I have a request for satellite map providers; one I doubt will ever be fulfilled—could you please, please, please update the satellite images daily? It will save me a lot in gas and hotel costs and of course help the environment out immensely because I won’t be on the road. Our Long Island trip turned into a comedy of errors, one where I found myself constantly repeating in an exasperated tone, “but it’s on the map.” So rather than returning home elated with three or four new galleries to add I came home with one—very disappointing.

Don’t get me wrong I’m thrilled to have conquered Kings Park. And conquered, I believe, is the appropriate word here. The place is massive, humongous, really, really, really, super-big (I think you get the gist, it’s quite large) and tough to gain access to. But being the tenacious middle-aged explorers we are, and having been foiled twice already by non-existent, inaccessible places, we weren’t going to be defeated for a third time (well I wasn’t anyway, my exploring partner was, however, a little apprehensive, but if you’re a regular reader you’ll know that’s nothing new). And we weren’t. I had bruises appearing in places I didn’t know you could have bruises for days afterwards. I know I won’t forget those spiky window things in a hurry. Ouch!

The comedy of errors continued on Sunday with our next stop being smack in the middle of a golf course (what’s left of it anyway) and boarded up so well that even had we have found our way in we would have been in total darkness. So we officially had one place out of four and not a lot of options to increase that number.

All was not lost though, we spent Sunday in NYC and I had a great time just being a tourist and taking touristy photos of nothing in particular in my most favorite city in the world. I should do it more often. It makes a healthy change from dark, damp, mouldy, asbestos ridden abandonments. But alas it doesn’t really present the same challenge and I do love a challenge.

Kings Park did teach me something other than the odd places you can get bruises — how animals in a zoo feel, or rather how they feel being stared at through a wire fence and talked about as though deaf. More about that next time…

Building 93, Kings Park Psychiatric Center, Long Island, NY

I think I should begin the list of hmm’s with myself. I looked at the date of my last entry and I said a lot more than hmmm, but in the interests of politeness I won’t write what I really said. I also said hmm about where to start this entry. In all honesty I think it’s a little (lot) late to finish up our winter adventure—we’re already talking of planning the next one. Let’s just say we did get into Hudson Valley Psych.—obviously, as there’s a gallery—it was a giggle, complete with a snow plough. But it was so long ago and although I remember, clearly, the entry and our ridiculous conversations that preceded it, I think I’ll go with more recent events.

I do have a bunch of excuses for not posting. Of course it’s the whole being busy thing and prioritizing. I had to create a personal website for my day job, check it out, suetatterson.com if you’re at all interested in what I do during the day (why you would be I don’t know, Spirits of the Abandoned is much more fun, although I do love my job). My site still needs some missing bits filled in but they’re on my list. Of course if you add the photos that needed galleries from our most recent trip to NJ, well then you can see what I’ve been doing—I’m not one for excuses but I do think mine are kind of, sort of relevant.

Anyway, back to things that make you go hmmm. As I mentioned we were in NJ a few weeks ago, which I’ll post about next…soon. We had a great time—a hospital, a jail and a stadium—what more could two middle-aged women explorers ask for —maybe the grim reaper guarding a very nice middle class home in a very nice area of NJ? Really! Yes, that’s exactly what we came across. Coincidently it was the same weekend Michael Jackson and Farah Fawcett departed. But that’s a whole other story. So, no, it wasn’t a Halloween thing, it’s obviously a year round fixture.

I’m not sure why, it could be because I’m a Virgo, but I like to be able to explain things—I’m a fan of good old-fashioned reasoning. And I am really stuck on why there is any reason, any person would want to pull in their driveway each day/night and be greeted by a life size grim reaper. ‘Tis very strange.

Honestly, I’m good with quirky, I learned to live with a 4 foot, green, concrete, crocodile named Ginger (so called after the American tourist who was eaten by one—I was living in Australia, my home, so American tourists being eaten by crocodiles made the news) residing on my front porch for many, many, years. It wasn’t mine it was my former  partner’s but as I said I developed an understanding of quirky, (although I often wished it had another name)—but the grim reaper?? Ohh well let’s see if the pic makes you go hmm too.  I’m heading off to NY for another adventure this weekend, so I’ll be back with stories from that trip as well as NJ soon. And of course, more photos!

I’ve decided to digress from our NY trip for one post. Every now and then you have a ‘wow’ moment that requires immediate attention (well kind of immediate, I’m a slow blogger). Anyway, I’ve experienced a couple of these moments in the last few weeks and I would like to acknowledge them. And when the title came to mind I just couldn’t resist—don’t the names just make a great title—Timmy and Tad?

