Hope springs eternal
Even though I am amazing, inspirational and a legend in my own mind, I still didn’t feel up to hitting the streets of Jeffersonville, NY for the annual St. Patrick’s Day parade, and asked cub reporter Eric Breihoff to fill in for me. Thankfully, he accepted and managed to snap a few pics in my absence, which was glaringly obvious to the throngs who attended, constantly barraging Eric as to my whereabouts. Perhaps I should stay home more often, since it would appear that I’m more popular when absent. Hmmm. Feeling guilty and knowing that CAS Executive Director Bradley Diuguid (www.catskillartsociety.org) would be positively despondent over my inability to attend, I hauled myself over to Livingston Manor and joined the other storytellers (www.facebook.com/yarnslingers) for “Chapter Two” of the Yarnslingers year-long “Memoirs Project,” which Diuguid is hosting with Ramona Jan. “Thank goodness you’re here! I heard you were sick,” Jan exclaimed, keeping a safe distance. “Without you, the entire event would fail. You’re the glue that holds Sullivan County together!” At least I think that’s what she said… I’m on a lot of medication.
The second installment went off without a hitch. I’m pretty sure that I was brilliant and even Dharma (the Wonder Dog) was in awe over my ability to stand and speak at the same time. Coughing, hacking, sneezing and crying, I went home and crawled back into bed, confident that I had undoubtedly spread good cheer and bad germs to many of you. You’re welcome. The River Reporter’s resident task-master and (let’s be honest here) just-plain-cruel managing editor Jane Bollinger made it clear that she “didn’t care how sick I was” and insisted that I “crawl out of bed and show up” at the St. Patrick’s Day in Narrowsburg the next day, so (against doctor’s orders and all common sense) I obliged, knowing full well that Bollinger’s bite equals her bark. “Oh, you don’t look good at all,” she smirked. “Now get out there and take some pictures.” It was so cold that my teeth chattered and the dog shivered, but those who lined the streets to cheer on the floats and be showered with candy had a good time at my expense. “I don’t feel too well,” I moaned softly to the boss. “Oh, fine—go home, crybaby,” was Bollinger’s response. “I’m sure you’ll blame me anyhow.”