Small Wonder

Hello World,

And so here we find ourselves in Lent, with other grouchy Christians everywhere, and you may be one of them, because like alien pods from an outer space invasion fleet, there's really no way to tell. Of course, like any good Calvinist, I'm happy to get behind the idea of self-reflection and sacrifice, but I personally would support legislation to the effect that people who have given up chocolate for Lent should have to wear signs, for the protection of the community at large. In this climate of high-minded restraint, we should all be looking for ways to make a positive impact for the betterment of humanity, and jump at the chance when it presents itself. Along those lines, I admit that I was disappointed to see the price of regular gas at the Sunoco station creeping up from the $1.90 range just recently, to over $2, and finally settling at $2.11 the week before last. It stayed at the same price for two weeks, and I was hopeful that would be as high as it would go for a while, although staying under $2 would have been even better. Yesterday I realized that I had better get gas, and in a big fat hurry, or I'd be walking to work, so I pulled into the Sunoco on my way to work and grabbed some of that $2.11 while the getting was good, and glad of it. That very same day, when I drove past the very same Sunoco station on my way home, the price of regular had dropped to $2.09, so I guess it's obvious that they were just waiting for me to finally break down and get gas, before they lowered the price for everyone else. You're welcome.

In a normal week, that would be all the gas-related news worth reporting, but as anyone can tell you, these are not normal times, and in fact it would be safe to say, far from it. Last week, Bill and I went to the diner after work on Friday, as we do every week, and expecting nothing unusual along the way, but we were in for a surprise. Halfway to the diner, what to our wondering eyes should appear, but where the Exxon station had been just moments before, suddenly it was all tricked out as a brand new Shell station, already with new signs and branded products everywhere, and without any warning. I was just at that Exxon station a few weeks ago, and we also drove past it the week before, with no hint that any change was in the offing. Now overnight it's become a shiny new Shell station, and all of the previous customers can just lump it, for all they care. I only find this remarkable because everyone has always complained about Mobil Oil, being such an unconscionably huge and misbehaving conglomerate, and yet, I seem to have a knack of closing down Mobil gas stations everywhere I go. I closed three of them in my hometown of East Meadow before moving to New Rochelle, and in the 25 years that I've been here, I closed two more that were convenient to my other jobs, and when Mobil and Exxon merged, even this Mobil station around the corner turned into an Exxon station instead, so that was a third one to my credit. Apparently even Exxon isn't immune to this strange power that I have, and I guess I should have realized that it was just a matter of time. I realize now that if I really want to help the economy, all I need to do is cut up my Exxon-Mobil credit cards and cancel my accounts, which would no doubt have the effect of making Exxon and Mobil gas stations spring up everywhere, like dandelions, or rampant alien mutant poison ivy, and I ought to know.

I was reading a mystery last week, in fact, it was based on the "Murder, She Wrote" television series, and featured amateur sleuth Jessica Fletcher on vacation in Provence. At one point, she makes a sight-seeing trip to Les Baux, which in an interesting aside, turns out to be what bauxite is named after, the ore that they use to make aluminum from. The village is described as charming, and has many historic artifacts and ruins, which are said to draw tourists anxious to see the remains of a feudal stronghold. One of the characters in the novel refers to a guidebook and explains: "It says the site may have been occupied as early as the Bronze Age. The tenth-century citadel was built on top of the rock cliffs, and the lords who occupied it traced their lineage back to one of the three magi, Balthazar." Now I admit that I like a good legend as much as the next fellow, but this is laying it on just a little too thick, even for me. I mean, I always understood that the three magi were apocryphal, and their names were made up out of whole cloth. Our friends at wikipedia have this to say: "Balthazar is the name commonly attributed to one of the Three Wise Men, at least in the west. Though no names are given in the Gospel of Matthew, this was one of the names the Western church settled on in the 8th century, though other names were used by Eastern churches." So now we have fictional characters in a novel visiting a real village in the south of France, where a hypothetical guidebook insists the residents can trace their heritage back through the centuries to a non-existent ecclesiastical figure, who was invented out of thin air, and then was given a made-up name centuries later. This would be like tourists going to Orlando, where the guidebook says that the inhabitants can trace their families back to Mickey Mouse. Of course, if that did work, I've always wanted to be related to Wonder Woman, if only for that great costume.

