Nifty Gifty

Greetings, Mr. and Mrs. America, and all the ships at sea!

My Wish for You in 2012 ~~

May peace break into your house and may thieves come to steal your debts.

May the pockets of your jeans become a magnet of $100 bills.

May love stick to your face like Vaseline and may laughter assault your lips!

May your clothes smell of success like smoking tires and

may happiness slap you across the face and

may your tears be that of joy.

May the problems you had, forget your home address!

In simple words ............

May 2012 be the best year of your life!!!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Now here's a holiday fable we can all sink our teeth into ~~

THE GIFT THAT KEEPS ON GIVING

Roy Collette and his brother-in-law have been exchanging the same pair of pants as a Christmas present for 11 years - and each time the package gets harder to open. This year the pants came wrapped in a car mashed into a 3-foot cube. The trousers are in the glove compartment of a 1974 Gremlin. Now Collette's plotting his revenge - if he can get them out.

It all started when Collette received a pair of moleskin trousers from his brother-in-law, Larry Kunkel of Bensenville, Ill. Kunkel's mother had given her son the britches when he was a college student. He wore them a few times, but they froze stiff in cold weather and he didn't like them. So he gave them to Collette. Collette, who called the moleskins "miserable", wore them three times, then wrapped them up and gave them back to Kunkel for Christmas the next year.

The friendly exchange continued routinely until Collette twisted the pants tightly, stuffed them into a 3-foot-long, 1-inch wide tube and gave them back to Kunkel.

The next Christmas, Kunkel compressed the pants into a 7-inch square, wrapped them with wire and gave the "bale" to Collette.

Not to be outdone, the next year Collette put the pants into a 2-foot-square crate filled with stones, nailed it shut, banded it with steel and gave the trusty trousers back to Kunkel.

The brothers agreed to end the caper if the trousers were damaged. But they were as careful as they were clever.

Kunkel had the pants mounted inside an insulated window that had a 20-year guarantee and shipped them off to Collette.

Collette broke the glass, recovered the trousers, stuffed them into a 5-inch coffee can and soldered it shut. The can was put in a 5-gallon container filled with concrete and reinforcing rods and given to Kunkel the following Christmas.

Two years ago, Kunkel installed the pants in a 225-pound home-made steel ashtray made from 8-inch steel casings and etched Collette's name on the side. Collette had trouble retrieving the treasured trousers, but succeeded without burning them with a cutting torch.

Last Christmas, Collette found a 600-pound safe and hauled it to Viracon Inc. in Owatonna, where the shipping department decorated it with red and green stripes, put the pants inside and welded the safe shut. The safe was then shipped to Kunkel, who is the plant manager for Viracon's outlet in Bensenville.

Last week, the pants were trucked to Owatonna, 55 miles south of Minneapolis, in a drab green, 3-foot cube that once was a car with 95,000 miles on it. A note attached to the 2,000-pound scrunched car advised Collette that the pants were inside the glove compartment."This will take some planning," Collette said. "I will definitely get them out. I'm confident." But he's waiting until January to think about how to recover the bothersome britches.

"Wait until next year," he warned. "I'm on the offensive again."

Space Race

Hello World,

Well, for all of us who have survived the holiday maelstrom up to this point, we find ourselves at last at the very brink of Christmas Eve, and pretty soon it will all be over bar the shouting, as the saying goes. I have to say that the holiday started looking a whole lot better for me since I left work early on Monday, and had the entire rest of the week off, and next week also, which turned out to be a good thing, because I was obviously never going to get anything done otherwise, and Christmas morning would have been a bleak and paltry affair, I can tell you that. Fortunately nowadays, the shops all open early and stay open late (if they ever close at all) as well as online commerce at any time of day or night, plus the wonders of overnight shipping around the globe, for those procrastinators among us who need all the help we can get. So while I would not give the elves at Santa's Workshop the absolute highest ratings of all time, heaven knows, with considerable last-minute exertions, at least Santa's reputation will not have been ruined beyond repair, and that's not just a lot of sugar plums, believe me.

