That's a view of the Meadowlands from the NJ Turnpike going south, around noon on a morning when the wind was so strong Jim and Charlie did a shortcut local ride.
The Meadowlands, despite their name, have the reputation of being industrial Jersey wasteland. That is the case but we (Charlie too by his serious looks out the window) like the vistas, of brown reeds, river waters, iron and steel structures, highways criscrossing each other, Manhattan glittering in Oz fashion to the east, Newark stolidly sitting westward, streams of smoke from a smokestack, always cars.
We've stayed local the whole long weekend. Charlie conked out and could not be woken Friday and Saturday afternoons and slept not at all in the nights. Sunday morning he lay down for a few hours on the blue couch, waking at 11 and immediately calling for his bike.
After a chilly post-dinner walk, Charlie had a disturbance, if I may call it that, reminding me of his distress on a previous night. He ended up back on the couch and as we've discovered, as of Saturday night, that he seems cheered to hear my parents' voices on the phone (after years of pushing it away, as if hearing voices without bodies was too much to deal with), I turned on FaceTime on the iPad and gave my arm a good ache holding the device at Charlie's eye level, so he could see my parents and they him.
Then he went to sleep on the couch, woke after two hours and went up to bed, turned on music from Wiggles to Pixies, fell back asleep before 11pm and the house creaked and settled in the wind.