Last week at work, I was in the tunnel crossing over between two buildings, while they were doing some welding in the boiler room, which was making such a racket that across the hall, they closed the door to the Laundry to keep out the noise. This is only funny because the laundry equipment is some of the noisiest stuff you've ever heard in your life, so if even they thought that the welding was making too much noise, well, you can only imagine. Later, I happened to bump into someone in the know, who has his finger on the pulse of what goes on around the place, and he said this maintenance project might signal the end of what we've been calling our "temporary boiler house" in the employee courtyard, which I first mentioned in a note from 2001, believe that or not. So if that came to pass, it would really represent the end of an era, and the dawn of a new day in the employee courtyard, where we wouldn't have the temporary boiler house to kick around anymore. Later in the week, I was back in the tunnel, and whatever they were doing in the boiler room was so stinky that you could smell it two buildings away. Even I had to laugh when once again, they closed the door to the Laundry to keep out the stench, because if there's anything smellier than dirty hospital laundry, I haven't found it, but here they were telling the boiler room to keep their stinkiness to themselves. I would say that was like the pot calling the kettle black, but I understand that the Laundry staff can trace their lineage all the way back to Mr. Clean.

Everyone knows that I carry a project along with me to church, to keep myself occupied so I don't nod off during the sermons, and I can usually get a pretty fair amount accomplished, and not miss out on any valuable insights along the way, since the pastor's sermons are not only interminable and boring, but completely pointless, so even when you pay attention, you have no idea what he's talking about. Last week, I was somewhat surprised to only get through about half as much as I usually do, and I wondered if I was slower than usual, or if what I was working on was more challenging. I was working in the office later when the pastor came in, and he said something about how everyone should be glad that we got out of church so early, because he cut his sermon so much shorter. My favorite part was when he said that after he finished his sermon and sat down, he looked at the time, and thought to himself: "Oh my gosh, my watch stopped!" Because even he couldn't believe how early it was, compared to when he normally wraps up his sermons, amid a motley chorus of snores from around the sanctuary. I had to laugh.

Last week, the under-performing New York Rangers, after a listless 2-1 loss, finally wore out the patience of the franchise management, and rather than firing the entire team, which is what I would have done, instead they let go the head coach, Tom Renney, as nice a gentleman as anyone's ever seen, and certainly not the problem behind the team's play of late, where they went 2-8-4 in their last 14 games. In fact, this became painfully obvious when they hired a new coach, the fiery John Tortorella with a well-deserved reputation for winning, and the team proceeded to lose the next two games by identical 2-1 scores, and thanks so very much not. As Branch Rickey used to say, "We could have done that without you, Ralph," and that wasn't just the pot calling the kettle black either. At this rate, I'm thinking it won't take long for the franchise to wish that they had kept Tom Renney and gotten rid of all of the players instead, or an even better idea would have been to change from playing hockey to doing Ice Capades, which would be ideal for these athletes who can skate but not score. They may not be able to put the puck in the net, by golly, but I'd stack up their triple lutzes and salchows against anybody's, and unlike most figure skaters in the Ice Capades, these guys really know how to fight. Of course, there would be a lot of details that would have to be worked out, but I still think it's a great idea, and I'd love to help them with it, but unfortunately, everyone knows that I'm not really related to Wonder Woman.

Elle

Fat Chance

Hello World,

Well, just when you think that February (which is after all the shortest month of the year, even during Leap Year) has just about thrown everything that it had at us and then some, by golly, it turns out to be not so, and not by a long shot. After we've already seen the likes of the Super Bowl, Groundhog Day, Waitangi Day, Valentine's Day, Presidents Day, and even Pitchers and Catchers, it seems there's still more to come before the end of the month on the following Saturday. For observant Christians the world over, next week features Shrove Tuesday, followed closely by Ash Wednesday, which ushers in the season of Lent, and that will pretty much be wearing out its welcome until Easter on April 12th, so don't say I didn't warn you. For people of a more boisterous nature, next Tuesday is also Mardi Gras, which is about the only thing that can give Chinese New Year a run for its money in terms of a wall-to-wall, grand-old-time, bop-till-you-drop, devil-take-the-hindmost, blowout of a party to end all parties, and somehow, they manage to do that every year. You can tell at a glance that the organizers from the St. Patrick's Day parade have never gotten their hands on this event, and the folks from Waitangi Day, even less so, and a good thing, too.

