Tales of Intrigue
The secrets we keep
Every year in early November, when the days in northeastern New York turn cold and grey, I pack up my car and head to Florida. And every year in late May, when the Florida heat and humidity becomes oppressive, I repack my car and head north. It’s the perfect lifestyle.
My initial move to Florida wasn’t all that easy. Moving to a new town means finding new friends as well as a new doctor, dentist, hairstylist, stores and restaurants. It all takes time, and it makes me truly appreciate my town here on Lake George in northern New York, where I have very deep roots. It’s where I was born and have spent at least part of every year for my entire life. This town is so small that the Postmaster, who knows what kind of car I drive, will call to let me know if I have a package waiting that might not fit in my vehicle. Maybe I should call a friend — one with a pickup truck. There is a real sense of community in small towns, and people are always willing to help each other out.
My family has a long history in this town. I often dream about inviting some of my deceased ancestors to stop by for a glass of wine so I can ask them about some missing pieces of that history. I want to know, for instance, about the inscription on the back of a large oil painting that hangs in my house. It was painted by a moderately famous New York City artist who…
