Monthly Archives: March 2014

This One Time, On the Way to Jersey

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There are so many running jokes about New Jersey. So many. All of them would fill a few blog posts but this post will focus on the joke about the roads in NJ.

How does a driver know they’ve crossed into New Jersey?

The road is suddenly a mine-field of potholes.

THAT’S the joke we’ll be talking about in this post.

Today, I drove into Jersey for an audition for an upcoming Mother’s Day event. Lemme back up a little before I go any further.

You see, I grew up in Jersey. I am intimately familiar with the bumps and potholes along the roads within this glorious Garden State. As a child, my parents owned a Dodge Ramcharger. They drove that thing until it hacked and coughed and refused to go another mile. I remember at one point, watching the road drift by under our feet. I developed an affinity for watching the pavement go by and managing to notice potholes and cracks as we sped over them. Dead animals, however, were infinitely more disgusting when viewed through the floorboard of the Ramcharger. I was just grateful we didn’t have to Flintstone it.

Flash forward to this morning:

I sped over to South Orange for the audition, hoping to beat the non-storm we seem to be experiencing at the moment. I use Waze for any interstate driving these days. It’s a fabulous app (and no, I was not paid to say that – I genuinely love this app!) With Waze, you can report events on the road – everything from debris in the road to police to…well, potholes, apparently.

Some idiot this morning decided to start reporting potholes on the Interstate.

Ever seen Nothing to Lose? The scene where Martin Lawrence accidentally discharges the gun and shoots Tim Robbins who freaks the hell out? As they drive away, Tim Robbins is whining about how his arm is going numb, yadda yadda yadda.. then he gets his shirt off aaaaaandddd….

Martin Lawrence smirks, rolls his eyes, and deadpans the following: ” ….that’s a baby gash…..”

The potholes this morning?

Baby potholes. AT BEST.

Now, potholes can cause damage, yes. They can be expensive. But for the LOVE OF GOD, people. You’re in Jersey. Know how things are stereotypically bigger in Texas? Well, in Jersey, unless the pothole is big enough to swallow Chris Christie, guess what, IT DOESN’T COUNT.

On the way home, the attention on Waze changed from potholes to dead zombie deer. It’s the only logical conclusion I came to as the fifth dead deer popped up as a warning from Waze.

“WATCH OUT! Dead animal on the side of the road ahead.”

Dude. Unless that deer is a zombie in war-paint, covered in brush, and crouched behind the guardrail, waiting to pounce into oncoming traffic, it’s not gonna go anywhere or do anything. Hell, the baby potholes pose more of a danger than the dead zombie deer.

Now, one of these reports was totally valid as said dead zombie deer was in the middle of a merge lane and caused vehicles to swerve to avoid it. But all the other dead zombie deer? Nowhere near the white lines, not in the shoulder, but well on the grass. One of them was even chilling on a stack of snow pack, draped gracefully over it, as if it were being kept on ice by a giant Yeti for a snack.

Only in Jersey, man. Only in Jersey.

The Gift of the Sun

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When was the last time you looked up into the sky as if you were a young child, in awe of nature, believing everything up there was pure magic?

I do it at least twice a day. Sunrise and sunset.

Throughout the rest of the day, sometimes a cloud pattern or group of birds will catch my attention but it is the sunrise and sunset which capture my soul.

This morning, I awoke to a blushing sky, pale pink expanding across a barely lit atmosphere as the sun caressed the wisps of clouds drifting through the atmosphere just beyond the trees at the edge of the field across the road. Pale pink gave way to a golden glow, setting the naked trees afire, eventually dancing across the icy snow at their feet.

A lone black bird soared to one of the larger trees, settling in the highest branch, clinging hold as the wind waved him to and fro. Traffic echoed just below, an invasion of the solitude of the dawn cascading across the sky.

Most of the morning was filled with blue, then this afternoon, the clouds expanded, obfuscating the joy promised us by the bright blue sky in the midst of a dreary winter. But the evening sky apologized for this infraction, providing a spectacular range of colours as the sun nestled into the other side of the world.

Corals, reds, purples, blues, greys, they all mingled together just below the houses at the edge of the field, the sort of sunset which one can only witness with eyes and not capture on film.

Although I have bemoaned the existence of a sub-zero winter and being buried in far too many inches of snow, it has brought some of the most phenomenal sunrises and sunsets I have ever witnessed, including those I saw as a young child growing up near the beach.

Witnessing a sunrise and a sunset is a gift. It is sheer magic. Both a re-affirmation of life, of finding the beauty in the littlest things. It’s as if our entire day has a bookend of amazing art on either end. To ignore it, to not take the few minutes it exists and stare at it as if you are four years old again and the world is made of magic is foolish.

If I don’t take the time to do witness the beauty that is the sunrise and sunset, my day feels empty. The colours fade so quickly, the magic even faster. Sometimes I may sleep through the sunrise (who doesn’t on occasion), but on those days, I am sure to take in the state of the sky before I do anything else – even reach for my phone. The sky is the first thing I focus on when my eyes wake in the morning. It’s also the last thing I look at before I go to bed – I look for stars, for the moon, for clouds… and now that I am sleeping with the blinds opened, if I wake in the middle of the night, I get to see the moon as it drifts through the onyx sky.

Do yourself a favour this next week. Take the time to look up at the sky with the wonder of a child who hasn’t been jaded by the responsibilities of a fast-paced world. Breathe in the artistry and beauty right in front of you. Drink it in, commit it to memory, to your heart. For if you carry beauty in your heart, there won’t be room for much else.