Kicking off the holiday week in style, of course, we celebrated our seasonal services of Lessons & Carols at church, which now sports the "politically correct" moniker of Christmas Carols Sing-Along, to eliminate all possibility that we might be trying to teach anyone a lesson about The Nativity, heaven forbid. There's not much left of the old Lessons & Carols anymore without a full-time music director at church, but some of us old-timers still try our best to spice it up just a bit (at least for the sake of the videotaping crew, so it's not exactly the same thing year after year) with extra musicians, duets, and special music that hearkens back to its glory days of yore. It must be said that this often does not pan out as expected, and this time around, I would have to describe it as something of a mixed success, but everyone seemed to have a good time anyway, and that's the most important thing after all. Perhaps not to the late and esteemed J.S. Bach, after the injuries done to his beloved Christmas Oratorio, in spite of good intentions - and we all know where the road goes that is paved with those, by golly, and I've got the hand-basket to boot.

Speaking of the holidays, we have our friends at http://www.folkalley.com/music/holidaystream/ to thank for their seasonal streaming music for everyone to enjoy on their computers or mobile devices, so you can all get your elf on with all the ho-ho-ho you can muster, by jingle. They played a song I hadn't heard before, from country singer Kathy Johnson, called "Let's Keep Christmas in December," and with which as you can imagine, I could not agree more. Actually, I'm okay with getting a jump on the season in mid-November or so, but heck, not August - and certainly not June, which is when the holiday music catalogues start to arrive at church, which is enough to make a grown person weep, and I ought to know. In fact, it was last month that we received one for Easter music, of all things, and I would point out that Easter in 2012 is not until the 8th of April, so that tells you something right there. Of course, I'm always the one to say there's no wrong way to celebrate a festive event, in spite of the Holiday Police, but having a little bit of Easter Bunny with my Thanksgiving turkey is an idea that I am simply never going to warm up to, no matter how early they want to send out their catalogues, and that's not just a lot of marshmallow peeps, believe me.

And while we're on the topic of bad timing, I recently found myself on opposite ends of a chronological anomaly, that made me wonder if the Theory of Relativity had worn out its welcome, like an irritating relative that you wish would go home. Of course, we all remember Jean, the irrepressible bookkeeper from work, who was complaining loud and long about the weather over the last few weeks, which was so quirkily unpredictable that you just about didn't know what to expect next. Now, it must be said that the weather vagaries were nowhere on a scale of the Biblical plagues, and we didn't actually have to look out for an infestation of locusts or raining frogs, or even fire and brimstone, so it may have been annoying, but it was scarcely epic. But it seemed like every day, I would bump into Jean in the hallway, and she would regale me with the weather reports, and as an added bonus, the traffic conditions as a result of the weather's impact in various areas, such as coastal or high-altitude, or the region's highways and bridges. Now, this all came as news to me, since I figure that I work too close to home for the traffic and weather reports to have any real significance in my life, but then it dawned on me - inasmuch as Jean actually lives on campus, you would think that this information would be even LESS relevant in her situation, instead of scouring the updates with the rigorous scrutiny of someone planning to launch a manned rocket ship to another planet, where this data would be of vital national importance. I mean, the fact is that Jean can literally walk from her office to her front door in about 2 minutes flat, regardless of whatever the traffic or weather might choose to throw at us, including locusts and frogs, or even asteroids and black holes, and that's not just the space cakes talking, believe me.

