Off To Westchester

SOMERS, N.Y.—Those of you who know me, know the reasons for my moving out of New York to a premier New York suburb. So, I won’t disclose it.

Despite a peripatetic childhood, I don’t cope well with relocation and that too, on short notice. To keep the trauma of uprooting and then re-planting myself on an unfamiliar terrain to a bare minimum, I left the Big Apple with a light cargo of three medium-size suitcases, a pair of 10-pound dumbbells, and two backpacks of electronic goodies (a police scanner, a digital camera, a MacBook Pro, one wireless modem, one BlackBerry, and a bird’s nest of electrical power cords). I’ve never felt so empowered in my life.

After about an hour’s ride from Grand Central on Metro-North, I disembarked at the Mount Kisco station, from where I was driven to my new abode, in Amawalk: a tranquil neighborhood in the 33-acre town of Somers.

As far as suburban towns go, Somers isn’t singularly quiet. Nor is it desolate. I’ve lived in places where the sound of a blimp scudding across a twilit sky is audible, and the field of vision doesn’t change in a 100-mile radius.

But going by New York’s noise pollution as a benchmark, this town’s silence feels eerily dense.

My place stands on a little mound, overlooking a small lake, in the adjoining municipality of Yorktown. However, in the five days that I’ve been here, I haven’t had a moment to admire the breathtaking view from my courtyard.

No sooner than I got done with unpacking, I had to plunge headlong into a frenzied rhythm, which requires working all the time. I do not exaggerate when I say this.

The demands on my time and brain have risen exponentially. Which is not to say that I’m not enjoying it, but that it’s the reason for my infrequent posts.


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