But even that's not all, although you would think it would be impossible for there to be anything else, especially if it was something that people had never heard of. We have Bill to thank for bringing this to our attention (courtesy of wikipedia.org) which seems like a pretty big fat international deal, considering that this is the first we're finding out about it.

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Fat Thursday (German Fetter Donnerstag, Schmotziger Donnerstag, or in areas where carnival is celebrated Weiberfastnacht, Polish Tłusty czwartek) is a traditional Polish and German feast marking the last Thursday before Lent and is associated with the celebration of Carnival. Because Lent is a time of fasting, the next opportunity to feast would not be until Easter. It is similar to, but should not be confused with, the French festival of Mardi gras ("Fat Tuesday"). Traditionally it is a day dedicated to eating, when people meet in their homes or cafés with their friends and relatives and eat large quantities of sweets, cakes and other meals forbidden during Lent. Among the most popular all-national dishes served on that day are pączki or berliner, fist-sized donuts filled with rose marmalade, and faworki, French dough fingers served with lots of powdered sugar.
In Italy, Giovedì Grasso (Fat Thursday) is also celebrated, but it is not very different from Martedì Grasso (Shrove Tuesday). It is also similar to the Greek custom of Tsiknopempti (loosely translatable as "Barbecue Thursday"), which involves the massive consumption of barbecued meat. In Spain this celebration is called jueves lardero, and in Catalan-speaking areas, dijous gras.
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Well, anyone can tell you that when it comes to fat, I'm all over it, so I don't mind saying that I'm happy to climb on board the Fat Thursday bandwagon, and don't spare the horses. Garcon, more faworki, if you please!

The last time I complained about snow, I thought we had already seen plenty of the dratted white flakes, in one storm after another, from November to December and right up to the end of January. I was prepared to let the storm on February 4th just slide by as an anomaly, but when I left work on Wednesday and had to clean the snow off my car and drive all the way home in a winter wonderland, well, I thought that was just the other side of too much. I can't say that I care much for the idea of snow as late as February 18th around here, and I am unanimous in that, and that's not just the faworki talking, believe me. We can only hope that it's not one of those infernal years where it turns out that we're still having blizzards in April, because I've been there and back in my time, and not looking forward to seeing that again, that's for sure. In a mild winter, snow in February is a novelty, but after all we've been through already, I don't mind saying that the next snowstorm that hits New York had better be wearing a bullet-proof vest, or else I wouldn't care much for its chances in this area anymore, Lent or no Lent.

We had Presidents Day off from work on Monday, which made for a nice three-day weekend, and for the most part, the weather cooperated in making it a fine time to relax and get some things done, sooner rather than later. I took the opportunity of catching up on some yard work, and I always say that it's never too early to start making headway on camping firewood, although I would have to admit that I was less than successful in my attempts at propping up the plastic birdbath from being tipped over by our marauding raccoons. Since like our juvenile delinquent squirrels, these ring-tailed bandits have nothing better to do with their time than knock over my birdbath, their persistence can usually thwart any obstacles placed in their way. I thought that a tomato cage could be pressed into service to give the birdbath more structure and overcome what I consider its top-heavy design flaw, but the plant stand was not equal to the challenge, so this remains a work in progress. The best part about the week, however, was that schools were closed all over the region, with the result that many people were off from work the whole week with their children at home, and so it was a very quiet week at work, not like the usual 4-day week that winds up turning into a cataclysmic free-for-all of epic proportions. It would be too fanciful to claim that I was the soul of patience for four days, but it must be said that my Evil Twin didn't show up in my office as much as usually happens during the average short week, for which I'm sure my co-workers were very grateful, not to mention, extremely surprised.