On the other side of that Theory of Irritating Relatives, everyone knows that I work less than a mile from home, as the crow flies, and if I went out on the roof of the hospital with the rest of the crows, I could see our house from there. I can walk the distance in about 25 minutes, and it takes around 10 minutes to drive point-to-point on the average day. Well, it was anything but average a couple of weeks ago, when I left work as usual after 5:00, only to find surreptitious Police activity impeding progress several blocks from my destination, and finally, forward movement stopped altogether in the direction of where I needed to go. Trying to make the best of it, I turned in the opposite direction instead, and attempted to circumvent the blockade by coming at it from a different way around - which turned out to be more difficult than it sounds, since our neighborhood backs on the water, and there is no way to sneak in from behind it, except by boat, and which I had to admit was impractical under the circumstances. Taking another swing at it from a different route, I found even more Police activity blocking the way, only this time when I turned away from the impediment, there was no other avenue of escape open to me except to get on the highway, going even more in the wrong direction towards Connecticut, which was about the last thing I expected to be doing in my usual drive home from across town, I can tell you that. I got off the highway in the next town over and circled back, basically ending up right where I started at the hospital, so I stopped there and called Bill to let him know what had been happening for the last hour since I left work. I had half a mind to just park the car there overnight and walk home, and save myself any more aggravation, but I was determined to take one last desperate stab at it before giving the whole thing up as a lost cause and calling it a day. Once again going in the opposite direction from home, I drove all the way down to the outskirts of the Bronx, crossed over the streets where the Police activity seemed to be centered, and then skimmed along the waterfront on the far side, just barely making it to the safety of our neighborhood before hitting the snarls of traffic stuck on the other side of the same emergency, whatever it was. You can believe me when I say that walking in the front door of the house was not something I took for granted at that point, that's for sure. In the end, my ordinary and very routine 10-minute commute from work to home took over an hour and a half, through four different towns and an inter-state highway, which I not only could have done faster if I had walked, but heck, could have done faster on a pogo stick, and blind-folded to boot. I suppose I should have been glad that the weather was perfectly fine, or it could have been even worse (although I honestly don't see how that could be possible) but I can tell you that I did spend the entire time wondering where was Jean the bookkeeper with her traffic reports when I really needed her, and that's not just a lot of space cakes either, and I ought to know.

Elle

Hello Kitty

Hello World,

Happy Hanukkah! The time-honored Festival of Lights begins next week on the 21st, and the stores are awash with seasonal decorations of all sorts, everywhere you look. I'm kidding, of course - nothing compares to the merchandising juggernaut that is Christmas at this time of year. But I will say that I see more Hanukkah-themed items in the stores now than ever before (which is to say, none at all when I was growing up) so the retailers are finally jumping on board that bandwagon, based on the irrefutable conclusion that if it's in the stores, people will buy it, no matter how arcane or outlandish. In fact, I received a catalogue from our friends at Gourmet Gift Baskets (and please feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site at www.gourmetgiftbaskets.com and see for yourself) that featured The Cat Lover's Pampered Cat Gift Basket filled with toys and treats for your favorite feline, which at a whopping $60 is a classic example of what we call around here "This Is Why The Terrorists Hate Us" category of conspicuous consumption. There's no mention of the Kosher version of the Pampered Cat basket, so once again the retailers have missed a bet for Hanukkah gift-giving, and more's the pity for the Jewish cat population, I'm sure.

Speaking of the holidays, I bumped into a coworker in the hallway, who was excited to tell me all about her upcoming plans to celebrate the season in style. She explained that she was going to be throwing a lavish Christmas Eve party for her far-flung friends and relatives, and pulling out all the stops to make it a night to remember - and here I mean, not in the Titanic sense, but something memorable in a more positive way. She gave me a run-down on the menu and decorations that she had planned, and the wide-ranging guest list from near and far. She wrapped up this recitative with what she considered the highlight of the event, namely the anticipated appearance by no less an esteemed personage than one she described as "Barbra Streisand's ex-cousin," at which mere mortals would expect to be suitably impressed. Personally, I don't know what you would need to do to be removed as a relative from La Strident's family, or whether this former cousin was singularly banished, or took the whole rest of the aunts, uncles and assorted other cousins out in one fell swoop, to be forevermore on the outside looking in. Perhaps it's some sort of test that you have to pass to stay in the diva's family, like an eye test, and after a while, people simply don't measure up to the mark anymore, and fall by the wayside. Oh well, whatever it is, at least the ex-cousin in question has something to do for Christmas Eve, and not just sitting around moping over days gone by - or should I say, misty water-color memories of the way we were.

