Just Desserts

Hello World, Happy September! You may be somewhere that back-to-school has already happened for the local schoolchildren, or perhaps not quite yet, because that situation seems to be a lot more hit-or-miss than it used to be, when the dinosaurs and I were going back to the old school-cave among the vast unformed land masses. Of course, all we learned about back then was dirt and rocks, and the best part was not having to practice penmanship, because writing hadn't been invented yet. Ah, those were the days indeed - until some crackpot came along and invented the wheel, and it's just been all downhill ever since, and I ought to know. It's no wonder they invented back-to-school wine, and not a moment too soon, I can assure you. Of course, Monday was Labor Day, and a day off for many people in the workaday world, besides being the unofficial last holiday weekend of the summer season, and a good time to take advantage of last-minute excursions while the weather is still nice. I took the opportunity to "super-size" my weekend, by taking off the previous Friday as well, and making a very long holiday weekend out of it, since I already had Monday off from work as it was. This idyllic interlude included a trip to the nail salon, dining out, and many other amusements, so there were no complaints on my part, that's for sure. In fact, even going back to work on Tuesday was not the wholesale disaster that I might have expected, and whereas the usual maxim is that "short weeks are the longest weeks" at work, this one was almost eerily quiet and calm from one end to the other. This is what I call "short weeks for sissies," and I'm all for it, by golly. Meanwhile on the home front, we could count on The Flag Brigade to hoist up the colors on Monday, upstairs and downstairs, in the patriotic spirit of American enterprise everywhere, and don't spare the horses. The weather was less than ideal, but it never actually rained on Old Glory, and the neighborhood was vastly improved by the star-spangled embellishment, o'er the ramparts we watch'd, were so gallantly streaming and all that. It was an uneventful day out on the flagpoles, with none of the mishaps that bedeviled previous holidays, and it must be said that the somewhat unpredictable Flag Brigade even remembered to take the flags back in at the appropriate time, and not ripping them from their posts in the dead of night like some wild-eyed hooligan. So it was another successful flag-waving occasion all around, and the spirits of Samuel L. Gompers, Barbara Frietchie and even Francis Scott Key have nothing to begrudge, but can all safely rest in peace. Except for the rockets' red glare and the bombs bursting in air, that is. Speaking of success, I have a well-founded reputation for being the person who is always searching for things that are not available, and when it comes to wild goose chases, well, I am the veritable poster child of geese gone wild, believe me. Oh, it may be something that is available at other times of the year, or it might be something that was once available in the past - and every so often (more often than I would care to admit) it's something that I must have just hallucinated out of a clear blue sky, and nobody in the world has any idea what I'm talking about. It was in the first category that I found myself lately, when the bounty of summer produce made me long for the succulent taste of ambrosia, that sweet, gooey confection that could genuinely be the nectar of the gods indeed. To the untrained observer, it would seem logical that with its refreshing blend of oranges, apricots, pineapple, grapes and cherries, it would be a natural for a delightful warm-weather dessert - but I can tell you that if you go looking for it in the summer, you will be sorely disappointed. I already know from experience that if you hound the deli manager at your local supermarket, they will assure you that it's more a holiday treat like fruitcake or rum balls, and to check back with them when it's time for mistletoe and holly, Jack Frost nipping at your nose, and Santa Claus is coming to town, fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la. No, don't you believe it, because you will find the cupboard bare then too, and these self-same holiday spoil-sports will now attempt to convince you that the frothy indulgence of your dreams is only available in the heat of the picking season, when the fruity abundance is at its peak. At this rate, I despaired of ever getting my hands on its luscious goodness, and roundly denounced the wide-ranging conspiracy that was keeping it from my lips. Not so fast! Of course, everyone knows that Bill is not one to back down from a challenge, and he is also a prince among men with a multitude of talents at his command. He was more than equal to the task of whipping up a big bowl of ambrosia on the spot, and it was certainly worth waiting for by any standards, and that's not just the mini marshmallows talking, believe me. So the nefarious International Ambrosia Prevention Conspiracy (or NAMBLA, as Jon Stewart always says) no longer holds me in its thrall, and I can now shake my spoon with impunity in the teeth of its diabolical skullduggery, once and for all. And now we can see who has the last ho-ho-ho after all, and that's not just a lot of oh by gosh, by golly. And while we're on the subject of seeing the tail-end of things, and good riddance, I finally roused myself to action and resolved to tackle one of our unused and impenetrable rooms, that had long since been piled high and deep with assorted trash and cast-offs of all descriptions, so there was no place left where you could actually see any floor, and the supposed walls could only be inferred by virtue of holding up the ceiling. Underlying much of the detritus was what we always laughingly referred to as our "computer graveyard," where reposes the extraneous and outmoded technology of yesteryear, rendered obsolete by replacement or upgrades, and yet still taking up space in the event of emergencies, spare parts, or "just because." Well, that ship had sailed, as they say, and I was prepared to go all the way around Robin Hood's barn to clear that stash out of there, or know the reason why. I won't say that the space is now as pristine and empty as the relentless vacuum of a black hole, but I did carve out actual floor underfoot where a person could walk, and a preliminary sweep of outdated electronic equipment yielded 7 monitors, 3 CPUs, 2 printers, a fax machine, and more keyboards, mouses and miscellaneous cables than you would expect to see in any one place at the same time, outside of a computer superstore. In these light-weight and portable days, it's easy to forget that old bulky monitors were the size of a doghouse and weighed a ton, and desktop PCs were not far behind, so moving all of this stuff was a test of endurance that was not for the faint-hearted, believe me. And for all of you nostalgia fans out there, be advised that one of the computers boasts the very newest version of DOS, while another comes complete with the latest and greatest release of Windows 3.1 - probably back in the day when Bill Gates was still wearing short pants and braces, I shouldn't wonder. So flinging sentiment to the wind, it's out with the old around here, as we bid farewell to the claptrap of days gone by, and devil take the hind-most. Actually, my plan was to pack it all up and ship it off to the evil minions at the International Ambrosia Prevention Conspiracy, and call it even. So all I have to say to them now is good luck with that command prompt, and ho-ho-ho! Elle