“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” the old saying says.
I don’t know who Jack is but with my weekends so burdened with chores – lately life dedicated to getting rid of “stuff” we’d acquired since moving into our house – the saying as validity.
For this reason, on Sundays after most of the chores are done, we make a point of traveling to a different part of Hudson County, mostly along the waterfront somewhere to get some air and some sense of awe.
In this part of the world, with the New York Skyline stretched out before us like Avalon, any place from Guttenberg to
Bayonne will do.
Lately we’ve been picking on
coming to it from various angles, and today, we mistakenly took to the part
where the golf tournament was taking place – you know Tiger Woods and all the
stretch limos hogging up the curbside. Liberty State Park
But the scare getting there proved less than expected and we got to walk around the old train station, although most of it is fenced off still recovering from last year’s attack by that evil bitch,
A cruise ship sounded form
and made its way out of the harbor, and then another came down the Hudson River, all giving us a show as we strolled the
Inspired perhaps by the memory of Sandy and the urge to sip a little wine over dinner, we made our way to The Starting Point – which resides in the shadow of the Bayonne Bridge, and which when Sandy hit, flooded so badly that it took months to restore the place – fortunately, the flood waters never rose so high as to assault the classic rock album covers that serve as decoration in the bar.
We sipped our white wine and wasted for mussels and then thin crusted pizza so flavorful, we might not have needed crust at all, we debating which was better, Bit Apple’s or The Starting Point’s and unwinnable argument since both were equally wonderful in their own way.
We had not been to the Starting Point since before the flood, and there were only small differences from what we remembered, and on a Sunday night, the crowd was thin – many of the usual suspects cheering on their favorite teams at the bar, while couples and groups sat at the tables.
With the Little League fields so near, the bar draws a crowd of adults from around town, although almost any one from anywhere is likely to stop in. I’ve seen school officials and politicians here at intervals, although I recognized no one this night.
The background of class rock music mingling with the bank of sports TV reporting brought back the old days at the Red Baron (late Rose Buds) and the kind of mingling of people such places bring out, not for the booze, or even the delightful food, but for the company as people meet people they have known most of their lives, and though we were relative newcomers, we felt at home – and certainly felt sated when we were done.