Charles
Journal
Charles
 Peekskill is a city with character—vibrant, unique, and, in my honest opinion, far above Peyton Place. Once a tiny industrial village in the Town of Cortlandt, Peekskill transformed into a rough-and-tumble city in 1940 where many blacks migrated to from the prejudiced South. It’s young, still green, but seasoned enough to have stories to tell. She’s no virgin, but she’s not ancient by European standards either. Spring breathes life into Peekskill. Warmer days bring festivals downtown, at Charles Point, and along the Riverfront. Everything blooms—the light green of the trees deepens, and the weather sheds the harshness of winter’s cold and snow. Even on overcast days, the town feels alive. Those gray skies? They don’t bother me. They keep away the fair-weather folks who only chase sunshine. Let them have it. For now, Peekskill feels like the right place for me. I believe I can do amazing things here—if I let go of certain distractions and focus on where I am, who I am, and what already exists. Still, I haven’t met anyone who truly understands the game of Charles, the one that never changes. Oddly enough, I think I’d get along with Donald Trump, though I’m neither a supporter nor a Republican. That would dishonor my grandparents, who always voted Democratic—and so do I. Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? I am Martha. But I smile anyway, and I’d never let them know because I am mellow. Yeah, I was just like you...afraid to let someone else be strong.
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 Times Square, often hailed as the Crossroads of the World, is a place that defies description—and perhaps that’s its charm. People from every corner of the globe gather here, speaking a hundred different languages, though none seem to cut through the hum and energy of the crowd. It’s a place that truly never sleeps, alive with lights, sounds, and motion at any hour of the day or night. Though it's said that real New Yorkers avoid Times Square, I’ve discovered that’s not entirely true—they may claim indifference, but they’re not immune to its magnetic pull. For anyone feeling down, this bustling hub offers a kind of escape, a chance to lose yourself and leave yesterday’s worries behind. That’s the magic of Times Square—an unforgettable collision of chaos and comfort. 😊✨
    Yellow dandelions flourish along the Riverfront, forming a vibrant, golden path reminiscent of a yellow brick road. Peekskill's RiverWalk is more than just a path—it's a heartbeat of connection. Practically everyone waves and says hello, creating an atmosphere that feels like a friendly gathering rather than just a casual stroll. Occasionally, these greetings evolve into meaningful conversations, like one I had recently with Edward, an Irishman born right here in Peekskill.
Edward served in the military and has been celebrating twenty years of sobriety. His journey wasn't an easy one; he faced significant challenges with drinking and sought help at a facility in New Rochelle to reclaim his life. When I brought up Whiskey River while chatting about his Irish heritage, the conversation took a poignant turn. He shared that he avoids bars and anything that might jeopardize his sobriety. Respecting his choice, I shifted the topic, and we continued talking as the rain began to sprinkle down—a gentle reminder of the season’s unpredictability. Edward's storytelling and resilience made him not just entertaining, but profoundly inspiring. As we parted ways, I reflected on the timeless question Edward had asked: "Are you married?" It's a question I’ve always disliked, but my answer remains the same—no, I’ve never married, and I don’t plan to. His response was a simple smile, and soon we were onto another topic, the drizzle gently falling around us.  A field of yellow dandelions creates a stunningly beautiful scene at Peekskill's RiverWalk, showcasing nature's vibrant charm Last Saturday, the weather played its own games. While warm enough for shorts, the breeze coming off the river brought moments that felt colder, especially when the rain came down hard. Yet, Peekskill’s friendliness prevailed, with walkers, runners, and wave-sharers braving the day together.  A couple in love, sharing an umbrella, savor the tranquil view of rain, clouds, and mist shrouding the mountains at Peekskill’s RiverWalk by the Hudson. Spring paints the town in vibrant hues. Cherry blossoms line the riverbanks, their beauty stretching up into the hills. At the top of Fort Hill, amidst the colors of nature, the American flag flew at half-staff outside the old Chaplain house, now a private residence, and St. Mary’s convent—a tribute to Pope Francis.
