There and Back Again: A Walkway Story

For those of you not from the North East, it has been a long winter this year.  We have had lots of snow, it has been very grey, and the "polar vortex" has visited way too many times this year.  On a day like today, when there is actually sunshine and the temperature is above freezing, everyone gets a raging case of Spring Fever and needs to get outside and do something.  It was almost 50 today (heatwave!), so I decided to go take a stroll on the Walkway Over the Hudson.  Many, many people had the same idea.

First tip for local people: the big free spot where people park?  Not plowed.  I was lucky to get a spot in the pay-parking lot.  I was cool with that as I am crap at parallel parking, which was the only other option.  I go to pay my $5 at the machine, and it isn't accepting cash.  Three of us tried.  Back to the car to get a credit card, as that option was working, and I had no desire to get a ticket or get back and find my car towed.

Finally make it out onto the Walkway, and see this lovely sign:

Work zone?  Well that made me a bit twitchy.  I have a thing about bridges.  When I was little I saw footage on television of a bridge collapsing in a flood, and all of the cars on it going into the water.  Many people drowned.  When we covered escaping from a car in the water during Driver's Ed.  in high school I was probably the most attentive student the teacher had ever seen.  I hate, hate, going over bridges in cars.  I'm better if I am driving and watching the road.  Low bridges are okay, bridges like the Brooklyn Bridge with lots of nice safe metal on the side are best.  I worry the entire time crossing the bridge that it is going to collapse, my car is going to go into the water and I am going to drown, and that will seriously piss me off because I am an excellent swimmer.  That's how my brain works, folks:  not worried about falling from a height, anything else falling in top of me, freezing cold water -- just that fact that I might not have a chance to swim away from it.  

The Walkway doesn't bother me as I'm walking and it is really like a big sidewalk in the air.  I'm not afraid of heights. The sign above gave me pause because what exactly were they working on?  Are there screws falling out or something?  Railing about to fall off?  Oh well.  Not in a car, so it will be splat or swim if something goes horribly wrong.  Besides, if it was really dangerous they wouldn't be letting people walk across it.

Turns out the work is installing an elevator.  I don't think it is finished yet.  The deck and the doors are there, but no visible elevator.

Hello, back of the elevator doors!

There had been an organized walk of some sort earlier in the morning.  They were handing out leftover bottles of water if people wanted them, which was nice.  I came prepared with my coffee so I was good to go.  

About three-quarters of the way across to the Highland side of the Walkway there was a group of three people walking toward the Poughkeepsie side, and they were handing out pamphlets.  They gave one to the three people in front of me, and one to me.  I assumed it was something to do with the walk this morning (which apparently was an International Women's Day march), so I took one.  I was so wrong.  

You have got to be kidding me

I believe my exact words were something eloquent like, "What the hell is this?"  And apparently I said them a little louder than I thought, as the guy in front of me started cracking up.  I must really look like I am Satan's Spawn.  Thirteen visits from the God Squad apparently are not enough!  Now I have people trying to save me in the middle of the Hudson River. The part on the back of the pamphlet where it says "Compliments of:" is blank, but I was able to skim and learn that it is written by Ray Comfort.   It basically goes on about the 10 Commandments, assumes that you are a sinner who has broken them and will be going to Hell, and then compares you to a criminal standing before a judge to try and scare you into accepting their point of view.  Perfect thing to hand out to strangers on a beautiful day!  Oh, and then you are to entrust your life to Jesus Christ, and read and obey the Bible every day.  

The walk back from Highland was much less eventful.  Just beautiful weather, lots of people not proselytizing, and some boats and trains going past.

In Which I Apparently Still Need to Be Saved

Let me start by wishing you all a belated Happy Halloween, friends!  Hope you had a good time!

As you may recall, I seem to have gotten myself on the "Must Visit List" of a particular religious group.  If you need a little refresher, you can read about my prior encounter here.  

Halloween is my absolute favorite holiday, hands down.  I decorate inside out and outside.  I buy the good candy -- no raisins or healthy treats here!

Now, my special little street is kind of tucked away, and no one really knows we are here.  Usually my trick-or-treaters are limited to my friends bringing their kids over.   I think a picture will best show you the scenario I am describing.

See the house on the left?  That's my house.  Like a Halloween beacon shining in the night.  On the right? That's the rest of my freaking street.  Not a light on in a single house!  Only the streetlight and the lights from the area down the hill.  I live in Party-Pooper Central.  I still got 3 intrepid kids though -- kids I did not know!  Very exciting for me!

What's a gal to do when she loves Halloween but never really gets any trick-or-treaters?  Throw a party, of course!

So last night I threw a little Halloween soiree.  I had all of my decorations out and lit up.  Good friends and fun times!  Everyone had a good time!  (Well, I'm assuming.  I haven't heard otherwise.)

Turned off the lights and went to bed around 2am, after a little bit of clean-up.  Nothing crazy.  We weren't obnoxiously loud, no one called the cops on us.    The important thing here is the time frame, folks.

I get up about 9am, turn on the coffee, and go outside to check that all of my pumpkins are still there.  (There's a story for that, but I'll save that for another time.)  They are still there, in all of there pumpkin glory...and I find a little something else tucked in my front door:

Join us!  Join us!!!!!!!