In other holidays news, last weekend I was somewhat under the weather, and a lot of things that should have been accomplished simply never got done. One of which was our annual trek to the nearby VFW Post to pick out our special evergreen from their vast selection of Christmas trees, where Bill's family has been getting their holiday conifers for generations. We didn't look forward to going this Saturday, when the place would probably be packed to the rafters (that is, if they had any rafters) and coming up with just the right tree would be like bobbing for apples in a shark tank, thanks not. So we decided instead to swing by there on Friday after dinner, in an attempt to beat the rush, and scoop up the very best tree that we could find, or know the reason why. This worked out way better than expected, as it turned out that we were the only people on the lot at the time, and certainly got all the attention we could have possibly hoped for, from the idle crew who could not have been happier to see us under the circumstances. Unlike other years, when we have bravely tramped through their rows of trees in bitter cold, icy snow or pelting rain, the weather was perfectly fine, so we didn't have to jump out of the car, grab the first tree that we saw, and bolt out of there before succumbing to frostbite or worse, which has been known to happen. Having the place to ourselves, we were free to wander around at our leisure, and really examine the trees on their merits, all the while savoring that welcome aroma that only fresh pine can impart - and if there's anything more intrinsic to the holiday spirit than that wonderful smell, I don't know what it is. We found a number of trees that we really liked, which is not often the case in the ranks of taller trees nowadays, but only one of them was the first among equals, and we snapped it up without a second thought. Wrestling it into the house was no easy task, I can tell you that, especially with the neighbor's irrepressible kitten Cooper underfoot at every step, and cheerfully oblivious to the danger of a 100-pound 9-foot mammoth fir in relation to a 10-month-old pint-sized kitty, who might weigh all of 3-pounds sopping wet, if that. Through Bill's heroic efforts, we got the tree into the stand, put the angel on top, and it was exactly a perfect fit, not to mention, just like a beautiful Christmas card right in our own living room. Cooper sniffed around for a while, but when he realized there was no Cat Lover's Pampered Cat Gift Basket in sight, he scampered off looking for better opportunities elsewhere. Perhaps even now, he's taking the test trying to get into Barbra Streisand's family.

Normally a Christmas tree would be the only botanical news in our humdrum lives, but not so! After a series of storms, strong winds, rampaging contractors and the inexorable pull of gravity, our yard was looking pretty shabby and unkempt - although it must be said that even in a perfectly kempt state, it's really nothing to write home about for the most part. At long last, the grounds-keeping crew showed up for their final clean sweep of the property, and you can believe me when I say that when they were finished, there was not a leaf, a twig, a stone or a vine left standing that hadn't already been dragged to the curb by their rigorous ministrations. The yard looked like a shivering nude, without a fig leaf in sight to cover itself with, and even the weedy patches plucked clean right down to the bare earth. In fact, their efforts were so meticulously thorough that they even cleaned the leaves out of my bird bath, for heaven's sake, which I thought was going pretty far above and beyond, even for our landscapers - and don't forget, these are the folks who threw out my camping firewood when its ratty appearance obviously didn't meet their exacting standards.

And while we're on the subject of standards, of which there aren't any anymore, heaven knows, I found out something that I didn't know, and in one of the most unlikely spots for it. In yet another glaring example of "Why The Terrorists Hate Us," when I was busy hunting down costume parts in late October, and it seems like I spent one entire week at Party City, I discovered something that party planners and wedding organizers have probably known for years, but came as a big surprise to me. Apparently it has finally dawned on the creative geniuses of various suppliers that people having a special event would be glad to pay extra for color-coordinated accessories to match their party theme - from paper plates and tablecloths, to streamers, flowers and favors. What brought me up short was, yes, an entire aisle filled with bags of single color candies, like mints or M&Ms, rather than buying an assortment and having to pick out just the colors you want on your own. I have to say that it's not only a brilliant marketing strategy on their part, but walking down the rainbow-hued aisle had a mesmerizing effect on someone stupefied from too much Halloween shopping, that's for sure. So now you know that next time there's a call for purple M&Ms, or hot pink mints, you can hurry on over to Party City and stock up on just the right color to match your decor. Just don't tell the terrorists I sent you. Say, is that Cooper with a Kosher version of the Cat Lover's Pampered Cat Gift Basket from Barbra Streisand?

