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