Category Archives: Albany

The past few weeks haven’t been conducive to taking my usual lunch-time stroll through Downtown Albany on my days at the office, but last Tuesday I returned to the practice – a reminder of how important it is to break up the work day with a proper mental reprieve. In this case, a walk on a lovely spring day when all the trees were fresh of growth, and a magnolia was just finishing up its early magnificence. 

The benches were blessedly empty. Even after a year of quietude and non-crowds, I still embrace this solitude. Beauty can be enjoyed on your own, something I fought against for so long I almost started to forget. A squirrel was my only companion on this walk, and he or she didn’t seem keen on striking up a conversation. 

Beneath a magnolia, I paused and did my best to inhabit the moment, to be present, to feel every pulsation the day was eliciting. Such presence is the goal of any good day. I will do better to remember that. 

Magnolias are a breed of tree that I’ve always admired from a distance, and in someone else’s yard, where they can deal with the messy aftermath of these glorious blooms. Such thick petals don’t scatter lightly on the wind – they tend to fall straight down, littering the lawn and making a muck of things when spring rains wait only to rot the fallen. But on days like this, when their blossoms are still carried high, brilliant against a blue sky, I entertain fantasies of planting one of these somewhere on our tiny lot. 

I’ll try to return to this space in a week to remind myself of why that’s a dirty idea. 

Pigeons are quite common in downtown Albany, where I spend one or two days a work week. They are there on rooftops, flocking in little parks, or soaring in formation over the buildings. Less commonly seen, and wholly unknown to me, is the pigeon predator that did this to an unsuspecting victim whose only remnants are these feathers. Dog or cat? Or maybe something more sinister and wild…

Winter is never less than ruthless. We are all hungry at this time of the year. 

Winter also offers its own mark of dark beauty, in the barren and the sparse, in the brutal and the fallen. Among the detritus of pine needles and little branches strewn along the sidewalk, these white feathers merely hint at their story, the secret threat of their own ending. The next snowfall will sweep them away, in the manner that winter usually hides its crimes. 

Like the rest of the world, downtown Albany has been stricken with a certain slow-down in the age of COVID, but there are glimmers of resurrection, and whispers of a resurgence. On a recent lunch break, I was traveling down Columbia Street when the beautiful storefront windows of River Garden Studio beckoned with endless bushels of greenery – a verdant paradise in the middle of concrete and cobblestones.

Fiddle-leaf figs, monstera philodendron, dieffenbachia, bird’s nest ferns, and all sorts of whimsical pottery to hold them were on display. Cacti and succulents peeked from their pots, offering options for those who can’t keep a fake Christmas tree alive. Large specimens of dracaena and Norfolk Island pines provided strong vertical focal points, while waterfalls of pothos spilled over wooden barrels and crates.

The handsome space (formerly a gallery) makes the most of its sky-high vista windows, and the plants happily soak up all the light. It will be a treat to explore as fall and winter approach – a lovely little oasis in the unlikeliest environs of downtown Albany.

There is something magical about the place, a hint of something more beautiful around every corner. This enchantment is the sort of thing that only a brick and mortar enterprise can provide, a throwback to a time when things were simpler and easier, a time when such delights could be seen and held and experienced in person. 

She is my favorite essential grocery worker right now and, because of her, Price Chopper is back in my good graces. (Like Starbucks, we’ve had a tumultuous relationship over the years, but we’re still together so that says something.) Grocery markets have had to remain open in these frightening and uncertain times, and Jasmine Shea is helping to hold everything together at the Price Chopper right by my home. She’s been my heroine ever since she recognized my Clockwork Orange costume one Halloween (everyone else that was at the store that night was in shock and awe over my codpiece because they just thought I wore that every day). She cemented that status a few weeks ago when she gave me a heads-up on the day they got toilet paper in her store (one of the many benefits of being her FaceBook friend).

For an even more in-depth and entertaining look at her store stories, check out her new podcast ‘Shea Says’ which is turning me into a podcast fan. (That’s something not even Skip or Suzie could get me into, and that tells you a lot because they can usually get me to do anything.) It makes sense: Jasmine’s a pro who’s been on the radio before, and she knows her way around telling a compelling story – sometimes heartbreakingly serious, often riotously hilarious, and occasionally moving and poignant – she hits those emotional peaks, and her podcasts give a glimpse behind the essential grocery worker mask (and a number of other life events).

With a delightfully saucy edge, she reminds me of what it’s like for the people working on the public service side of this frightening world. I physically go in to my office only once a week right now – she’s done six-day work-weeks on a regular basis in recent weeks. Whenever I find myself waiting in a line anywhere (hello Lowes) I think of Jasmine and calm the fuck down. She also volunteers to help others – I saw her heading out to help with a Feed Albany run on one of her rare days off. Aspirational. Inspirational. Take-no-prisoners truth-telling at its best.

Give a listen to ‘Shea Says’ here.