Sunlight seeps through the glass window and tickles the silk flowers, autumn leaves left over from the last street clean-up, lay flat and lifeless.

The street is silent this weekend, the neighbors with three high-pitched voluminous barking dogs are gone, and I notice my shoulders softened from the daily dose of their irritation. The neighbors are tucked indoors, avoiding the freezing atmospheric clutch of winter. In the village, it is Shop Local weekend so I took a walk and stopped at one of the gift shops. A mirage of unrelated items from chocolate bars to errings, tai die dresses, and scented candles crusaded side by side. The owner repeated her lines, ‘ I represent eighty-one New York artists so if you have any questions, no question is refused.’ Feeling brave I asked, What is the meaning of life?’ The result was not what I expected, she did not respond, and the other shoppers, maybe two chuckled. Time to move on.

Rarely do I run into anyone I know, my circle here is a half-circle of acquaintances. The next stop is the Social Club where my curious humor is appreciated.

” Jackie! She just started a few weeks ago. At first interaction, this twenty-something woman avoided conversation, not even a smile. After a few sips of a Manhattan, I pulled out my mini perfume sample.

” Do you like this?” she sniffed, I watched.

” Oh, I love this, What kind?“

” Tom Ford Noir.”

“I Love Tom Ford, he’s so expensive.“

That’s why I buy the body spray, sixteen ounces, forty dollars. I’d rather turn the heat down than go without perfume.”

At that moment, we leaped into gal pals. The Social Club serves up exotic cocktails, irresistible tacos, and an assortment of soups and salads, my kind of table setting. Horace the Bar Manager wears a beret and is always somewhat distracted by his list of duties. He moves behind a narrow back bar pathway as if he is power walking, and always greets me with a genuine ‘How are you LouLou!’.

I meet a cluster of female bar-friendly women, who invite me into their festive fiasco of celebration for one reason or another. We may never see each other again, but the moments count. Sometimes we exchange emails or phone numbers. The adverse effects of alcohol are sometimes diminished for undiluted expression.

I’m learning to understand upstate New Yorkers, their resilience to extreme climate, limited source of funds, pragmatic decisions, family comes first foundation, and quizzical curiosity when they learn I moved from San Diego to purchase a Victorian rental property in Ballston Spa, ‘ Why did you do that?’ I answered, ‘ I fell in love with the quaintness and the house.’ Still visibly unconvinced, I wonder if they think I’m in hiding or avoiding some criminal offense. I’ve not met one person from San Diego, Los Angeles, or Santa Fe, NM in three years. Maybe if I dressed in Pendleton or Northface, I wouldn’t stand out.

On another night, in desperate craving for French Fries, I stopped at Henry’s Pub. The man next to me opened the conversation,

“You’re not from here are you?”

” What gave me away?”

” The way you dress, it’s a nice jacket.”

” I just wear what’s in the closet, urban clothes I suppose.”

” That’s cool. Where are you from?”

” Los Angeles.“

” I’ve never been there, I’m planning a trip to Hawaii, my first time.” He outlined a history of why now, breaking up with his girlfriend, and then he jump-started into a conversation about needing a haircut. This went on for some time, although he was almost shaved. Then he went onto his beard. I listened attentively, imitating interest because he needed to talk, and I knew that feeling so well. Sometimes conversation is not what we need but what the other person needs.