The Little Engine That Could

Hello World, Well, there is certainly no lack of news these days, on a vast array of subjects, from the thundering power of nature to the intrigues of politics, and from the resounding clash of sports to the bright lights of show business, and everything in between. In fact, a person could be forgiven for wanting to get away from it all for a while, and with good reason. So that's exactly what we did - taking a page out of the old Long Island Railroad slogan: "Traffic a pain? Relax on a train!" And I do mean, all the livelong day. It all began innocently enough, as these things so often do, when the first day of my vacation happened to fall on the same day as the Round Hill Highland Games that we always enjoy at the scenic Cranbury Park in Norwalk. One reason that we always like to go to the Games is that we meet friends there that we know from The Nutmeg State, and it gives us a handy place to gather and have some fun together out in the sunshine, with the skirl of bagpipes in the air, and plenty of Irn Bru to keep us going. (For the uninitiated, Irn Bru is a noxious concoction that they sell to unwary locals at these games, under the guise of being authentic Scottish soda, but they're not fooling me - I'm sure it's just a huge practical joke on the host country, to see hoodwinked Americans gamely trying to choke this slop down in a spirit of cultural camaraderie, which the Scots must find endlessly amusing.) We hated to miss the games this year, but even more, we missed the opportunity to visit with our friends, so we had been on the lookout for another event that would suit the same purpose. And while Connecticut is well-known for being a hotbed of interesting and educational events, there did not seem to be any that met our needs in terms of schedule, distance, or level of appeal, no matter how hard we looked. Frankly, if this was the revenge of Irn Bru, it was doing a heck of a job. Finally we settled on something else that we hoped would fit the bill, and so a couple of weeks ago, we headed for what the brochures describe as "the charming village of Thomaston," where the Railroad Museum of New England runs their popular Fall Foliage trips on the tourist railway along the mighty Naugatuck River. (You can please feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site at www.rmne.org and see for yourself.) This railroad, like countless others across the country, was once a thriving freight carrier to the local region since way back in 1849, and then switched over to commuter service, when passengers supplanted packages as the cargo of choice, before finally petering out around 1958. Part of the line was discontinued, but other sections continued to haul freight until it finally came grinding to a halt for good in 1995, in the aftermath of the transit doldrums of the 1980's that spelled doom for these giants of commerce and industry, very much like the dinosaurs before them, and I ought to know. Now you find many of these relics of yesteryear, newly resurrected by a devoted cadre of enthusiastic volunteers, experiencing a new lease on life as a tourist railroad, offering compact jaunts on reclaimed tracks with scavenged locomotives and assorted rescued cars and cabooses, all lovingly restored to their former glory. They dot the landscape in forgotten and over-grown hinterlands, each one a tiny treasure, carved out of a larger network where once the iron horse was king, but is no more, alas. We arrived bright and early for our adventure, although on Saturdays, there are only trains departing at noon and 2:00 PM, so those are your only choices. The day could not have been more glorious, with bright sunshine and clear blue skies, and temperatures that were refreshingly crisp without being too chilly. We discovered that the Thomaston station has been converted to a railroad museum, with displays, pictures, memorabilia, and a wide selection in their gift shop to tempt railroading fans of all ages. They also serve cider, and invite visitors to examine the variety of boxcars, tanker cars and flatcars in the rail yard - while the more agile are welcome to clamber right up into the locomotive and caboose, for a real taste of riding the rails from days gone by. Of course, the train pulled into the station right on time, as trains should, and not with a shower of sparks and belching smoke, because on this tourist railway, they use a more practical diesel locomotive and passenger cars from the 1930's, rather than steam and rolling stock from a century ago. After everyone is aboard and settled in for the journey, it comes as a bit of a surprise when the train starts going backward from the direction that it's facing - and you suddenly realize how convenient it is that the car is outfitted with handy "walk-over" seats, so you can change the direction that you're sitting at the drop of a hat, so to speak. It continues meandering backwards at a leisurely pace until Thomaston Dam, where there is not actually a station any longer, but has lovely panoramic views and is of historic importance in the area. Once all of this is explained by the volunteer guide, the train then resumes its journey, going forward this time, and right back to Thomaston station where we started, then continuing south from there past several towns with abandoned stations or where stations had been previously, all the way to Waterville, just short of the original terminal in Waterbury. The tracks literally hug the surging Naugatuck River the whole way, and it certainly is very picturesque - although it must be said that the weather has been much too warm for there to be any real fall foliage for leaf-peepers to gaze at. It also passes through the heart of Waterbury's old brass mills and factory district, where world-renowned clocks and sewing machines were their claim to fame. With