After burning holes in the soles of our shoes, dancing till the wee hours in Tivoli, Sam and I embarked for Hastings on Hudson to stop at Eliza's. As usual, I fabulously underestimated our trip. Sixty miles? Probably not. 83 was the final number, and as we dragged ourselves up the last hill before Eliza's house in the darkness, I heard a familar whistling from a car behind me. Eliza and her mom were just coming home. We have perfect timing. At Eliza's we made a giant sloppy pot of chili, which we shared with all sorts good folks who came by. After which we went to a small hidden beach on the hudson, which was passed very closely by the occasional metro north train, a beautiful sight in the dark. Eliza started a roaring fire with using ancient knowledge and fire breath. To begin the festivities, we slew an ogre and burned his club.
I played a show for Eliza, Sam, the metro north, and the roaring fire god, who brought tears to my eyes as I played. It was a cherished experience. The next day we spent roaming the woods and town of Hastings, gardening, singing, eating and laughin, and Eliza gave us the scallywag's tour to all of the deliquent monuments, her purple hand prints, secretly planted all over town. We ate dinner that night with her family for her brother's birthday, who along with a friend was bleary eyed from editting their epic movie "Glory at Sea" for the sundance flimflam festival. We left the next day after saying goodbye to Eliza, Slightly, and the myriad of plants and snails that abide in her home. Brooklyn Ho!
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