Elle

A Nip In The Air

Hello World,

Here we are, coming up to the third Sunday in Advent already, and the ho-ho-ho-ing is underway in earnest now, with not a moment to spare. In fact, we just came back from the diner, where there were two Christmas trees on cars in the parking lot, so that tells you something right there. Speaking of Christmas trees, this will not be one of those years with colorful tales of the continuing misadventures of our wandering Christmas tree at work, where it rambles from the hallway, to my office, to a spare office down the corridor, all fully decorated on its rolling cabinet with the holiday tablecloth. Yes, Virginia, there is no Santa Claus. We not only have a plague of consultants in all our spare offices at the moment, but they re-arranged all of our furniture and storage, so there isn't any spot to set a tree up in the first place, much less an assortment of wandering venues for it to sojourn after Epiphany before getting packed away in the closet. What I did instead was put up a cute 40-inch tree that hangs on the wall, and comes complete with lights, ornaments and other festive decorations - so it's not only out of everyone's way, but also whittled my tree-trimming chores down to nothing. When it's time to un-decorate, I can just take it off the wall, roll it up, and stash it back in its bag for another year. I don't know what people will have to talk about in January and February, without the wandering Christmas tree to kick around anymore.

Speaking of wandering off the beaten path, at least in a linguistic sense, we recently received the 2012 "Not So Great Moments in Healthcare" calendar from our friends at Health Care Logistics, and the cover features a cartoon of an archeologist and his white lab-coated colleague confronting a wall full of mysterious hieroglyphics, with this unfortunate caption:

====================================================

"Don't worry, I'm a Pharmacist. I'm use to deciphering this kind of thing."

====================================================

Ouch! That Pharmacist needed a bottle of grammar pills to come up with "used to" in the place of "use to," because the spell-checker obviously wasn't going to be any help. And while I realize there are no editors anymore, heaven knows (and they do send us this calendar for nothing) I was still surprised that it went out with that goof right on the cover. Also having problems with the right word in the wrong context, this headline in the local newspaper about film-maker Tyler Perry really got my attention:

==============

Perry reaches out

to abuse victim

==============

The trouble with "abuse" is that it can function as a verb, adjective or noun, and it looks the same in all situations. I can tell you that this story takes on a completely different complexion, if like me, you read the headline with "to abuse" as a verb, rather than what they probably intended, with "abuse" as an adjective. I think I would have sent that right back to the drawing board, and come up with a whole different way of expressing that, and not as easily misconstrued. Also not saying what they mean (one hopes!) this tidbit about a local benefit made the front page of the newspaper, and I'm not blaming them this time, since they were just repeating the information that was provided to them about the event:

===============================

Ride For A Cause

Putnam's Seventh Annual Motorcycle Run on Sunday

includes a 70-mile police-escorted ride through Putnam

and Dutchess counties, plus a barbecue lunch and

raffles. Proceeds go to Housing Outreach Prevention

Education.

===============================

I'm sorry, I'm not even in the ballpark with this one, and I'm sure the poor spell-checker not only gave it up as a lost cause, but also fled in horror. What the heck could "housing outreach prevention education" even mean - and by that, I'm thinking, here on this planet in English, and not just some made-up alien language in some other solar system? I can go as far as "housing outreach" in the sense of helping people find affordable living quarters, but the "prevention" and "education" part of this just has me totally stumped. And here they're having a fund-raiser for it, with police escorts, and meanwhile, they've let the horoscope computer run amok and come up with a name that makes no sense to anybody. Talk about sending something back to the proverbial drawing board, this would be the poster child of it, in spades. Of course, things can always be worse, and probably the second time around, the darned horoscope computer would have come up with something even worse, like Prevention Housing Outreach Of Educating Youth, or PHOOEY. (Let's see them get a police escort for THAT!) It wasn't any better at the hospital, where I can't even blame the horoscope computer for this order from one of our nursing units:

=================================

Extra Heavy Duty Steel Drawer Safe with Lock

=================================

Inasmuch as the entire order cost a whopping $28.99, I can't help but wonder exactly how "extra heavy duty" this steel drawer safe might be, lock or not. In fact, I'm thinking that just about anybody with a screwdriver and a hammer could bust their way right into this thing without too much trouble, so I'm hoping that they're not planning to keep a tremendous stash of valuables in there - except maybe some grammar pills, that would keep anything under $30 from being described as "extra heavy duty." And once again coming up with the right word in the wrong context, or vice versa, we have our friends at MEDCOM TRAINEX who sent us an invoice for this curious product:

