google. This is the kind of thing that makes me less than confident in our relationship.  There has to be trust for this to work, and you make it so hard to trust you at times.

It really was beautiful, and worth the effort to find it.  I took some pictures for you, Friends.

I took the Upland Trail first, since it said there was a waterfall at the northern end.  I do love waterfalls.

Main trail

Statue bordering the trail, next to private property

Waterfall at the northern end of the trail

Smaller waterfall along the trail

Trail's end.  Literally stops at a cliff.

Instead of just going back the way I came, I took the Riverside Trail.  It was supposed to have several shoreline overlooks.  They were very pretty, but I found other things of interest as well.

Trail along the shoreline

Bench at one of the scenic overlooks

Fungi

Tree stump.  There were a lot of trees that had fallen down or been damaged.

I don't know why this drew my attention, but it did.  It looks like a fairy's house...and I have a really active imagination.

Last was the Father C. Jorn Trail.  It is the shortest trail, but it has an interesting story.  To quote the park guide:

Once the road to a riverfront icehouse, the trail passes the preserve's southern waterfall, then parallels the stream until it enters the Hudson.  Its name honors Father Charles Jorn (1906-2002), longtime chaplain at the Dominican Sisters' Sparkhill infirmary.  While vacationing here each October for 39 years, he spent every day except Sunday clearing trails and creating a park around the icehouse remains--using only a machete and rake.  The trail follows the route he walked to reach his "work".

Rest area near the southern waterfall

Along the Hudson

The ground was covered with these things along the water's edge

Waves in action

Shoreline

Short video of the southern waterfall, shot with Boomerang so it looks like it goes back and forth

I did not use Google Maps on the way back.  I actually knew where I was going by this point.  I did not need to go on another hour-long odyssey at that point.

Oh, and on the 4th trip past the Arthritis sign, I finally got to read the entire thing:

Arthritis Hurts

Jesus Can Still Heal

Right Here

Underneath were the times for Sunday services.  

What did we learn today, Friends?

1) Nature is beautiful, and it's worth the effort to get out and enjoy it.  (We already knew that, but it is always important to remember.)

2) Google Maps is still a fickle and unreliable co-pilot.  

3) If you have arthritis pain and really want it healed, you should go find this church on Route 32. Apparently they can make you feel better.

Last Night I Went to Bed at 9 pm

**I wrote this last night (Friday night).  Forgive me if it is a mess, Friends.  I wanted to keep it as I was actually feeling at the time, free from editing after the fact.  I wasn't actually going to post this -- it was meant just to get it out of my system.  A private diary entry, if you like.  Then I thought that maybe it would actually be of help for other people to see, maybe they were reacting the same way.  Or maybe it won't.  I don't know, but I decided it wouldn't hurt to post it either way.**

I went to bed tonight at 9 pm.  If you know me, you will know that is obscenely early for me.  I'm normally "early" if I'm in bed by midnight.

I went to bed because I was done.  My ability to cope with horrific shit and stress had been maxed out.  I knew I was done because I was freezing cold even with the heat turned up and snuggled under a blanket.  Nothing was getting me warm.

I went to bed because I don't have a television in my bedroom.  I could set my alarm for work tomorrow, put my phone on "silent", and shut it out of sight in the drawer of my nightstand.  I needed to turn the world off.

I was at the local community college for an appointment this morning when it all started.  I was waiting for a meeting when I saw the breaking news that another college -- about a mile or so away as the crow flies -- was on lock-down due to threats made on Twitter.  Several hours later a  teenager would be arrested for making the threats.  (note: link to article added today 11/15/15)

I went on to work, bringing my coworker a cake for his birthday.  I had decorated it with little skull sprinkles as a joke since it was Friday the 13th.

Not so cute or funny now

The afternoon at work was problems from the word go.  Clusterf%*k -- that's a pretty accurate description of the shit-storm that went on all afternoon.  If it could go wrong, it pretty much did.  I was stressed out, crabby, and exhausted by the end of the day.  I was leaving knowing that 90% of those problems were going to be waiting for me when I got to work the next day.