While we're on the topic of surprising things, Bill and I have been watching a new weekly drama series on TV, which has been on for several weeks now, and it has continued to be remarkably good, and we really enjoy it. As a rule, we don't tend to watch any new programs on television, and count on our TiVo mostly for sports, or reruns of old shows that are no longer in production. As it is, we already find that we have plenty of stuff to watch that we like, without being tempted by any new offerings from the broadcasters, which seem to be more of the same reality programs, game shows, sitcoms, crime dramas and the supernatural. So we really didn't pay much attention when a new series started, but it turned out to be a revelation. The show is called "Leverage," starring Timothy Hutton, and it airs on Tuesday nights on the cable network TNT, which has a raft of other original programs also in their nightly line-up. This one is more or less of a caper format, like the old "Mission Impossible" series, but the writing brings it to a whole new level that is interesting, sophisticated, inventive, witty and even ethical. It's sort of like "The A Team" for thinking people. We were hooked right from the start with the pilot, and it has continued to hold up week after week, which would seem impossible in this day and age of schlocky ideas and cheap shots. All of the characters are wonderful, and they seem like genuine people that you really care about. They don't need me to toot their horn for them, because apparently it's already popular enough to have its own blogs and fan web sites, and it seems that the ratings have been so positive that after just a few weeks, it's already been renewed for another season. So I'm happy to climb on board that bandwagon, and recommend it highly, and please remember if there's going to be faworki, don't start without me!

Elle

Chair Man of the Board

Hello World,

Right now, I'm taking an extremely slow and steady approach to wishing you a very cautious Friday the 13th, which I hope will find you being careful and safe, and not involved in something that I'll be reading about in the newspapers later. It seems that the media is awash with reports of planes falling out of the sky, cars running over the unwary, and even buildings falling on people when they're not watching, so it's really true that you don't know exactly what might hit you next. (Or in the case of Groundhog Day, what might bite you next, and I can't say that I blame him.) Of course, we all know that whenever a month starts on a Sunday, there will be a Friday the 13th, and because this is not a Leap Year, and February only has 28 days, it's a certainty that March will also start on Sunday and have its own Friday the 13th to watch out for. Every year has to have at least one month that starts on a Sunday, but 2009 stands alone among its neighbors by having three, because we'll be seeing this same situation again in November. Meanwhile, both 2008 and 2010 only have one month like that each, so this would be a good time for those triskaidekaphobics out there to switch over to the Chinese lunar calendar for a year, and switch back to the Gregorian calendar next year, when things have settled back down, at least until August. In the meantime, we should all keep away from anything that rolls, flies, burrows or stands still, and since that covers pretty much everything, don't say that I didn't warn you.

Speaking of getting hit with things, of course tomorrow is Valentine's Day, and we can be sure that Cupid will be out there shooting his arrows at people far and wide, or perhaps near and narrow, but either way, he's bound to be out there giving it the old college try, just like always. Valentine's Day is always a welcome treat in the winter doldrums, and even more so when it doesn't fall in Lent, as it doesn't this year, so people can go ahead and enjoy all of those extravagant indulgences that they usually give up in the pre-Easter spirit of self-reflection and sacrifice. It may be too much to hope that this will make the world safe from grouchy Christians who have given up chocolate for Lent, but it's a step in the right direction. Also taking steps in the right direction, this weekend is the time for the three most beautiful words in the English language, Pitchers And Catchers, giving us all a reason to keep on living, in spite of it all. When local sports fans have seen their hopes dashed in football, basketball and hockey, the prospect of Spring Training offers us new hope for redemption and joys to come. But just to be on the safe side, I'd like to be the first to say: "Wait until next year!"

Also not leaving things to chance, we get the following idea from Bill:

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So we've got exactly the same situation on the Mets as the Rangers -- lost a bunch of people, starting over with the worst of the leftovers and a few new nobodies. Maybe Jerry Manuel and Tom Renney should swap jobs. Like those reality shows -- "Take My Coach, Please!" It certainly couldn't hurt.
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Personally, I have to say that suggestion has a lot to recommend it, and I think Coach Swap could really catch on and be the wave of the future. Of course you know how I always worry when things like this start to make perfect sense to me!

