My life the last five weeks since Maria's death reminds me of the movie "Groundhog Day" - in which Bill Murray is stuck in that day, waking up each morning to the same day. However, I'm not stuck in a day, I'm stuck in Holy Week. Palm Sunday, Maria brings over St. Patty Day cupcakes, sits on the couch laughing with Solomon about fart jokes. Monday in Holy Week, the phone call, the police car in Maria's driveway, waiting for the Medical examiner, the yellow room. Tuesday in Holy Week, the funeral plans, the coffin room, all the details. Wednesday in Holy Week, the day off, obituary in the paper, everyone over looking through albums picking out pictures for the photo boards, Maureen arrives from Bellingham, we take a breath for what's ahead. Holy Thursday, the viewing, 93 year old Mrs. Izzo waiting to see Maria ("I would have taken a bus to see Maria"),the long hours, the breakdown chairs, the tears, the hugs. Good Friday, a repeat of Holy Thursday, pall bearers are chosen, the packed room, more tears, more hugs. Holy Saturday, the last moments in the funeral home, Jodi takes a picture of the sisters, Rachael cuts her hair, the church, the priest is perfect, the speakers are wonderful, Sabra causes the church to roar with laughter.."Maria loved Martha", the cemetery, the bagpiper, people stay and stay, unwilling to leave. Then, instead of heading to Easter, I swing right back into Palm Sunday and the weeks go by, five of them now, but today is still Thursday and I'm back in the funeral home. Maybe you have to do this, get stuck in your sorrow, go over and over it, until you get it out of your system. When the movie "Groundhog Day" came out, people laughed, enjoyed the humor, but there was more to it than that. The movie has grown to become what the National Film Registry calls "culturally historical" and "aesthetically significant". Religious students watch the movie as part of their class. Bill Murray learns from the days' repetition and I have to believe that, like Bill Murray, I will learn from being stuck in Holy Week - what I'll learn, I'm not sure, but I think my mind has a purpose. So I head into Good Friday tomorrow, but someday, someday, it will just be Friday.

There was a small article in the paper the other day stuck way in the back pages, but it caught my eye. "Escalator injuries increase over 10% in the last ten years". This got my attention because my mother, Bucky, always warned us of the danger of escalators. The article went on to say that the increasing injuries were thought to be related to our aging population - in other words its the old people who are getting caught or tumbling down the moving stairs. Bucky warned us of escaltors, but also anything that moved...cars were very dangerous. Before crossing the street, look both ways, then look again. Sometimes we would stand on the sidewalk looking this way, then that way for several minutes before we deemed it safe to cross. Riding in cars was even more dangerous. "Don't stick your hand out the window, I know a woman whose boy lost his arm doing that." God help those people who stuck their heads out the window. Once when I was working at IBM, I heard the man in the next office laughing out loud. Curious, I went in to see what he was laughing about and he pointed to the headline on his Enquirer newspaper: "Man gets first successful head transplant". I laughed, but I was reminded of my mother's warning and wondered if that's how he lost his first head - leaning out of the car window. Trains, even though they were on a track, were even more dangerous because of their size and speed. Today when I go to the river and have to cross the tracks, again I look both ways several times, and then hurry as fast as I can go, being careful not to catch my foot in the track. Airplanes can fall out of the sky and hit you. Bucky told us about the plane that crashed in Mt. Beacon on a foggy night. "Your father went up to see the wreckage and found the pilot's brains smeared all over the rocks." You can be sure I look up if I hear a plane that sounds like it might be coming down.

Bucky's warnings proved true when my nephew Jess, Maureen's boy, got caught in an escalator. Maureen or Rob might be able to give the details, but as I remember his underwear got caught around his neck and was choking him. I think they had to rip his clothes off to free him.

I wondered what kind of injuries these elderly people were getting and then I thought, I bet it's not the older people, I bet it's the kids. Nobody watches their kids anymore. I've seen them on the escalators, they run on the steps, use them like a carnival ride. I imagine parents tell their kids to go play on the escalator while they wait for our plane. There I feel better, but I know the next time I have to use an escalator I'll jump on the top stair, heart thumping, hang on the railing, and wait anxiously for that bottom step to make my leaping exit.