no more tracks ahead of it, the train has no choice but to go right back the way it came, and it seems like that's about all there is to see. Not so fast! Because we were on this trip in October, it turned out that we were aboard one of their popular Harvest Pumpkin Festival trains, that offers its riders more than just fall foliage - so we were in for a special treat, when the train stopped at a pumpkin patch on the way back, and everyone got out to pick whatever pumpkin might strike their fancy. No need to climb over furrows and hack pumpkins from vines, this was instead a neat grassy field next to the tracks, that the volunteers had decorated with colorful scarecrows and flowers, then strewn with small jolly pumpkins everywhere, that were eagerly scooped up by youngsters and oldsters alike, and we were right there among the rest of the scoopers, I can assure you. With our grab-and-go gourds in hand, we settled back on the train for the return trip to Thomaston station, with the promise of more browsing in the museum, souvenirs, and picture-taking galore. It was still early in the day, so we scouted about for something else to occupy our time with - and what better choice than the signature timepiece that famously "takes a licking and keeps on ticking?" Yes, the Timex Museum (or "Timexpo" as they describe it) is handily located in nearby Waterbury, and features a welter of fascinating displays on several floors, all telling the story of time over the centuries. There are old clocks and watches, clock parts and tools, pictures, advertisements, articles and vintage photographs that are a joy to behold. Their multi-media and interactive exhibits are very entertaining, and I would personally recommend the Indiglo Experience - at least for those of us who are easily amused. Unfortunately, there is no gift shop to speak of, just a retail store selling watches, and not even souvenir postcards as a memento of our visit, or even better, our very own John Cameron Swayze dolls. (The outboard motor accessory pack is extra.) I can tell you that time certainly flies at the Timexpo, and it was starting to get dark by the time we were ready to leave, and only our Indiglo watches to guide us through the gathering gloom. Of course, everyone knows that sight-seeing is hungry work, so it was a lucky thing for us that there's a handy Denny's in Southington, and we hurried over there with our appetites on over-drive, believe me. The friendly staff greeted us with open arms and all of our favorites, adding the veritable cherry on top of a perfect sundae of a day full of adventure and recreation. So if you're ever in the mood for a little excursion, they won't steer you wrong at the storied Naugatuck Railroad, and discovering other points of interest in the area certainly won't take you all the livelong day, Dinah. You can tell them that John Cameron Swayze sent you. Elle

Let It All Hang Out

Hello World, And so here we find ourselves once again, at the end of another week, already more than halfway through the month, and coming up fast on the time that ghouls and goblins will be prowling the streets and looking for treats of all sorts. This should be a real wake-up call for anyone whose costume is not completely ready for the big day yet, and I don't have to mention any names, because you surely know who you are - and I don't mind saying that around here, they look suspiciously like me. This will be the third year in a row that I'm trying to assemble the same costume (the first time I gave up and switched to The Cat in The Hat instead, and last year I gave up again and went as Mr. Monopoly) so I'm really hoping that three's a charm this time around. At this point, I have to figure that if there's no last-minute costume crisis replete with scrambling around and aggravation, it's not really Halloween. Well, what hasn't been happening in baseball these days, as the playoffs have dashed the dreams of post-season glory for disappointed fans in both leagues without partiality, from the redwood forests to the gulf-stream waters, and from sea to shining sea, alas. Many teams already lucky enough to make the playoffs to start with, have since joined their lesser cohorts who missed the playoffs in the first place, sitting out the off-season around the hot stove of commiseration, and certainly much sooner than they might have hoped - or, in the immortal words of the one and only Yogi Berra, "It gets late early out there." But we all know what they say about how hope springs eternal (and I have the annual costume crisis stories to prove it, by golly) and so we can look forward with confidence to that most wonderful time of the year: Pitchers & Catchers report for Spring Training on February 13, 2013, which will be here before we know it, and a good thing, too. Alert readers will be relieved, I'm sure, to hear that the crack Engineering team at the hospital did actually return to our building earlier in the week and reset the errant time clock back to the correct time after all. It had gone badly off the track last Wednesday on the 10th, and the repair person showed up, Johnny-on-the-spot, at the stroke of this Tuesday the 16th, late in the afternoon, and thanks ever so. In a normal place with around-the-clock Engineering staff, you might not expect it to take 6 full days to adjust the hour on a time clock, but here at the employer of last resort, it's just another day (or six) at the office, as it were. Anyway, I shouldn't complain, because when they finally reset the time, it was so immediately up to the very second, that you had to make sure to step lively in order to punch in and out on time, and not shilly-shally in the hallways like there was time to spare. After all, you know what they say about time and tide ..... um ..... something about gathering no moss, I'm pretty sure, and don't spare