Spent some time in Red Hook over the weekend; went to say goodbye to that institution of a watering hole Bait & Tackle, followed by a visit into Sunny’s (where yesterday’s photos originated), and finally dinner and some time with friends who sing at Hope & Anchor, also soon to be no more.
This is a city that changes constantly, it’s true. But there’s something altogether too fast about it when three places at the heart of a small community like the Hook all disappear in short order (the third will be Ice House; not sure when). It’s going to irrevocably change the fabric of that area, and for the worse, I’ve no doubts. Especially judging from the new bits of residential real estate that’ve been popping up.
Development, left unchecked, will be the undoing of any kind of character or authentic qualities this town has left.
On offer today: a pencil drawing of yet more winter trees, stylized and simple.
I stayed home last night; missed several parties, missed toasting with friends who I’ve not seen enough of. A head cold has been slinking ‘round the door for a few days (probably a few weeks), and by Midnight it’d overtaken me. I didn’t have any the past two winters, but I’ve been burning candles at both ends lately, so I can’t be too surprised or upset.
Despite feeling poorly, it’s not a bad thing to cross the threshold of a new year quietly and in solitude. I did this little drawing to mark the changing of the guard. (I added the snow on a whim, though clearly those aren’t winter trees, all clad in leaves.)
I’d hoped for a cold-bright wander on New Year’s Day, but that’ll have to wait for better health. Glad tidings, with a few sniffles! I’ll see what I can make of it. More drawing, whether for me or my freelance project, will make a fine start of things for 2018.
The day following the feast was sunny and mild, inviting of a long wander. Following lunch in a sunny local, we embarked on a meandering walk that included many stops along the way in a handful of neighborhoods.
Eventually we found ourselves again at the harbor, staring out at moon-glittered water in the early dark. We breathed in the salt smell of that black and brackish channel where the sea and river meet; entrance and exit of the city where boats are welcomed by la dame verte.
And the steaming bird, fresh from the oven, rested on the sideboard, waiting to be carved for the feast of giving thanks.
On a Friday night in Red Hook, a delightful reunion of friends over a swell dinner and lots of singing. (I don’t sing at karaoke, but I sure love listening and drawing.)
Day twenty-three: A paper box of safety matches could always be found by the stove.