Upstate New York

Proudly born and raised. And by Upstate, no, I don’t mean Poughkeepsie. When I say Upstate I mean Up State. Where you can get some of the best Italian food in the country and all road races end at the local brewery. Where you can drink milk right from the cow. Where kids can be kids, and free-range parenting is the norm. Where you can see bears on the regular, climb mountains, swim in creeks (cricks?), ice skate on frozen rivers in the winter and tube down those same rivers in the summer. Where you aren’t crucified if your kid gets a sunburn, because that is what happens when you play outside all day, every day. Where all kids learn to whittle sticks when they get their first jackknives at the age of 5. And yes, we all still have 10 fingers…or at least most of us.

Some things though, are confounding, even for Upstate (or because it is Upstate?):

Life with Dubowsky, rest-stop style

I stopped at a rest stop on the way home the other day, and did a double-take when I opened the door to the bathroom. I just had to take a picture. I sent it to the husband and that was his response above. He said that he would have used both of them. That he would have stood right in the middle…

Sigh. So glad he wasn’t there with me…