Every Ad in the February 2023 Issue of Hudson Valley Magazine
Part 1
Boston Children’s Health Physicians
You hold the bell to his little gold chain to his Puma sweatshirt to his chest, and you listen for the beat of his heart.
You look in each other’s faces, smiling perfect smiles, eyes open to the world. The rubber tube of the stethoscope connects you.
You have just made him laugh and he trusts you.
You listen to his heart.
Part 2
Renu Medispa
I wait in a room of impossibly polished marble; of glass-topped, skinny-legged coffee tables; of fine pelts skinned from golden-striped animals; of curved ceilings and contoured couches; of dead-eyed busts, puffed white thrones, and decorative pillars. I wait in a many-mirrored, many-windowed, many-chandeliered chamber of medical esthetics.
I wait under the spotlight, by the exit sign, for you.
Part 3
Mohonk Mountain House
Under brood of winter clouds it beckons, with balconied face like an Escher print, with Alpine gables, with smokeless, Gothic chimneys. This warren of riches, devoid of human life.
You pass in its shadow on a field of snow. Do not tarry.
Part 4
California Closets
Have you found my closet? Have you found the kinetic art within? Have you found my Handbags coffee table book, have you found the shelves on which I keep my Panama hat collection, in my closet?
Have you found my angelic white cabinetry, my Polo shirt rainbow, my impossibly carpeted closet ceiling?
I will make room. Make room for all of you.
Part 5
Nejame Pool Specialists
You have all the lights on. You have native landscaping, Adirondack chairs, seclusion. You have cabana house, poolside umbrellas, exterior-grade subway tiles.
The storm gathers, a tint of shadows moving over rippling turquoise, and you step out onto the board.
You still have time.
Part 6
Bells Ethan Allen
Your impeccably disheveled bedding reminds me of Vermeers. Your life in grays and creams and walnut, your single bedside book, your matching mid-century lamps, your glass half-filled with bent back tulips. But only the pillows sleep here.
Your window announces the golden day. Will you make room for me?
Part 7
Nuvance Health
Do you remember? I stopped at the grassy spot by the pond and there, though I’d walked them a dozen times or more, the members of your pack accepted me, finally, as one of their own.
They trusted me, and I know you could see the joy on my face as I received those first licks of welcome.
You danced on the grass for us in return.
Part 8
Teeth Tomorrow
They regard the pair of us, this panel of judging faces. Two women, one man, three unsettling smiles. Smiles of inner pain, or embattled experience, or nostalgic longing. I cannot tell.
Mercenary smiles of pure zirconia, smiles transmitting hidden messages, smiles marked and labeled for identification purposes, smiles poking through plastic-mask mouth-holes.
Smiles devoid of human life. Smiles that will last hundreds of years.
Smiles we banish to the past.
Part 9
New York Presbyterian Hospital
Newly born, toothless mouth wide in amazement, he gazed at your face. At you, the gentle lifegiver above.
I remember how they swaddled him, placed the bundle of him on a hand-knit blanket. They taped a name card by his head.
You watched his every move. He trusted you.
Part 10
Williams Lumber
Back in my kitchen, I have order. I have stainless steel and red oak and copper and terracotta.
I have practical cabinetry, wine fridge island, interior-grade Southwestern subway tiles, pineapple, red pepper, spices in corked containers. I have countertops devoid of crumbs.
Outside, the sun blasts the world.
I have all the time in it.
Part 11
Woodland Pond at New Paltz
We’ve found a place in this painted, autumnal forest: cheerful, prefabricated, white-walled, clean as an abattoir. Pull around, look for the flagpole.
Let us stroll unspooling paths, point out the pointed gables, sit silent by the pond, and reflect.
The retirement lifestyle we deserve. Devoid of human life.
Part 12
N&S Supply
I can’t do it. I’ll hide in the bathroom. But I feel sick and indistinct.
This sink, beside black flowers, beside phantasmal mirror. Tilework web spun over floor, over walls, over ceiling, over the skin of my hands.
The world has lost focus. What have I done?
I cannot hide forever.
Part 13
Adam’s Fairacre Farms
I have come out of hiding for your love. To feel better.
You have made this offering of blood-red roses and velvet cake, of chocolate strawberries, sprinkled and frosted. You have artfully strewn these on virginal cloth, like a still life.
For whatever kind of love we celebrate, you have made this offering.
Part 14
WALL Radio
We listen to these walls and stare through the ceiling at the universe. You touch the strings of my guitar.
The indigotic night sky spells the names of the forgotten, their stars, and their planets.
Can we hear our own names up there?
Part 15
The Fountains at Millbrook
I will wear the hat of my youth, now out of fashion, and I will wear my best sweater. I will face the blurred edge of this frame with a perfect smile that will last hundreds of years.
I will know the embrace of loved ones behind me as I enter this vibrant community. I will bathe in a fountain like a newborn.
Part 16
Craig Austin Dermatology
A small pack has spotted us, just two skinny-legged dogs and two humans, all smiling. Birkenstocks, impossibly blonde hair, and the unbearable whiteness of being.
I do not trust these dogs and the way they look at our golden-striped skin.
Part 17
Dr. Michael Koumas DDS
The man in black silently beckons, with bare arms and pocket hands. Hair parted like the Red Sea and a smile like a fist.
He wants to lead me away.
Part 18
Hudson Valley Hospice
I know your singular embrace — partner, friend, lover all these years, hands folded over my best sweater over my ticking heart. I look up into your face in amazement.
Our time will come, but for now we share a moment, and we ignore the numbers that spill from this machine.
Part 19
Dental Design Studio
The man in black exhibits his white chairs and white tables and white devices.
He will design your mouth and it will last hundreds of years and you will speak in tongues.
But I will take your hand, guide you away from here, and nourish you.
Part 20
Rossi and Sons
Eat pasta, for all times must soon come to an end.
Part 21
Windsor Dental
Do you see this nuclear family and their nuclear teeth? Father, brother, sister, mother, all of them beaming? Visitors to this zoo. We make them laugh just by having a meal.
They follow our antics, they admire our fine pelts, they see our dreams.
We cannot trust them, we cannot banish them, we cannot ignore them.
Part 22
Woodland Pond at New Paltz (redux)
Finally alone, outside our compound home, we walk a winding, autumn-painted path. We’ve come this far together, we have the highest-rated care options, the deepest love, and the rest of our story to tell.
The forests of the Shawangunk Ridge beckon me, memories like breadcrumbs leading into shadows. But you have met my eyes, our perfect teeth shine, and I no longer want to tarry.
I trust you, and no matter what, we yet have time. Don’t we?
Part 23
Montefiore Einstein Cancer Center
You take your place on darkened stage, ready to perform, and I stand with you. I don’t feel ready.
I wear my out of fashion hat, I smile with my teeth that will last hundreds of years, and I play my guitar for you.
Your golden shoes carry you into the air, into the spotlight.
I keep heartbeat time, and I watch as you leap from these hard-worn boards. I yearn to join you. But I play on and the music connects us.
From above, you smile your perfect smile, and you dance.
You dance at the speed of light, with eyes closed to the world, name card taped next to your head.
You dance into the shadow over a field of snow.
And I play on.