Many people complained about the weather around here over the last few months, and I was one of them, and with good reason, but that should all be behind us now, and I ought to know. It's true that we actually had some very nice days recently, with bright sunshine and temperatures in the 50s, in stark contrast to the snowstorms and frigid temperatures before that, and these balmier days were a welcome change for the better, but I for one would not put my faith in that. No, my certainty lies in the fact that we finally went out and bought a new snow shovel, so I not only expect that there will be no more snow this year, and maybe not even next year, but I wouldn't be surprised if it ushered in a new era of record high temperatures over the entire region for years to come. My apologies to the ski industry, and to the rest of you, you're welcome. However, I would like to point out that it was on February 9, when it was sunny but only about 40 degrees out and windy, that I first heard the unmistakable sounds of the ice cream truck wending its way through the neighborhood around the hospital, which I couldn't help but think was jumping the gun, and not by a little. In fact, I might describe it as premature, which brings us to another story.

In a previous note, I complained about the current trend in journalism to leave out all hyphens, whether they were just window-dressing, or actually needed for comprehension of the word being hyphenectomized. I impugned the use of such slapped together oddities as "reairs," "deicing" and "reignited." Bill was disappointed that I didn't mention his personal pet peeve, "doable," which like "reentry" or "reelected" or "reiterate" works better as a spoken word, but when written without a hyphen, becomes practically incomprehensible. I had the opposite problem with a note from a coworker, who identified an upcoming project as "pre-mature." Having the hyphen in there where I wasn't expecting it, threw a whole new light on the meaning behind the individual components of the word, which made it seem peculiar and unfamiliar. Looked at in a new way, it seems less like an idea whose time has not come, and more like a rambunctious youngster who has yet to grow up, unlike the rest of us who must then consider ourselves "post-mature." So I guess the lesson in here is that the power of hyphens can work both ways, by their absence making compound words more confusing, and by their addition making ordinary words seem refreshingly inventive, or perhaps co-incidental might be a better term.

Alert readers might be wondering, if the Super Bowl has come and gone, what about the annual congregational meeting at church, and well may they wonder indeed. It did take place as scheduled on the last Sunday in January, since unlike its more famous counterpart, it did not make the move and migrate into February instead. In contrast to other years, the meeting was conducted without incident, with no yelling and throwing things, which used to be one simple way to distinguish the annual meeting from any old ordinary meeting, especially in the chair tossing event, where they tended to make up in distance what they lacked in accuracy. So this was a return to the spirit of gentility and accommodation, which I'm sure was appreciated by all of the participants, except perhaps those of us who had been practicing our chair throwing in the off-season. However, the congregation did vote to divorce itself from the ELCA hierarchy, which has been its parent organization since its inception, so there may yet be fireworks in the offing, as the ramifications of that decision continue to, well, ramify, I guess. But I will say that if it comes down to a fight, I don't think the Bishop and his cronies would stand much of a chance against us, especially in the area of throwing chairs, where our congregation has a long history and lots of practice, not to mention, plenty of chairs.

While we're on the subject of furniture, our local newspaper recently included a special section about homes and housewares, and design trends that would be popular in the future. They mentioned the Color Marketing Group, which they describe as "an international nonprofit association of color design professionals [who] keep tabs on emerging color trends around the world and forecast color directions 19 months in advance for manufactured products and services." They go on to state that for 2009, shades of purple, white and yellow accents express America's hope. After singing the praises of these standout hues in this new palette of hopefulness, they actually say, in two different places, that "blue is becoming the new green." Now, far be it from me to cast aspersions on our friends at the Color Marketing Group, but there is no way around the fact that just doesn't make any sense, and in fact, sounds like a phony quote by some wag and inserted as a joke. They may as well say "the refrigerator is becoming the new dishwasher," because the whole idea is so laughably vapid and obtuse at the same time. You can try this yourself at home: "Wistful is becoming the new happy." "East is becoming the new South." "Sneakers are becoming the new slippers." It can just go on and on like that, from one skewed concept to another, and eventually, you too can be right up there with the brain trust at the Color Marketing Group, where they apparently churn out this sort of gobbledygook for real, and perhaps without even trying. They may not care for my critique of their pronouncements, but I'm not worried about a bunch of dingbats who think they can convince me that blue is the new green. If they want to come over here and start throwing chairs around, don't forget that I've been practicing.

