[On the left, in the distance, just beyond the white house, just hidden in the morning fog, is the riverbank where I played away my childhood. Photo is mine.]

Great Grandpa, what’s an Imaginarium?

Oh, Great Grandson, it’s like a rambling and cluttered room, an old room, a very big room. There are lots of books, on magic and myth, truth and nonsense, ideas and quotes, sad stories and impossibly happy stories. And legends, many legends.

~~An exchange that happened somewhere, once or twice.

KICKING LEAVES

One reason I came to Owego was to kick leaves. It’s something I really love to do, but it’s not easy these days. The actual kicking is not the problem, it’s finding a few inches of leaves on a sidewalk to walk through and kick. But everyone spends a lot of time and energy in keeping the leaves from staying on a sidewalk. And kicking leaves on a lawn, where they ended up after falling from the tree, isn’t the same. The grass. Gets in the way.

I walked down Front St. to Paige and then down Main to Ross and back up Front. I found some leaves to kick, but it just wasn’t enough for me. But I kicked a little and got on with my life here in my hometown.

[Front Street leaves. Photo is mine.]

When I walk the streets of Owego, I have time to think things over. I pass places that I passed decades ago and I see that they haven’t changed very much. Change can be a strange process. I’m not one to say that all new things are wrong, but that happens to be true in some cases. The village is designated an Historic District. A good thing. The buildings should not be altered from the style that was common in the 1880’s. The town has done a pretty good job maintaining the architectural integrity of most of the old blocks. The glaring exception, the eyesore that defines what an eyesore truly is, is the Auto Zone store on Church Street. What a horror. How that was allowed to happen (decades ago) is a puzzle.

ADVENTURES IN THE ALLEYS

There are several alleys of note in my hometown. Understand that I’m not writing about an alley that you can drive a ’57 Chevy through. No, I’m talking about the skinny alleys, big enough to accommodate one and a half bodies. One is on Lake Street. It connects that street with the parking lots on Court Street. I’ve taken many photos of that narrow slot. We all know which alley it is, so I won’t post one here. My brother, Dan, who was a very good photographer, took some pics of a local rock band (used on their album cover). That was several decades ago. I hid in that space after an especially bad haircut in the early 70s. We all know, of course, that if you are strolling down Lake Street late in the evening with that special someone on your arm, that that alley is ideal for a quick smooch.

But there is another alley of note. One only a few people knew about, much less used. After I had a Cold Brew in the delightful Spellbound Bookstore and Cafe, I happened to pass it and a flood of memories came back to me. I only dared to pass through it a few times, preferring to walk all the way around the Elks Club Parking Lot. But, it was worth the effort because it challenged you to overcome your fears, your claustrophobia.

I slid my 12-year-old body into the opening. The Elks Bowling Alley was on my right. Right? I was sideways. Right was to the opening. I could hear the heavy black balls striking the pins with that special violence. Whack! Thud! I shimmied on. Before I was half way through…was I imagining things? Did something move? Something against my stomach. Wait, the building were moving. They were sliding together like in all those movies, the thriller movies where the hero gets trapped in the giant vise. I hurried along hoping that it was all my imagination. It was, of course, buildings don’t move. Do they?

As one slid along through the narrow space, the greatest fear (besides encountering a rattlesnake or stepping into a bear trap) was making it halfway and seeing someone else entering from the other end. But that wasn’t much of a problem. No one else in town would think of putting themselves through the ordeal of messing up a good tee shirt by going through the alley in the first place. Did I mention that one could walk around the Elks Club in a fraction of the time?

Yes, it was all rather pointless. But it was part of my growing up in Owego. Trying things and testing limits.

[The legendary Skinny Alley of Owego. Elks Club back wall in yellow. Photo is mine.]

HALLOWEEN

It’s October 31, 2025 and I’m sitting in the dining area of the Belva Lockwood Inn. I used to live further down Front Street, the big rambling messy unkempt semi-Queen Ann on Broken Arm Curve. I come to Owego these days as an outsider. A local boy coming back to look around and see how the years have treated my beloved hometown. I come here to find a quiet place to think, write, read and kick leaves.

I also come here to remember. My DNA is here. My body may reside in Manhattan but my spirit is here. I touched an iron fence near St. Pat’s School once in 1958. My molecules are somewhere nearby.

The Susquehanna River flows by. I can see it across the street. It’s the color of a pale green olive. It’s been raining so the color changes by the hour.

[The river rolls on, like a sad lovers song. Video is mine.]

Some leaves are still clinging to their parent. Even the slightest breeze makes them dance. It will be their Dance of Death, of course and the bonds break. Then they fall to the ground. Perhaps kicked by the likes of me, perhaps mulched, in the old days, burned.

[The leaves that cling are sad leaves. Video is mine.]

I have to meet an old friend later today. The big event, however, I will watch from the front porch of this Inn. Brie, our host, will be dressed as a witch.

Witches. I look out of the window to my left, toward the river. There are three witches in the lawn. They’re holding hands. The breeze buffets them, making it seem like one is saying: “Let’s go and scare someone.”

[The lawn witches. As I moved the camera, the wrinkles in the glass become apparent. A sign of old glass. Video is mine.]

MY VISIT IS NEARLY OVER

I came to pay my respects to a friend who passed away suddenly. I met old classmates and friends I played games with sixty years ago, hugged my son and his wife after a great meal in Vestal, saw a cousin who sang at my father’s funeral over twenty years ago.

And I kicked leaves. Everyone should kick a few leaves once in a while.

It can bring back memories.