Two days off. Where should I go? Well, across the country of course. Nicole was keen to return to her motherland in order to shake hands and fist pump with a new arrival to her family, so I tagged along. My disdain for the garden state and the majority of its residents is rarely disguised, though I do admit a peculiar small town quaintness to much of the state. Having left triple digit temperatures in Los Angeles, it was also good, in some ways, to be reminded that it is actually October. The trees were changing color and there was a crispness to the air that I haven't felt in years. Exhaling into the air gave way to smoke -- a novelty to me as a child...and now. Nicole and I embarked on a walk through Grover Cleveland Park in Caldwell, NJ. Yes. Grover Cleveland: a president you think so little about you may not have known he was even a president. But he was not just any president. Nay, he was the
only president to have been elected twice in two non-consecutive terms! Ooooh. Aaaah. His first lady was also his sister. And obviously, with a park named after him, he was born in Caldwell, NJ. And now you know.
The trails around the park were filled with walkers and joggers, all dressed as if it was the middle of July. The joggers had to be careful not to run too close to people in the midst of a conversation lest they get smacked by a rogue hand gesture. (There's a lot of hands when talking in New Jersey) That evening we partook in a typical New Jersey meal of salad, pizza, eggplant parm, and pasta with vodka sauce. I think there was something else there too, but I digest... I can't stop myself. I established bad precedent some years ago when I had flown in to New Jersey on a redeye for a wedding and was very tired and hungry and proceeded to eat my rehearsal dinner steak and that of three others around me...as well as a plate full of desserts. From that moment on, I was labeled as the eater. No turning back now.
The following day, we headed to Wightman's Farm in Morristown, New Jersey for another example of old school Americana and quaintness. Children were picking out pumpkins, and also walking into my knees. People were making hand gestures to describe the shape of pumpkin they wanted...or possibly just asking one another how many is too many meatballs. It is unclear. We looked at gourds and pumpkins and cider and all kinds of autumnal produce. Freshly made cinnamon donuts were purchased. Donuts were eaten. After bloating once again, I rolled back to LA and then on to Fresno to report for another week of west coast flying.
Two days off. Where should I go? Well, across the country of course. Nicole was keen to return to her motherland in order to shake hands and fist pump with a new arrival to her family, so I tagged along. My disdain for the garden state and the majority of its residents is rarely disguised, though I do admit a peculiar small town quaintness to much of the state. Having left triple digit temperatures in Los Angeles, it was also good, in some ways, to be reminded that it is actually October. The trees were changing color and there was a crispness to the air that I haven't felt in years. Exhaling into the air gave way to smoke -- a novelty to me as a child...and now. Nicole and I embarked on a walk through Grover Cleveland Park in Caldwell, NJ. Yes. Grover Cleveland: a president you think so little about you may not have known he was even a president. But he was not just any president. Nay, he was the only president to have been elected twice in two non-consecutive terms! Ooooh. Aaaah. His first lady was also his sister. And obviously, with a park named after him, he was born in Caldwell, NJ. And now you know. 
The trails around the park were filled with walkers and joggers, all dressed as if it was the middle of July. The joggers had to be careful not to run too close to people in the midst of a conversation lest they get smacked by a rogue hand gesture. (There's a lot of hands when talking in New Jersey) That evening we partook in a typical New Jersey meal of salad, pizza, eggplant parm, and pasta with vodka sauce. I think there was something else there too, but I digest... I can't stop myself. I established bad precedent some years ago when I had flown in to New Jersey on a redeye for a wedding and was very tired and hungry and proceeded to eat my rehearsal dinner steak and that of three others around me...as well as a plate full of desserts. From that moment on, I was labeled as the eater. No turning back now. 
