RANDOM MUSINGS FROM A JERSEY GAL …

A mere 45-minute drive west from the northeast coastline of New Jersey, the bustling metropolis of the George Washington Bridge vicinity where I reside, you’re bound to come upon lush, bucolic hills and beautiful farms, dotted with quaint roadside stands and their overflowing bushels of sweet corn, fresh peaches and luscious Jersey tomatoes enticing you to stop the car.  Many of New Jersey’s farms could have been modeled from a Norman Rockwell painting, corroborating the befitting “Garden State” nickname.  (I challenge any tomato to go up against the plump, juicy “Jersey;” layer a few ripened slices between rows of authentic Italian buffalo mozzarella drizzled with some extra-virgin olive oil and sprinkled, fresh basil  and you’ll have a little piece of heaven on earth … but I digress.)

As I was driving along a dusty road towards my destination yesterday, I spotted a field of cows.  Feeling a bit earthy from the scenic route, I decided to pull over and take a nature break. I always feel sadness when I see cows.  While I haven’t eaten red meat in years (this is not a political statement I should add), I can’t help but wonder, “Do they know their fate?” and if so, “Do they care?”  But for that one moment yesterday afternoon, in their little corner of the world, they looked contented.  Peaceful with their lot in life, if not a bit resigned, but still contented.

I started to think … while they don’t know what their futures hold, they still keep grazing along and enjoying, presumably, each other’s company.  Can humans learn something from a cow?  I think so.  I know I fret at times more than I should.  While I’m no longer young, I’m still a stretch from the golden years of a comfortable porch and a familiar rocking chair.  I feel caught in the middle of nowhere somehow, in that one-foot-in, one-foot-out stage at life’s door where a mind can easily drift to “what’s going to happen tomorrow?”  In these unsettling and tumultuous times, it’s a justifiable place to drift.  “What will the next year look like?” “Will I be happy or depressed, flourishing or insecure, healthy or ill in five years from now?” can become a silent mantra.  While life doesn’t come with a crystal ball nor the guarantee of a tomorrow, it does come with a small control button labeled “Today.”

And that’s where the cows come in … I may not know what tomorrow will bring, heck, I’m not even sure what I’ll be having for dinner tonight, but I do have today.  I have this beautiful morning graced with a fresh cup of coffee.  And just for today, I think I’ll go out and graze.

I can’t help but laugh when I come across these baby-boomer advertisements from the 50’s and 60’s, and wonder … Was ignorance really bliss? For those of us born during that time period and before, how did we escape the perils of such lackadaisical societal-incorrectness?

Without trotting out my “I’m officially old” handbook, I realize it is a much different world now than the one I lived in as a kid, and there are so many more perils to be aware of these days, but I recall, as do so many kids of my generation, flying by the seat of my pants and landing in bed at night, limbs intact and a smile on my face.

Some things from my childhood I remember that would likely be taboo present day:

• Never wearing a seat belt when I was a kid. I can’t remember … were cars even equipped with them back then? I remember sitting in my mother’s car, she in the driver’s seat gripping the steering wheel and staring straight ahead as if she were maneuvering the Starship Enterprise, and me in the back, rolling around like a loose melon.  Not only did I roll around, I twisted around and flipped while I stared out the back window, coyly waving to the other drivers.

• Going to the park around the corner, all by myself. I would skip out the door, sometimes telling my mother where I was going, sometimes not, and head off to “the park” where I was sure to meet up with some of my friends. We knew it was time to go home when the 7pm fire whistle blew and the sound of a mother’s voice filled the air. We made it home without the threat of being kidnapped.

• Running up the block to the local Italian deli on a Sunday afternoon to pick up the forgotten can of tomatoes my mother needed for Sunday dinner, and rewarding myself with a handful of candy while I was there. My candy of choice? Those fantastic, pink bubble-gum cigarettes, individually wrapped in white rolling paper and packaged in an almost too-realistic carton. I would pretend puff away before finally chomping down on the gum, as any junior sophisticato would.

I didn’t drink 7-Up in my milk but I did drink it the “Italian” way, with a dollop of red wine … a delightful pink concoction that was created by filling a tall highball glass with ice and soda, then kissed with a splash of burgundy and swirled with your finger for good luck.  Life was good and so was the Sunday pasta.

From one loose melon to another, keep on truckin’.