We Might Have Been in the Catskills

Catherine and I spent the last few days so far up in the Catskills that it might not be designated as the Catskills-- near a quaintly dilapidated town called Stamford . . . our friends Ann and Craig invited us up-- Ann's family owns several houses on property surrounding a very very old house that has been in her family since the 1700s . . . but we stayed in her parents' modern house, across from the spooky cemetery where hundreds of crows congregated this morning; and we did some lovely hikes with spectacular views of the bucolic Schoharie Valley, drank some local IPAs and some Teremana tequila (endorsed by The Rock himself), played Bananagrams and watched the rain, drove the golf cart to get iced coffee from Stewarts, traipsed around town, and generally enjoyed the change of scenery and lack of humidity . . . and as a bonus, the kids didn't destroy the house or the van and the dog seems to have been taken care of . . . but now we are back in Jersey and it's a fucking jungle swamp outside.