Well, I broke down and took reservations for the Bird's Nest starting next week. My mentor Phyllis Gardner told me "never take walk-ins - get reservations and deposits way in advance." I know why she said this. I've had people call from a bar in Tivoli..."Hi, we're here at the Stoney Creek and my girlfriend and I are pretty drunk. We're wondering if you have a room for the night?" That is when you say, "Sorry, we are booked." It's not always a problem with over indulgence. Last summer I had a call, "Hey, were up here in Tivoli, and we got your number. My friend and I have biked up from the city. We really need a place to stay." I responded that I just had people and didn't have a chance to clean or make the beds. He hung up. The phone rang two minutes later, "Hey, listen, we don't need the beds made. We're covered in sweat and we just need a place to wash up and get some shut eye." When they don't even want the beds made, you know that's trouble. I had a man leave a message on my machine last week. He wanted two weekends in August, during the Bard Music Festival, a time when everything fills up quickly and some places even double their rates. His message: "I'll even sleep on the floor, anything at all". Then he must have realized other needs, because he added, "And a washroom - I'll need a washroom." Now, that is desperate. And what the hell is a washroom? It sounds like a laundry room to me. I've told people that I am booked, and they will ask "Can we bring a tent and camp in the yard?" They didn't even ask about the washroom. Bringing their own I guess. I did have people come early once. They were scheduled for Thursday, and I was up on the computer the day before, when I hear a voice under the window: "YooHoo, anyone home?" I stuck my head out the window, two people were standing there, smiling up at me. "Hi, we're the Jones, we're here a day early, but can we get in?" Dear sweet Jesus, I thought. Then said, come back in half an hour and I will be ready. I thought of Phyllis and said, "Well, there not really walk-ins...there just "early" guests.

Last year in one of my classes at Bard the instructor discussed the impact we make on the environment, garbage per person, use of fuel, etc. Then she told us about a man in New York City who was attempting to make no or little impact on the environment for one year. He had no refrigerator, bought the food daily and ate it raw, used no paper or plastic (even toilet paper), rode a bike to work, etc. For a whole year! He will probaby write a book about it and make a fortune but it made me remember when Tivoli had the 19th Century Man. It was in the early 70's when a Bard drop out took residence in Tivoli and opened the Tivoli Player Piano Shop. At the age of 23 he had forsaken the modern conveniences to live a simpler life. He certainly looked the part. He wore his hair parted carefully in the middle topped with a straw hat. His suit was vintage and he wore spats. A pince-nex with a black ribbon completed the outfit. He was quoted as using such language as "Balderdash" or "Oh, perdition", but I can't recall that. Laurence G. Broadmoore was his name and his shop was the small building next to the Madalin Hotel. He explained his actions: since the age of 13 he had chosen another century because that "was the last time in which pride in craftmanship, beauty and intellectual honesty were valued". His craft was restoring century old player piano which he did for about $1500 per piano, taking as long as a month for each job. He did guarantee his work for 10 years. At that time, Tivoli had not yet started to regain its population, there were about 800 villagers. He attracted enough attention to appear in an article in Time Magazine which said, "he may be the best adjusted citizen of Tivoli" - which makes one wonder what the rest of us looked like. Anyway, out of curiousity I goggled his name and found he had applied for a patent in 2/13/01 for a method for coupling electronically stored music but I wonder if he is still dressing the part and avoiding this century. It almost seems so if you can't find him on the internet. Last year during a slide show on Tivoli given by our now Mayor, Tom Cordier, a picture of Laurence in full costume appeared. Tom said, "I think this is a picture of one of our old time residents, is that right Linda?" he turned to me. "No," I responded "That was the eccentric Bard student that lived here for a while restoring pianos." The audience looked at Tom, then me, and I don't think they believed either of us.