 The American flag hangs at half-staff outside the old Chaplain house, now a private residence, as well as St. Mary’s convent, in tribute to Pope Francis. The weekend's activity left me sore on Sunday—a clear sign that my muscles had earned their rest. I took the day off to recover, grateful for the reminder to care for myself. A Tylenol and relaxation were all I needed to ease the aches in my legs and back.  Carol Feuerman – The Golden Mean: This bronze sculpture of a male swimmer creates a silhouette at varied times of the day, a majestic tribute to the beauty of the athlete and a bow to the Greek classical works of the past. Perfectly balanced and stalwart, it stands on Peekskill Riverfront Green as a beacon to human ambition and artistic accomplishment A picturesque view of Peekskill on the Hudson, beginning from the Hudson River Trail at Annsville, showcasing the area's natural beauty and charm
 Met a new seatmate on the Amtrak Capitol Limited during a stop in Harper's Ferry, WV, traveling from Washington, DC to Los Angeles The first Good Friday I spent in New York was back in 2009, when I was living in San Francisco. Craving an adventure, I embarked on a four-day train journey from Emeryville, CA, to Chicago, and from there, transferred to another train bound for New York’s Penn Station. Aside from a memorable European train trip from Frankfurt, Germany, thru the breath-taking Swiss Alps and to Rome, Italy, this cross-country tour of the United States was equally magnificent, including a dozen others I have taken. The experience wasn’t just about the breathtaking landscapes—it was about the incredible Americans you meet on trains and in the small towns where we stopped for smoke breaks. This journey was also the first time I fell in love with places like Chicago, Utah, Iowa, Nevada, and countless others in between.
 The street and square outside of Denver's Union Station.  Colorado River and landscape as seen from Amtrak California Zephyr
 California Zephyr-Amtak entering Chicago.  The crowded observation car overlooking the Pacific near Santa Barbara on Amtrak's Starlight Express from Los Angeles to Seattle. Easter weekend in New York was magical that year. Sunday brunch at Rock Café in Rockefeller Center was a highlight: a delicious salmon dish paired with several glasses of Merlot, followed by a decadent cheesecake and coffee for dessert. That Easter in April, the ice rink at Rock Cafe in Rockefeller Center was still up, and I had the joy of watching fabulous skaters—like a talented young girl, a lively Russian team, and many others. Their grace and energy brought the rink to life.
In 2025 I experienced my first Easter Parade in New York. While I love people-watching, the sheer volume of the crowd was overwhelming, eventually forcing me to leave. “Overload” and “overwhelm” felt like the right words to describe it. Still, I was thoroughly impressed by the parade’s spirit—especially the hats! Both women and men wore them with flair, to the delight of the lively crowd spilling out from St. Patrick’s Cathedral, where I had attended Good Friday services. Unfortunately, I missed Sunday’s 10 a.m. Easter Mass—it was fully booked—but other services were available throughout the day. By 5:30 p.m., though, I had moved on, intentionally avoiding the ever-crowded Times Square.
 While younger crowds of Gen X and Z's seem to gravitate toward Washington Square Park with its vibrant energy, I’ve always preferred the serene elegance of Bryant Park. Its fashionable visitors, many from Europe and Asia, and tranquil atmosphere resonate more with me. That said, I love every corner of New York, no matter where I find myself. 
 St Patrick's Cathedral  Grand Central Terminal, Good Friday, April 18, 2025  Tulips have blossomed into a vibrant tapestry across New York this spring, transforming the cityscape into a celebration of color. I've found a curious joy in photographing them against the towering skyscrapers, striving to frame the delicate beauty of the flowers alongside the grandeur of urban architecture. It's no easy feat. The buildings stretch so high, dominating the skyline, and crowds of people—ever-moving, seemingly indifferent to my artistic intent—keep disrupting the frame. In the end, you simply snap, capturing the chaos and charm of the moment. This Easter Sunday, wandering down Avenue of the Americas, a particular sight caught my eye. The tulips and a cross mirrored the reflective sheen of modern architecture, where the façade of Rockefeller II stands humbly opposite the imposing Fox News Tower. The glass surfaces played with light, giving the scene a surreal elegance—a fleeting masterpiece born of spring's exuberance and the city's inherent dynamism. Until now, I had always been an autumn enthusiast, drawn to its warmth and nostalgia. But 2025 has opened my eyes to spring’s magic—its diversity of colors, its freshness. This season feels alive in a way I’d never appreciated before, a reminder that sometimes beauty waits patiently for us to notice it.
 
     Spring might be on the calendar, but in Peekskill, it feels more like the heart of winter. The chill bites, the clouds linger, and the sun seems to have taken an extended vacation. Yet, in stark contrast to the dreary weather, the Peekskill Coffee House buzzes with life. This cozy haven is a testament to community spirit. It's packed—every seat taken, every corner filled with chatter louder than the rock music playing overhead. It's the kind of noise that's oddly comforting, brimming with positive energy. For a writer, this is fertile ground. The hum of conversations and clinking cups becomes a rhythm, sparking creativity. Peekskill Coffee House might just be the most diverse place on the planet. Here, diversity isn't just a word; it's alive, thriving in every corner. From the array of personalities to the vibrant LGBTQ+ community, it feels like a mosaic of humanity. And while the crowd may skew modern, some traditions remain—like the age-old affinity of older men for plaid shirts. (Seriously, what's the secret there?) There's an unspoken camaraderie here. Whether you're sipping your coffee in solitude or exchanging glances with the guy in the Colorado sweatshirt (who undoubtedly knows he’s turning heads), there's a sense of belonging. It's not about blending in; it's about celebrating what makes us unique. For those seeking warmth, connection, and inspiration on a cold April day, Peekskill Coffee House is the place to be.
