|
|
||
|
I Remember Troy....AKA, I've Known Bridges... When I was growing up, I was an avid reader. I spent quite a bit of time imagining who I would be if I could be anyone I'd read about. When all options had been considered, though, I frequently returned to one character, Hector, a prince of Troy. Even then, I was a fan of lost causes!...<G> The Trojan story captivated me because the characters' personalities, traits or flaws were scripted largely into the unfolding drama, and these elements often became more important than the skills and abilities for which the characters were known. I wondered how the story might have changed if Paris had been an unbiased judge, or Achilles' weakness was in his heart instead of his heel? And Hector, whose name became a one word definition of trash-talking....what if he had used his gift with words to inspire a peaceful solution to a war brought on by his brother's choice in a beauty contest? The story's currents stirred up endless eddies of variables. My musings were imaginary bridges between impossibilities. What if, I thought...what if? How ironic, then, to end up in Troy, NY, a city of bridges. Actually, we're not there yet. We own the property, but the house has to be renovated before we can move in. Right now, we are enjoying a year of preparation in an apartment across the Hudson River. And, as we make the decisions which will shape our new home, we watch the river, and the tides flow underneath the 112th and Ontario Streets bridge. Up here, 150 miles from the Atlantic, the Hudson still ebbs with the ocean tides. Carol tells me it can take a stick being pushed by the current of the Hudson and its tributaries 130 plus days to float from here to the ocean because of those contradictory tides. We also have a heritage of connecting our river communities with bridges. It is often the case that communities form closer connections with neighbors across a bridge than across a ridge because paths across water are easier to tread than those on land. Some days I feel as if I'm a stick in the river, caught in the tides, moving back and forth. I live in upstate New York, and I work at least part of the time in a new school, The Bridge Academy, that opened this year... and is more than two hundred miles away. Since much of what I do can be done from here and the opportunity there was unique, challenging, and satisfying, I signed on. Now, I am planning and organizing two ventures, north and south, and being pulled between by tides of different responsibilities. In order for me to arrive at school on time, I leave home around 4 AM. It's dark then, especially in December. The waterfowl and raptors have moved south, so the river is quiet when I leave. As I drive down a nearly empty Thruway illuminated by a sky-full of stars, I'm thinking about the many tasks waiting for me at school. I usually time my trips so I can stop for a bagel and coffee just before school opens. I've come to appreciate the special nature of NYC-NJ bagels: their combination of flavor and crunch is, to quote Tom Kean, "perfect together". When my work in NJ is done, usually in a day or two, I head back north. After I pass Albany, I merge onto one of five bridges which cross over the river to Troy. I stop at Bella Napoli bakery for a loaf of bread for me and a cookie for Carol. I drive home, and as I carry my gear to the apartment, I take a good look at the Hudson. Night or day, it's always a wonderful sight. And I see the tides in action. There will be many more tides to see in the coming year... for Carol and me, and for my new school. One thing I plan to do is talk about the tides with my students. They need to hear that movement, though slow and small, is real...and lasting, too. Even a mighty ocean eventually accepts the gentle gifts of a thousand tiny streams... and neighbors across The Bridge are neighbors to keep.
|
|
|
|
||