I have to admit to gaining a great deal of pleasure, and a serious adrenaline rush, from my habit of “sneaking” into abandoned buildings. But something I haven’t mentioned, is the kindness of the wonderful people who, in many cases, grant me access (legally). Without them I couldn’t have completed my thesis and without them I would be missing out on some amazing locations.

Timmy and Tad are my most recent helpful souls and Timmy is by far the most incredible, meant to be, coincidence, karmic—whatever you want to call it—person I’ve come across during my exploring shenanigans. It wouldn’t be right for me, now I’ve mentioned Timmy and Tad, to not thank those who have helped me out tremendously over the past eighteen months (I’m omitting surnames for privacy reasons): Andy, Charlie, Larry, Carolyn, Betsy, Eric, David (archdiocese), Joe Mc N, Dennis, Joe C, Maryanna, Mike, Paul, Phil and in particular David K. and Sean McC. for giving me unlimited access to what I consider my very own grown-up playgrounds. I know as soon as I post this I’ll remember more people, so thank you to all the above and to all who I will remember shortly!

Back to Timmy and Tad. Tad is a sweetheart (as are his secretary and boss who passed on my message) because he called me back—almost instantly— gave me a tour of his beloved theatre, then handed me the keys and  said “see ya have fun.”  You can’t ask for more than that. Thanks Tad! He’s in the same league as David K. and Sean McC.

Now, Timmy. Timmy is the caretaker of the old York County Prison. Chatterbox and I being there, as Timmy was strolling by, at the very moment we were casing the building trying to work out how to get in, was serendipitous to say the very least. Here we were, on a bright, sunny Saturday morning—with no plan—although I usually have one, I didn’t have one that day because I had wrongly assumed we could just mosey in, hah.

But then along came Timmy, our/my saviour jangling his keys. He eyed us warily and said “you want to get in there, we both nodded our heads like ventriloquist dolls, “yeah we sure do.” Then Timmy, completely puzzled, “why you wanna go in there” Then us, in unison, “to take photos.” He thought for a minute then said, full of pride, “I have the keys.” Chatterbox and I were speechless for a moment but then gathered ourselves and explained why we were there.

Much to our delight Timmy unlocked the prison and politely asked how long we would be, we said a few hours at least, he shrugged and said, “fine, I’ll check on you later.” He then graciously inquired which car was ours on the street so he didn’t inadvertently lock us in, we told him and he was on his way and we had the entire York County Prison to ourselves. What fun! What unexpected fun! What wonderful exploring karma!

Timmy reappeared several times during the day to see if we were OK and to see if we were done. Of course we’re never done, we just run out of steam, but on his third early evening visit we finally caved in to our aging bodies and told him, begrudgingly, “yes” we were done. It was then, on our way out, we discovered Timmy believed the prison was haunted and would never, ever, go past the entry foyer. I’m still smiling. I think I always will whenever I think of this tall, thin, generous black man, who made our day. I hope he goes beyond the front door one day and takes the plunge, I know it’s worth it—I did it. History is an amazing journey, one we all should take every now and then.

So, back to our “friendlies.” And my theory, or maybe I should call it my “what if” conclusion, to our Bennett School exploration.

My chatterbox exploring partner always exchanges email addresses with the kids we come across. We usually receive a “hi, it was nice to meet you response.” If truth were to be told it’s not that they want to know us or keep in touch but that we’re such a curiosity they can’t resist — a forty-something woman and a fifty-something woman resplendent in men’s coveralls  (we have flight suits for summer) doing what teenagers and twenty something’s think they have an exclusive right to do—must be amusing to them. I don’t imagine we look funny, I KNOW we look funny, but as I’ve always said if you can’t laugh at yourself who can you laugh at.

As I mentioned in my previous post, the older of our two “friendlies” was full of dire warnings about our next stop—Hudson Valley Psych.— but on the other hand was also longing to see it for herself. Only fear seemed to be stopping her. This prompted my dear chatterbox companion to email her the next day and ask her if she would like to join us.  Chatterbox, (I think this will be my new name for my exploring partner) asked me if she should invite the kid along and I was like sure, go ahead ask her, she’s sweet. However, since our return to Baltimore I have discovered that Chatterbox has a group-organizing gene and lately has been asking the whole world to come along. I have become a little aggravated with this recently discovered gene, as I am not a tour guide, and I am not prepared to share the many, many, many, many — you get the idea— hours I spend on research with people I don’t even know.  We have reached a fragile truce at the moment, but I know it won’t last— her gene will reappear, as genes tend to do— and I’ll become annoyed. But in the interests of what we’re doing we’ll continue to try and reach a peaceful agreement.