I got home to relax and call my parents.  My older cat, Wiz kid, had an emergency trip to the vet on Thursday when she seemed to suddenly have two seizures.  The only good news I heard today was that her blood work came back fine.  She doesn't appear to be sick, it's probably just arthritis...and she needs to go on a kitty diet.  No sign of a larger problem unless she has another episode.  I wanted to call my parents and tell them the good news.  I had time to see one nice post on Twitter.

Then my Twitter stream turned to Paris.  Everything was Paris.  It was like everyone got out of work simultaneously and saw the horror unfolding.

I immediately turned on the news as I had no idea what was happening.  

Heartbreaking.

And then I watched.  I watched the news, I kept checking Twitter.

I watched hoping that someone, somewhere, would say that the numbers were wrong.  So many innocent people hadn't died, or that the hostages were safe.

But the numbers kept going up.  The only ray of light in the darkness was the humanity of the Parisians themselves -- opening their homes to the people trying to get to safety, taxi drivers turning off their lights and giving people free rides.  Sparks of human decency and kindness in the midst of the tragedy unfolding.  

Three hours.  Three solid hours I was glued to the news and Twitter.  I didn't eat dinner because I had lost my appetite.  It didn't seem important at all considering what was unfolding in Paris.

And an earthquake and possible tsunami in Japan!  The world was a mess.

My relentless absorption of the news, and reading other about other less-publicized horrors that had happened (like in Beirut), was only interrupted by a work problem.  I was actually glad for the distraction, even if it was going to add to the problems I would have to deal with the next day.

I knew I had to stop.  I was done.  No matter whether I was watching or not, the news wasn't going to change.  It would, probably, only get worse.  No amount of information was going to make it better.  Over 100 people in Paris were dead because they had gone out to dinner, or to a concert.

There is no understanding that because it should never happen, anywhere in the world.  I felt soul-sick and heartbroken for the world.

I wasn't ready to start hearing all of the politicians weighing in, or the hate-fueled comments about the refugees (who are trying to escape these types of situations), or to hear how we should start bombing other countries and killing even more people to solve the problem.

So I went to bed.

I went to bed to snuggle with my two cats, happy that they were both healthy.

I went to bed because I would wake up in the morning, and I was pretty damn sure all of my loved ones would wake up safe and sound as well.

I went to bed because I would wake up.  I would get to go to work.  There might be problems and stress, but that was insignificant in the greater scheme of things.

I would wake up.  I would go to work.  I would get to help people.  Maybe not in life-altering ways, but at least a little.

I would get to do all of these things that so many people would never get to do again.

I went to bed in silence.  Normally I listen to music to drift off to sleep.  I couldn't bring myself to do that.  So many people had been attacked and died just going to a concert.  I love going to concerts.  It seemed wrong.

I went to bed.  I curled up in my covers and I wrote this.

And it won't change any of the horrible things that happened in the world today.  It won't even alleviate all of the problems I will have to deal with at work.

But it might help me feel a little better, get it all out of my system.  And if I feel a little better then maybe I can be more helpful to others, a little kinder and gentler to the world.  Maybe that will spread to others, even a little bit.  It won't magically restore anyone's faith in humanity, but maybe it will seem a bit nicer.

The world could use a little more love and kindness, especially in the face of so much hurt and hate.

So I went to bed.

In Which I Have a Ridiculous Theory

Hi, Friends.

I know, it's been a while since I bothered to update here.  I suck.  Let's all just agree on that and move on, okay?

So, weird things have been afoot around here lately, and it kind of led me to a ridiculous and totally implausible theory.  It's absolute nonsense, but it amuses me and hopefully will amuse you as well.  Maybe not -- I don't know.  It's a long story, so grab yourself your beverage of choice and snuggle in, because this is going to take a while.  (And if you get bored, stop reading.  I will never know the difference.)

Need a bit more convincing?  The other title I almost went with for this post:  Like I'm Living in a Weird Bermuda Triangle.  Does that make it more enticing?

Let us begin.

My ridiculous theory: I'm starting to think my street has taken on the status of an imaginary place.

Lately, it's almost as if people have collectively decided to pretend that my house, and even my entire street, no longer exists -- or maybe we are under some kind of mystical field that only lets our presence be noted at certain times.  You know, like Hamunaptra in the movie The Mummy, except we are nowhere near as fancy or important.