=========================

Item No. 78566-DVD-9

Preview: Rapid Physical Asses

=========================

Normally, I would say this was pretty funny, and think no more of it, but this particular item set us back $250, so it was obviously nobody's idea of a joke. Luckily they bought two of the same type of thing, and the second one was described as "Rapid Physical Assessment," so at least we could find out what the first one was all about, in spite of its apparent abbreviation problems. In a perfect world, you would think somebody would have noticed this happen on previous invoices, and shortened the description in some way to eliminate the offending remnant. Of course, this would be at the expense of the comedy component, which might be a poor exchange, and we'd be left with only the third item to wonder at, with its tantalizing description of "Stack: Antipsy Mood Stabilizing," which at a staggering $560 is no joke, but certainly sounds like one. My personal favorite from work was an order we placed with a shredding company, with the following services to be provided on a monthly basis:

===========================

REMOVAL OF NIPPA DOCUMENTS

===========================

Now, I will be the first to admit that the federal HIPAA regulations are confusing and arcane, and the average person couldn't begin to understand them. Even in healthcare organizations like ours, it's a continual uphill battle to get the staff to remember that it's called HIPAA and not HIPPA (of which songwriter Chan Romero famously did not observe: "For goodness sake, it's the HIPPA HIPPA shake!") not only because they've long since forgotten what it stands for (Health Information Portability and Accountability Act) but also because HIPAA looks stupid - or at least, somewhat more stupid than HIPPA anyway. But even taking all that into account, I still wouldn't expect two departments at the hospital to combine their (meager) talents and invent a whole new category of protected health information called NIPPA instead, by golly. Of course, everybody knows that I am nothing if not jiggy with HIPAA, but even I would have to concede that NIPPA sounds like a lot more fun, especially if it involves having a few swigs at the Hospitality Tent beforehand, and the heck with the grammar pills. In fact, I would invite the Rapid Physical Asses and police escorts to join in, but I'm afraid the horoscope computer would just turn it all into Stabilizing Housing Antipsy Rapid Prevention Asses Stack Mood Outreach Physical Education Youth or "SHARP AS MOPEY," and I'm afraid that even Tyler Perry wouldn't be able to help us at that point, much less Chan Romero, who also famously did not observe: "Get out your harp, it's the MOPEY MOPEY SHARP!"

Elle

Thanks For The Memories

Hello World,

Happy December! Well, I can see by the ol' clock on the wall that good ole Tom Turkey has doggone flew the coop, and we have landed smack in the season of candy canes and sugar plums, with the clattering hooves of tiny reindeer not far behind, I shouldn't wonder. This is already the second Sunday in Advent, and no time to shilly-shally, if you don't want to be caught short on the big day. They tell me that the Friday after Thanksgiving is the biggest single day for Christmas tree sales, as hard as that might seem to believe, so it's no wonder that you see discarded trees out at the curb on December 26th all over town - from people buying them way too early, and it's only a miracle that they haven't already burst into flames by then. It's bad enough that the Christmas displays are in the stores by September, and they're playing carols on the radio in October. Next they'll be selling pumpkins with holly garland and turkeys with jingle bells, and Christmas trees will be part of the back-to-school extravaganza. Some holidays just don't know when to quit, and this is one of them, where you give it an inch and it takes a mile. At the risk of landing on the Naughty List late in the game, I'd have to say that it's pretty obvious that some jolly old elf in a red suit has the Holiday Police all wrapped up and with a big fat bow to boot. Santa's boot, that is.

In other holiday news, we were invited to the log cabin up north for Thanksgiving, so we hitched up the team and went galloping up there on Thursday morning to enjoy a traditional holiday with all the trimmings. The end result turned out to be somewhat more peculiar than that, through no fault of our hosts, I can assure you. The weather was lovely, from one end to the other, and this is not far north enough for skiing at this time of year, so we expected the highway rest stops to be deserted, or at least lacking in busloads full of skiers. And yet, when we stopped in at Plattekill, the place was jam-packed full of travelers on every side. While we were there, they made an announcement for the bus departing for Woodstock - and I said to Bill that in all the years we've been stopping along the Thruway, we have never in our lives heard a bus announcement of any kind at any time, like it was some kind of transit terminal or something. Then I noticed a young lady hurrying towards me in a leg brace with a cane, and I admit, I thought nothing of it. But behind her was another young lady with a crutch, and then another one hobbling on two crutches with a foot cast. After that was an older woman with a walker, and an old man using two canes. Finally, I said to Bill that my only thought was that this bus was going to some sort of faith healing convention, since it was obvious that these people were never going skiing, that's for sure. We certainly walked out of there shaking our heads, and also watching our step, I can tell you that, since the bus to Woodstock had already left.

