Needing an outing after a day in, Scott navigated us to the great lake of Ontario while I ordered the certified check to buy our Baby Blue Sprinter tomorrow, him taking care of the adventure while I took care of some business to keep it going. We drove along the Oswego River which guided us into the town of the same name and flowed into Lake Ontario. It was a charming town, a warm night, and finally one that was not too buggy- this east coast not like the west in so many ways, including the degree of pestilence.
It was a cute little town to wander around, worth getting off the elliptical and getting dressed up for, even if it was just a quiet Wednesday night. After a walk around the river, Scott was getting hangry and had his heart set on bar food and a beer. We made our way to what the map app said was Eleven Brewing Company at the Cellar Door. Even though all I wanted was to sit out on the river with our well packed cooler and watch the evening colors, we pulled open the brass handled wooden doors and stepped down into the tavern. Instead of a smiling young person to greet us, the hostess stand was topped with a case of Heineken and a giant jar of Vlasik pickles, the same kind we'd chosen not to buy the day prior after reading the ingredients included 5 preservatives along with yellow #5. Not deterred and always curious, we continued in, stepping around boxes of Christmas decorations until we made eye contact with someone behind the bar and it became more than apparent that they were not looking for customers. "Because of covid", they've been shut down for the past 18 months and were hoping to reopen this weekend, just getting CO2 and the filtered ice maker delivered today. After being sent back to the streets to go with my cooler plan, we ended up getting more than an earful and experience from Tom. While we were grabbing the cooler and the travel sofa, he walked out to his car to grab something, and as you might expect from a bar owner, he was happy to have people to share his story with. He told us more than even I would've asked for, while we all stood on the corner of West Cayuga and 1st street. As I looked at the yoga studio sign above him, those sparse around these parts, and he commented on the tenants of the this 1890s building; the tenants currently blowing up his phone to get their elevator repaired.
Instead of parting ways at that corner, we took him up on his invite to come down for a Heineken, none of his brewed beer ready yet, but since the CO2 and ice had arrived today, I got to step behind his bar and mix myself a cucumber spritzer. We told our story, van coming today, our ticket out of Syracuse, he told lots of his, from merchant Marine in Port Angeles WA, buying this real estate when he moved back, dreaming big in his 30s that being an investor in his hometown would bring happiness and success, which it seems gave him neither. We sat at the bar stools with boxes and trash all over, but had the kind of connection that people are looking for when they belly up in a place like this. Maybe we will be friends, maybe it was just for that moment, but it was just a reminder of the way magic happens when you're open to it. Nice to have the magic flowing again.
We made it out in time to catch the sunset over Breitbeck Park, Tom's girlfriend coming in just when I was really getting antsy to get outside for the last bits of light, and we put the red sofa out for our dinner and chatted and snacked while watching the colors change and the boats come in. We talked about how we tell our story, him sweetly correcting me when we talk about how we got here; it definitely was his idea to make life together in Syracuse.