Let me try to explain the weirdness.  I promise I haven't gone off the deep end.  I just like my crazy theory better than whatever the mundane explanation eventually turns out to be.

It all started with the postal service, of all things.  At first I thought it was just me and that the post office had some secret vendetta against me.  I had been waiting for a few things to come in the mail, and they all should have arrived long ago -- the most important was my car registration and my loan payment book, amongst a few other things.  I eventually got my car registration, and I can't even blame the post office for how long that took.  I'm sure the great state of New York played a role in its delay as well.  My loan book showed up after the first payment was due, and looked like it had come to me via Alaska.  Other things never arrived at all.

I chalked it up to just being a weird glitch in the system.  That was followed by quite a few days where I got absolutely no mail at all.  Nada.  No junk mail, no seasonally popular political mailings, nothing.  I'm not counting the holidays, either.

That might not seem too strange.  It's not.  The weird part was the mail that I did receive.

I have gotten mail addressed to a gentleman who hasn't lived here in over 20 years.  He's not even the previous owner that I bought the house from.  I know he lived here at some point because he wrote his name in the cement in the cellar floor.

He gets mail.  I don't.

I've also gotten mail addressed to a Walgreens pharmacy.  I readily admit my love for Walgreens, and I stop in there way too often.  My house is not now, nor has it ever been, a Walgreens pharmacy.  I also do not live in Freedom Plains, so I really don't understand how this wound up in my mailbox.

Already delivered to a different wrong address!

The address is not even remotely close to mine....well, the part of the address that is even there.  The return address on the back was for some health science lab near Albany.  This I get delivered to my house?  I did not open it, of course.  It's none of my business.  I put it back out so it can continue its magical voyage through the postal system.  Who knows where it has been, or what exciting destination it may visit next!  I just hope it's not something important, like someone's prescription for desperately needed medication.

Side note:  Friends, if your pharmacist tells you that they never received your prescription -- don't bite their head off or assume they are incompetent.  That is doubly true if your prescription is going through the mail.  It might well be on a magical mystery tour of its very own.

Why was this happening?  Had I somehow pissed off the postal service?  I didn't think I had.  I don't get a lot of large, heavy packages delivered.  I participate in their food drives. I even give them homemade cookies at Christmas time!  I'm a freaking awesome customer, damn it.  I did consider filing a complaint with the post office, but did I really want to piss them off?  Things were weird enough already.

I decided to ask one of my neighbors if they were having the same problem.  Friends, if you have been following along on my blog (or Facebook or Twitter) for any amount of time, you know that I have some interesting neighbors, and they like to be very involved in my life.  As the youngest person on my street, I think I somehow became their vicarious form of entertainment when I moved in.  I'm cool with that.  I'd rather have neighbors that are friendly, and chat, and keep an eye out for each other.  

Back to my point....

My neighbor tells me that her mail has been sketchy lately also.  At least it wasn't just me!  We decided that maybe we just had a temporary mailman while the normal dude was on vacation or something, and things were backlogged.

Then she told me the story  about her friend and her GPS.  That's when my ridiculous theory really started to form in my brain.

Her friend was coming to visit from out of the area and hadn't been here in a few years.  She was relying on her GPS to get her to her destination.  Apparently she drove most of the way here without needing directions.  When she got closer she tried to plug in the address and it told her that there was no such street.  Say what?  This is not a new street.  We are not in some fancy new development.  My house has been here since the 1930s.  The poor lady ended up having to park at a restaurant and call my neighbor to get directions.

Eventually they were united, and they tried to figure out what happened to the GPS.  Turns out the GPS did not believe our street existed in Poughkeepsie, but in the non-existent town of Arlington.  Arlington is a school district.  It is a fire district.  It is a "population center" in Poughkeepsie for the census data.  It is not a separate town.  Just ask Wikipedia.  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arlington,_New_York

I wonder if my mail is getting screwed up by this as well?  I have gotten some things with an address of Arlington, NY.  On the other hand, my brother had no problems with his GPS when he came to visit.  It knew my street existed.  

That, Friends, is the weirdness that has been going on lately.  I'm starting to think my street has taken on the status of an imaginary place.  Maybe it can only be found by people who already know it is here -- like Diagon Alley or 12 Grimmauld Place.  

I'd be totally cool with having wizards for neighbors, for the record.