We were welcomed at the cabin like the wayfaring pilgrims that we were, and there was no lack of apple cider and pumpkin pie to make the day complete. They also gave us a tour of their new trailer, which may not sound very interesting, but since this is a 27-foot trailer that collapses in on itself top to bottom and also front to back, I can assure you that it is extremely fascinating to see it in action - and thanks to Bill, we have the videotape to prove it. After a wonderful meal, we hiked around the reservoir, which is a continuing delight at any time of year, and I like to think, provides some much needed diversion for the local deer to gawk at. And while I can understand the rude gestures, frankly, I thought all of the protest signs were just carrying it way too far. After we came back, our hosts had some technical challenges to throw Bill's way, but he was more than equal to the task, and we soon had their computer, laptop and big-screen TV all going through their paces like a well-oiled machine. All too soon, it was time to hit the road for the nearby SkyTop Motel, where we had stayed before and looking forward to its reassuring sameness.

Not so fast! Apparently since our last visit, there had been a change in management at the place, and the friendly and hospitable country folks that we had come to know and like, were summarily replaced by what appeared to be gruff and glowering Russians, who lent an almost palpable air of menace to the area that was in no way an improvement, believe me. And I don't mind saying, I love Mother Russia. Of course, I know nothing about them, but they had all the earmarks of KGB agents in a former life, and they were about as well-suited to the hospitality industry, as they would have been teaching ballet on a far distant planet in another solar system. Perhaps it was in deference to their homeland that when we arrived to check in, we found our room was at a bracing 30 degrees, and in fact, was colder inside than if we had slept in the car out in the parking lot. We also found the room slightly the worse for wear since last time, and lacking some basic amenities that sent Bill scurrying to the office to rectify. Extra blankets would have been at the top of my list under the circumstances, but I was just glad to see him come back in one piece and not banished to some draconian gulag in the trackless wastes of Siberia. It must be said that the room did warm up satisfactorily during the night, but unfortunately, I became unexpectedly very sick, and I did not run to the front desk for chicken soup and sympathy, I can tell you that. I was feeling slightly better in the morning, but not well enough to eat, which was a shame since my sister prepared her famous pancakes for breakfast, and I was sorry to miss them. But she packed us up with plenty of left-overs, and sent us on our way with enough cheer to chase the clouds of Russian blues from our memory.

Next we met some of our friends at the popular Eveready Diner in Hyde Park, and spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the hallways and alcoves of the antiques center next door, which never fails to amaze and amuse, every time we go there. Although it must be said that their selection of salt and pepper shakers was noticeably below par, they did re-purpose one entire room full of nothing but vintage clocks, which had all of us enraptured in its clanging and bonging thrall. Suddenly it was dark, and time for weary travelers to be heading home, so we climbed aboard our trusty steeds, and dashed into the night with sparks flying. Since I was still under the weather, we lost an opportunity to stop at Denny's for our usual treat along the way, which was disappointing at the time. But it was probably just as well, because I'm sure that the motel Russkies would have called ahead and told them to discontinue their delectable Hawaiian Tropical Chiller, perhaps my favorite drink of all time, and then I really would have been distraught, on top of being just plain sick. In fact, they probably would have made sure that I got stuck with their signature Siberian Gulag Chiller instead, and I'd still be picking the frozen shards of de-commissioned ICBMs out of my teeth even now, nyet?

The best part about coming home on Friday night was that we still had two full days to relax and recover before going back to work on Monday, and not to mention, all the left-overs we could possibly want, and not an ICBM anywhere in sight. So now that the cornucopias are well and truly behind us for another year, we can turn our full attention to the yuletide juggernaut, and launch ourselves into the season at full throttle, with our wallets flapping. The President's economic advisers thank you, I'm sure. Or as they say at the pride of Soviet hospitality, the SkyTop Motel, "Spasiba, comrade."

Elle