Rosendale Ramblings By Sari Botton

In Patti Smith’s memoir about her symbiotic relationship with creative soulmate Robert Mappelthorpe, she writes about the adrenaline rush she experienced the first time she performed her poems and songs at the St. Marks Poetry Project. She found herself so overstimulated afterward, she couldn’t sleep.

I read that passage just yesterday, and here I am today having a similar experience. Brian and I are completely wired after performing for the second time as “Altar Egos” at a David Bowie “Tributon” event at Market Market Cafe. (The first time we did “7” at a Prince tribute.) We did goofy, shticky, hammed-up versions of “It Ain’t Easy” and “Starman” while dressed as a nun and a Hassidic rabbi, and even though it’s a dumb joke you’d only get if you knew us (Brian’s oldest sister says we are “cross dressing”) and which is stretched too far, and despite that fact that our musical technique and comedic improv chops leave much to be desired, people seemed to really love our performance.

An audience showing you the love is cause alone for a serious buzz, but I think there’s more to it. I feel like I’m also buzzing off of everyone else’s spirited performances, but more than that, off of the encouragement and acceptance that are such a vital part of the creative scene here in Rosendale. From one event to the next in this town, whether it’s an 80s-themed Prom party or a night of original monologues, I am consistently amazed by not only how much originality and talent there is here, but also by how mutually supportive people are.

You won’t find any attitude here – no in-group sneering sideways at the wanna-be’s. Everyone is welcome and encouraged to join in the fun. It makes for an environment where people are unafraid to take creative risks – even people brand new to town – and that naturally breeds exciting, original art and entertainment. (Sure, it paves the way for some serious clunkers. But it’s still all in good fun.)

It’s thrilling to witness and take part in that. No wonder we slept only four hours.

We got this much more snow today. At least in this one spot.

On days like today when it snows in the mid-Hudson Valley, friends and family from other areas want to know how many inches we got. We tend to get a lot more than people to the south of here.

I try to give an accurate answer, but it’s hard to say. Drifts will cause greater accumulations in some spots, and drippings from the trees will tamp down the piles in others. I am reminded that the Constants, the house’s owners-twice-removed, had the job of measuring precipitation and reporting it to the National Weather Service when they lived here from the late 1940s to the early 1970s. In fact, until our garage came down a couple of years ago, their special yellow measuring cup was attached to it.

Today I planned to go outside and measure with a ruler in several places, then average my findings. But I can’t find my ruler. Using my show shoes as yard sticks seems a little unscientific, but they’re what I’ve got. Somewhere at the bottom of some landfill, that special measuring cup is mocking me.