Elle

Pick A Number

Hello World,

Happy February! This has been an eventful week, full of special occasions and auspicious events, such as that perennial favorite of media pundits, Groundhog Day. Of course, the Super Bowl was on Sunday, and by all accounts, a classic barn-burner sure to delight hard-core fans and casual viewers alike, not to mention, people who just show up for the food and famous commercials. By now, everyone realizes that today is Waitangi Day, and because of time zones, it already happened yesterday in New Zealand, and seems to be another year where it slipped by without incident, and apparently not even a single riot or explosion for old time's sake. I guess after 150 years of controversy, it's refreshing to see that things have finally settled down on that front at long last, at least until the organizers of the St. Patrick's Day Parade get their hands on it. Speaking of dates, we have Bill to thank for the following information from Wikipedia: [[ Although the Chinese calendar traditionally does not use continuously numbered years, its years are often numbered from the reign of Huangdi outside China. But at least three different years numbered 1 are now used by various scholars, making the year 2009 "Chinese Year" 4707, 4706, or 4646. ]] That being the case, I'd like to be the very first person to wish you a very Happy 4706, 4707 or 4746, and long may she wave. I realize all of those dates may sound confusing, but I can top that without even trying. At work, our date stamper has a mechanical gear that automatically changes the time and date, but has no feature for changing over to a new month, which must be done manually. That is to say, first a person has to remember to do this on the first of the month, and then they have to do it manually. In our office, the idiot responsible for this function is not to be relied on for even the simplest things, the poor dear, who for pity's sake shall remain nameless, but looks suspiciously like me. It was not until Thursday that this oversight was rectified, and by then, all of the incoming mail was being date stamped as January 35, 2009. So when I tell you that I have no idea what day it is, believe me, that's not just a lot of Hong Kong Bok Choy.

Alert readers may still be on tenterhooks from the cliff-hanger in my previous note, about the ill-fated purchase requisition that was so important that it had to be hand-delivered to Purchasing, only to fall behind the radiator in my office, a victim of gravity run amok. On Monday morning, I did move everything out of the way, including the empty cardboard boxes, recycled printer cartridges and easel pads, got down on my hands and knees and pulled it out from behind the radiator using a wire coat hanger. Somewhere along the way, it had come apart from its sticky note that said how important it was, and since I hadn't really read it in the first place, I didn't know if the note said anything else that was important, so I had to dig that out separately, where it had gotten tangled up with some wires on the floor. Bill had said that he expected it would be the requisition for the black felt rectangles that turned out to be wall speakers, based on the theory that since the speakers were already in place and being used, it was important for the purchase requisition to be given to Purchasing long after the fact. What it actually turned out to be for was a bunch of office furniture for a department that just opened up a new office in the next building, which I believe used to be a closet, so you would think a couple of orange crates would be sufficient. Meanwhile, in the hospital's continuing efforts to drive us all crazy, I noticed when I was in the main building, that they've covered the black felt wall speakers with fabric panels that have flowers on them, so they blend in with the pictures that are still on the walls. Now when you walk down the halls, you can't tell that any of the pictures are really speakers, and you would have no idea where the sound is coming from. Next will be the subliminal messages, but I'm not worried. If their plan is to drive all of the employees crazy, I've got news for them, because I'm way ahead of them on this one.

In the "O Ye Of Little Faith" department, I'm happy to inform the scoffers and nay-sayers that I did in fact finally take down the Christmas tree at work for real, and pack away all of the decorations, even putting them away in their boxes on the top shelf of the closet, right where they belong. As for the tree and ornaments, it even made the trip back home, since as you recall, it was one of my old table-top trees that I didn't use anymore at the house, and because the old tree we had at work had just gotten too decrepit. I also rolled the cabinet that the tree stands on back into the closet, and folded up the holiday tablecloth nice and neat for next year. While I was at it, I hung back up the mini blinds from the broken back window, and put away the step ladder. Suddenly, my office seems a whole lot bigger, with all sorts of wide open spaces, like I should be planning to have a square dance in there pretty soon. I'm thinking of January 35th, so save the date.

