Yesterday, friends of ours came up from Long Island for our annual trip to one of the many apple orchards to be found here in the Hudson Valley. John and I have known Thomas and Valerie since college. They are also Celeste's Godparents and so, the trip was great for them as they got to meet "La Principessa" Emma Grace. We've been doing this since Celeste was a toddler. Tempus Fugit.

They usually arrive with their daughter and one of her friends, now both seniors in high school. We have some freshly brewed coffee and an assortment of morning munchies to kick off the day: Bagels, croissants, rolls, butter, cream cheese are set out for everyone to enjoy. After hugs and chatter we usually load into the cars and trek the 8 miles to the farm where we spend several hours roaming among the trees bearing varitietes such as Empire, Cortland, Macintosh,Macoun, Red and Golden Delicious apples. I must not forget to mention the never ending quest for the perfect Mutsu, our "Le mele" of choice for pies. Large and round, juicy and sweet,they are a real treat. Cries of "Look at this one!", will be heard repeatedly over the course of the afternoon. As much as we love the sweet apples, it's the tart tasting Granny Smiths that Celeste and I really look forward to. However, Granny Smiths won't be ready yet. Not only does the farm have fabulous fruit,it has a gorgeous view of the Hudson Valley. From where the farm sits,from its vantage point high in the Town of Newburgh,it's possible to see across the Hudson River over toward Beacon/Fishkill.

After the apples have been picked and paid for, we usually head out to a restuarant for a nice meal and then back to our place for coffee and dessert as a nice end to the day.

This year turned out to be a bit different.

I didn't go to the farm. My bones and joints just hurt too much. The thing that I have feared most about the side effects of 40 years of Dilantin is staring me in the face:I'm beginning to avoid certain activities because I'm simply in too much pain. My mobility has been compromised, and I'm slowing down. Furthermore, others are noticing.
At rehearsal for La Boheme the other evening, I brought my cane because the day had been a particularly tough one and by 7pm my right foot, now misshapen from bone overgrowth was "screaming". One of the company directors, a good friend of mine, came up and informed me, "I'm worried about this. Are you going to be able to perform?"

"Oh yes," I laughted. "Not to worry." I turned and gulped hard.

I have to admit, I hate this. And... I hate admitting that I hate this. Mannaggia!

Since John is still on the mend, and really not feeling up to going out to a restuarant, I told everyone that while they were apple picking, I'd whip up some meatballs, sausage and pasta. We'd have dinner and dessert at the house instead, and break with tradition for this year. It turned out to be a lovely evening, with several glasses of merlot being poured. I smiled while I heard everyone tell of how little Max didn't stop running from the moment he set foot at the farm until he was strapped back in his carseat, a truth clearly evidenced by the fact that he was conked out on the sofa during all of dinner.

While I listened to everyone's accounts of the trip, I began to feel some anxiety over the fact that I was glad I hadn't gone. Just the thought of navigating my broken feet along the uneven earth and hilly slopes while trying to pull heavy apples in a wagon made my legs hurt. This admission was something of a surrender for me. I'm stubborn and thick and don't like to give in to complications. I'd rather plow forward with some discomfort than admit that I can't do as I please. And now, at 53, I feel I'm facing the limitations of someone much older than I.

Today I'm limping around. I've got papers to grade and friends are running a Buddy Walk Fundraiser at the park for the Downs Syndrome group they belong to on behalf of their little daughter. The car is in the shop, so I think I'll hook Luna's leash onto her collar and walk the mile down the road to see them and make a donation. The acorns are falling like raindrops and the leaves have already begun to turn colors.

I've decided I'm going to try to pick those Granny Smiths when they are ready in a in a week or two.

Corragio.

Mangia.