  Because I fell asleep without closing the drapes last night, the morning sun woke me up. The morning sun is my gentle nudge, an invitation to embrace the day. Its light streaming through my window reminds me of life's simple beauty. Nature often whispers inspiration to me, and today is no exception. Life hasn’t been without its complexities. I’ve recently navigated an unexpected situation in a space meant for just me, a small apartment that became shared with someone I’m not in love with. My desk was moved out of my living room/work space—a necessary shift to reclaim my creative sanctuary in another part of the apartment. Writing can be challenging when one's surroundings don’t quite align with their energy. Slowly but surely, things are returning to normal. Take Painted People, for example—a project always close to my heart. Yet, revisions are proving tricky. The wrong character's untimely departure has led to extensive rewrites, and my once-clear outline keeps evolving. It’s a puzzle I’m determined to piece together, as I strive to give this story the justice it deserves. April in New York is a paradox for me—a cold, breezy month that leaves chills despite its sunlit days. It's not like San Francisco’s mild Aprils or South Carolina’s warmer springs. But this hasn’t deterred me from getting an early taste of spring in New York City most weekends. New York calls to me deeply. Despite the costs and challenges that come with living there, I sense its inevitability in my future—a city so vibrant and dynamic that it feels like an extension of my spirit. Not this year, with commitments keeping me grounded elsewhere, but someday I’ll step into its pulse and probably never leave, even for vacations. Through countless photos of the city, each one tells a story—a piece of its soul, a fragment of my connection. As I look to share these moments with the world, I’m reminded that life is an ever-evolving narrative, and cities, like stories, can shape us in unexpected ways. I require coffee at the moment. Although the espresso I made at home was satisfactory, I desire something not made by myself. Therefore, I am heading out for a walk to Peekskill Coffee House.
 George Cloony is favorite actor I would love to see on stage if I had additional $400 to spare. Where are all those men with benefits from my youth?  My favorite Laurie Ann Karr was portrayed by Emily Prager on The Edge of Night. I fell in love with her character as a young boy. Today, April 2, marks an important milestone—the anniversary of The Edge of Night's debut on CBS-TV. Originally an attempt to adapt the Perry Mason radio show for daytime television, Edge premiered to resounding success. Garnering over nine million viewers in its first year, the show cemented its place as a top-rated series, paving the way for 28 more years of dramatic storytelling, first on CBS and later on ABC. Its numbers easily overshadowed competitors—take that, Beyond the Gates, with your mere three million viewers. I suppose I was born with The Edge of Night in the background but was too young to realize it. Eventually, something changed. I vividly remember my grandmother—a proud Black woman—working tirelessly in white households, ironing clothes while watching Edge. She would talk to the TV as though her words could alter the storyline. I was initially too scared to even glance at the screen, intimidated by the dramatic piano and organ music that seemed to echo ominously through the room. But one fateful day, I finally looked. What I saw that day in the Taylors' living room after school in Johnsonville left an impression I would never forget. My grandmother, unbothered by the organ music, was passionately warning lead character Mike Karr not to enter a room where danger awaited him. Sure enough, Mike was nearly killed by an avalanche of falling boxes. Believing he had truly died, I wanted to scream. Instead, I retreated to my toy cars and trains, trying to shake the haunting scene. It wasn’t until I caught sight of Laurie Ann Karr (played by Emily Prager) that I became truly hooked. Laurie Ann had been kidnapped and was slowly succumbing to illness from being drugged. One heart-wrenching scene featured her being coerced into speaking with her parents, Mike and Nancy, to assure them she was fine—though she clearly wasn’t. Watching Nancy cry broke my heart. I wanted to shout at the screen, to tell them Laurie Ann was trapped in a cabin in the woods, to beg Mike and Ron to do more to save her. It was then that I found myself fully immersed in The Edge of Night, alongside my grandmother, who continued narrating her thoughts aloud as if she were orchestrating the plot herself. I still remember Eric Barrington, the cruel villain who once menaced Mike and Nancy, warning them that if they involved the police, Laurie Ann would be killed and her body delivered to their doorstep, "Quite dead." The sheer intensity of that threat was unforgettable as the organ music swelled with a dark intensity, only to shatter into a sharp squeal as the screen plunged to black, sending chills racing down my spine. 'Tune in tomorrow for The EEEEEdge of Night. The Edge of Night claimed my soul from that moment on. |
AuthorCHARLES PEARSON
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