Are you kidding me?  Are you you freaking kidding me?!

In the seven, seven, hours since I went to bed the Jehovah's have been back again trying to save me! Apparently my status as the Spawn of Satan still holds with them, and they must now think I am trying to bring my friends over to The Dark Side as well.  

I've been told they are out in full force today, as a friend saw a group moving through her neighborhood early this morning.  

I'm not convinced this was a normal proselytizing mission though.  For starters, they didn't even ring the doorbell.  Maybe it was the same two guys I had words with last time and they decided not to chat this go-round.  I suppose they could have been scared of my decorations and didn't dare to see who lived inside. Due to the stealthiness of it all, I think it might have been my neighbor.  She might have pulled a covert op after last night's party.

Can't a gal just have a party without it being a sign that she is damned and dragging her friends along for the ride?

Let me leave you with this little piece of internet awesome:

I Think We Understand Each Other Now

Dear Missionary/Proselytizing People,

Coming to my house and banging on the door repeatedly for 5-10 minutes at 9:30 in the morning on a Saturday is not a good idea.  It's not a good idea ever, to be fair, but particularly on a Saturday morning.

Anyone who actually knows me will tell you that it is never a good idea to try contacting me before 11 am on a Saturday morning -- I'm either already gone to work, or it is probably my one day off that week and I would like to sleep in a bit.

The vigor and duration of your knocking this morning woke me up.  Why you didn't try ringing the doorbell is beyond me, so I assumed it must be a panicked person who had overlooked it.   The thoughts going through my head as I grappled blindly on the nightstand for my glasses were:

--There must be some sort of emergency!  Maybe a neighbor is trying to get my attention because my house is on fire, or my car has been stolen.
--Maybe someone else's house is on fire, or they need the phone to call 911 from a car accident
--What if it is my parents and something happened and one of them is in the hospital?

Notice that none of those possibilities were happy thoughts because no one who knows me would be knocking on my door at 9:30 unless something awful happened!  That is the kind of thing that wakes you up and immediately puts on on alert.  You don't get to wake up and stretch, kind of lazily wander on out to make coffee.  Your heart starts racing, and you brace yourself to deal with whatever shit-storm is about to come your way.

I rushed to the door to see what was going on; glasses askew, bed head in full effect, still rocking my pajamas.  I passed my two cats, who were freaking out and running in the opposite direction, away from the Stranger Danger at the front door.

Imagine my surprise when I open the front door to find two guys in suits, their gold minivan parked in front of my house.  Their little name tags made it clear they were not police detectives, but from a church.

I bet at that moment you knew it was not a good idea to have been so zealous in getting someone to come to the door.  That fleeting look of "Mistake!" crossed one of your faces.  Did it stop you from starting your rehearsed spiel?  Of course not.

And don't say it isn't a rehearsed speech.  Spare me.  I don't know what I have done to convince your church that I am the Spawn of Satan, but my house seems to be on a list of "must-see stops" on your little missionary quests.  I have previously spoken to your people 3 times and told them that I am not at all interested.  I have found your pamphlets stuck under my door, or in my mailbox (which is illegal, just so you know), or under the handle of my front porch door on 8 different occasions.  That is 11 visits in the 3 years since I bought this house.  I don't think your representatives have come to my parents' house that many times in 30 years!

One of the latest pamphlets.  It had been pushed under my front door with such force that it went under my throw rug.  I found it last night when I was vacuuming.

I tried to be polite at first.  I really did.  I said Good Morning.  I let you you make your warm-up small talk.  (On a previous visit one lady asked if my parents were home.  I assured her they probably were, at their own house, but that I owned this one.)  No, I did not invite you in off of the front porch.  I did let you make your invitation to come to church and check it out.  I declined and said I wasn't interested.  

 If you had just accepted my answer and stopped at that point we would probably have been much better off.  You couldn't just let it go though, could you?    

You started the hard sell. You seemed to want a theological debate with a woman in her pajamas that you had clearly just woken up, as apparently telling you I was raised Roman Catholic was not a good answer.  Even your coworker (co-missionary?  proselytizing partner? church companion?  god-squad friend?) seemed uncomfortable.

And that would be when I ran out of "Nice".  I work with the public all day, every day.  I have to be "nice" to a lot of people when they are being total assholes.  My reserves of "nice" are pretty low when you wake me up, don't take a polite no for an answer, and then want to debate.

I didn't even get into the religious debate with you.  I've seen my father try that and get stuck in a half-hour conversation.

No.  Nice had gone bye-bye.

I made it very clear that you had woken me up.  That I did not, in any way, appreciate you pounding on my front door, startling me and scaring the bejesus out of my cats.  That I had, in fact, worked the last 11 days straight and this was my one day off -- my one day to sleep in, relax and drink my coffee at my leisure, get my housework done -- before I had to work another 7 days in a row.  

And then I asked you never to darken my doorstep again.  I informed you that repeatedly leaving unsolicited pamphlets, and repeatedly bothering me at home, was not going to make me want to attend your church.  It was, in fact, having the exact opposite affect.

Do I think it will make a difference?  Not at all.  

Maybe those two particular guys will not come back.  Probably they took this as a sign that I really am the Spawn of Satan, and they will redouble their efforts to save me.

Is there a "Do Not Call" list for missionaries?