Speaking of wide open spaces, for the first time in my life, I can be absolutely certain where the spies will be staying when I'm on vacation, because they'll be at my campsite. Now, I don't like to cast aspersions on good old C-35, because after being stuck one time in a crowded and noisy area, my parents drove out to Wildwood in the winter and took a long hard look at all of the campsites, weighing the advantages and disadvantages of each one. They finally found one they thought would be ideal, because it wasn't too close to the bathrooms or water fountains, it was on the quieter inside circle and had no campsites on either side, while the campsite behind it was so impractical that it was usually left empty except in the most extreme circumstances. So they reserved the same campsite every year, and it's the only one that I actually remember from years of camping, because the other ones before that, I was too young. I still stay at C-35 now for sentimental reasons, and that's a good enough reason for me.

Having said all that however, I feel obliged to point out that based on its merits, C-35 does not have a lot to recommend it. It is literally the farthest campsite that you can get from the beach, the bathrooms or the camp store. It is also farther than 75% of all of the campsites from the registration building, including the vending machines, telephones and the entrance in and out of the park. Because the Sections are designed with one-way streets, you have to drive completely around the inside circle to get there, because it's the last site at the end of the loop. The old wooden platform that was there in my youth has long since disintegrated, and because of the rocky slope, there is only one flat spot between the site and the one behind it, where you can actually pitch a tent. People on the corner site routinely walk through it as a shortcut, in spite of the fact that I put up a clothesline right in their way. In short, this is my idea of a campsite that only a mother could love, not to mention, one with very low standards.

So you can imagine my surprise when I went to reserve my campsites for July, only to find that the two sites that I reserve every year were already taken. The reservation system doesn't let you reserve a site too far in advance, so you have to wait until it's less than 8 months ahead, in order to make a reservation. This has never been a problem so far, and I wasn't expecting any different this time around. But when I put in the dates of my vacation, I found to my chagrin that I could have any campsite that I wanted in C Section, with the sole exception of three lonely spots out in the boondocks, of which two of them were the two sites that I always get. Obviously, it makes no sense for any normal campers to be staying at these three sites, because two of them are on a slope, and the third, which on the map may appear to be in a friendly conjunction with the other two, is actually all the way on the other side of the gully and up the hill from them. So the only logical explanation is that the spies got their reservations in before me, and snatched my sites out from under my nose, because there is no earthly reason that anyone would pick those three sites out of 250 campsites, and way early besides, when the rest of the campground is still wide open. I found out that changing my dates still didn't free up the sites I wanted, so I decided instead to jump across the road and take the two sites on the other corner, because at least I'm familiar enough with them to know what to expect, rather than going to another Section and perhaps getting stuck with a pig in a poke. So I'll be in a perfect position to keep my eyes on the spies from across the street, and since I've never seen a spy campsite with a clothesline, I'm actually looking forward to using it as a shortcut.

Of course, it does no good to complain about snow and cold weather in January in New York, but it does seem that we've been suffering from an excess of both all winter, and I don't mind saying, enough is enough already. I take pictures when it snows, and I have snow pictures from November 30, December 7, December 17, December 19, December 31, January 10, January 11, January 15, January 19 and January 28. Last week when we had flurries on the 31st, I was just about ready to trade in the Escort for a snowmobile and be done with it. Even all of the snow was not as bad as the frigid temperatures, dragging on day after day, with single digit readings overnight and wind chill below zero that is rare in this area, and twice as unwelcome, believe me. The way things were going, I said to Bill that if the temperature ever got up to 40 degrees, people would think it was a heat wave, and break out their shorts and tank tops. What happened instead was that the mercury finally edged over 35 for a couple of days, and by golly, the next sound you hear is the unmistakable buzz of houseflies in the living room. The amazing thing is, these are the ones that have survived millions of years of evolution to get to this point, so you can imagine how stupid the other ones were, that became extinct along the way. In fact, one of them applied for a job at the hospital, but I said only if he could start on January 35th.

Elle