Now to the “what if.”

We never received an email response from our Bennett school friend. Mmmm you may ask. Well if you didn’t I did. It was a little odd. Well for the purpose of this post it was a little odd.

I enjoy imagining stuff, mostly because I worry the world (particularly kids) is forgetting or not learning how to imagine, so I like to let my imagination go wherever it wants — hell, it’s fun if nothing else. Imagine the world if J.K. Rowling never imagined Harry Potter, or from my era imagine no Enid Blyton and The Magic Faraway Tree—what an awful world without such fantasy. I mean I could make a broom into a horse in a heartbeat when I was a kid and I want kids to still do that. But do they?

And imagine if our Bennett School  “friendlies" were in fact the ghosts of girls who had attended the school. All I’m saying is, here we were in a girl’s school and here we were with two girls following us around, and one had an incredible knowledge of the entire history of the place. Seriously, really, how cool. What a fun thought to imagine them as ghosts—“what if?”

It’s OK I’m quite sane, I know they weren’t ghosts. You don’t have to stop reading my blog because you’ve decided I’m crazy after this post— I’m not — I’m just saying “what if.” Think about the words “what if” they’re almost the same as “if only.” Life shouldn’t be about “what if” or “if only” it should be about anything is possible— and isn’t it fun imagining what could be/is possible? Be it fantasy or not.

Think about it. I’ll be back with the Hudson Valley Psych. Adventure—it’s full of “what ifs” — including maybe getting caught.

A blog I follow regularly has a recent entry about relaxation. The writer discusses how there are some things we do that we completely lose ourselves in and think of nothing else except that which we’re doing. If you suffer from the mind that never stops syndrome like the blog writer and myself, it’s kinda cool when you actually find something to do that absorbs you to this degree (she’s yet to find it, I’m pleased I have). I accidently found it photographing abandoned buildings. Photography has always absorbed me but never to the point where I’m oblivious to not only my incessant chatterbox of a mind, but also to what’s going on around me.

I was lost in this nowhere kind of land when our Bennett School visitors intruded upon my solitude. I was deeply engaged with a door. I have chair, door (usually red), window (usually broken) and spooky hallway fetishes. So I was pretty preoccupied, with this door (and it wasn’t red), when they came along. I was in the wing of the main building in what I think was once the kitchen — it was very burnt out so it was hard to tell.

I had lost track of my exploring partner. I had no idea where she was, and didn’t really care. Remember from my last post she was decidedly cranky with me for even being inside the school, so it was one of those times when I really didn’t mind not knowing her whereabouts — I’d hear her scream if she needed me—and if it was really serious I may even help her rather than laugh at her as I’m inclined to do.

I wasn’t laughing, however, when I saw two people appear out of nowhere in a doorway about 100 feet away. The first thought that crossed my mind was where the hell is she when I need her. Luckily I didn’t need her. Our visitors were two very sweet young women— sisters. They called out nervously to me, “are you a friendly” (I felt like I was in a sci-fi movie), I remember thinking — a what?

Turns out the elder of the two is a local fire fighter and she was showing her younger sister, from out of state, her favorite spooky place. If the truth were told she was probably trying to scare her little sister half to death as I did to mine (frequently) when we were little. They both had cameras with them, and were as relieved as I was that we were all, in fact, “friendlies.” My absent-when-needed exploring partner eventually appeared after hearing voices—only deciding to enter the conversation when she could tell by my tone of voice that I wasn’t in any danger. Now had I have been in danger I probably wouldn’t have laid eyes on her, which is incredibly reassuring.

Our newly found companions spent the rest of the afternoon with us. As I said they were very sweet, but my god they could talk. Or rather my exploring partner and the eldest of the two could talk. My deeply treasured solitude, lost-in-the-moment state of mind became but a distant memory — it was my turn to get cranky— and I did. Why? One, because of the incessant chatter (even worse than my mind) and two, because our “friendly” local fire fighter was full of dire warnings and “don’t do it” advice about our next stop — Hudson Valley Psychiatric.

Now, really, think about it. Wouldn’t you be a little cranky? I had one hell of a time getting my companion into the Bennett School. She’s tired; we’re both on our last legs because we’ve taken on too much in one trip. I have a one-track mind — I want a Kirkbride (Hudson Valley), and I'll keep going until I physically fall down and can't go on anymore, and I want every one of the places we've planned — and now I have a very sweet, very knowledgeable, very concerned young woman telling us under no circumstances must we attempt our last stop. Arggghhhhh.

I have a theory about our visitors…I’ll get to that next time.