the Jumping Jack Flash. In other hospital news, because it was Materials Management Week, everybody from the Central Supply, Mail Room, Print Shop, Purchasing, and Storeroom departments had been invited to a brunch in the private dining room in the main building, and you can bet that we all flew up there with wings on our heels, believe me. There are not so many advantages to working there that we would blithely pass up one like this, and while I won't say that we descended on the repast like a flock of vultures, I can assure you that nobody had to ask us twice, that's for sure. They started us off with coffee and juice, plus fruit, mini muffins and mini Danish arranged on a tray in a decorative manner. Then the best part was that they gave us $10 vouchers for the cafeteria, where we could go and pick out whatever we wanted - so instead of facing a limited selection of items at the brunch, we had literally the entire abundance of the cafeteria at our disposal, and we made good use of it, I can tell you that. There's always plenty of quick pick-me-up treats like rolls, bagels, donuts and cupcakes galore, plus salads, sandwiches, cereal and yogurt, in endless variety. Those interested in heartier fare will find no lack of hot choices like scrambled eggs, oatmeal, hash, sausages, and waffles, plus there's the grill where they will cook something to your order. So this was a red-letter occasion for the likes of us cluster of nobodies, and even better, the big-wigs who showed up didn't even abuse us with their patented long and boring speeches. Talk about gathering no moss, Mick Jagger! In even more local news, it was decades ago that new neighbors on our southerly side tore down the hedges along our driveway to make room for a new installation of what I would refer to as a landscape element. Actually, it was fence-like in nature, but I hesitate to describe it as a fence, since it utterly failed the first test of a fence, which is to fence anything in, or keep things out. It ran along our driveway to the sidewalk, and had another shorter piece with a decorative arbor that connected to the wrap-around porch. It connected with nothing else on the other three sides of the property, leaving them wide open, and the porch also had nothing to keep anything out, or in, for that matter. So all it did was essentially stand in the place of the original hedges as a barrier against our property line, and served no other purpose that could be ascertained. At the time, I didn't object to that part as much as the fact that the "fence" was installed backward, so that we had to look at the ugly inside of it, which we thought was particularly un-neighborly under the circumstances. On top of all that, they then had the front side painted a screaming white, so that the whole thing leaped out at you from the street as you drove past, like a giant lizard-like billboard slithering up the embankment in a menacing fashion that did nothing to enhance the ambience of the neighborhood, and that's putting it mildly. There followed a series of new neighbors after that, all of whom pointedly ignored the hideous eyesore in our midst, like the proverbial red-haired freckle-faced orphan that nobody wanted to lay claim to. This pattern continued with our most recent neighbors, with one significant difference: when the derelict fence finally started its inexorable decline into collapse, casting off its ratty slats in all directions in a slovenly manner - our new neighbors very carefully collected them and piled them neatly in our yard, as if it was our fence all along, thanks not. We actually had quite a chuckle over that - although we certainly didn't want the red-haired freckle-faced orphan either - but I would be less than candid if I didn't admit we were tempted to just have the whole thing ripped right out, since they seemed to think it was our fence anyway. Instead, we stuck to the moral high ground, and explained to them in a gentle way that the rattle-trap fence was part of their property and not ours, and they were suitably aghast at this unwelcome news, I can tell you that. At the time, they assured us that they would take steps to correct the situation, and we left it at that. Lo and behold, this week both the tree service and the fence company showed up, and summarily chopped down all of the old trees, tore out the tottering fence, and installed a brand new one in its place. One advantage to the new model is that is has no "back" side to torment us with, and also that it's a soft natural wood color, rather than the glaring white of yesteryear. So the giant reptile billboard is no more, and while this is still no "fence" in the classic sense, at least the previous hideous eyesore is finally a thing of the past, which is exactly where it belongs. Speaking of new and improved things, it certainly came as a surprise to me how times have changed in the wide world of intimate apparel since the last time I looked. I recently placed an order for some dresses and blouses, and tossed in a couple of dainty "unmentionables" while I was at it. The dresses and blouses soon arrived in a box, but since the undergarments were not included, I assumed that they would show up separately in a tiny jet bag, which is how they ship small and flexible items nowadays. So I was understandably confused when a large shipping bag turned up later, and was clearly not soft like underwear, but had plenty of hard edges and framework-like structure, plainly obvious right through the bag. I couldn't think of anything I had ordered that would exhibit these sorts of characteristics, and I peeked into the bag with trepidation, wondering what manner of erroneous provisions had befallen me. Well, it certainly came as news to me that our friends at Bali will be more than happy to sell you a bra, and send it to you carefully attached to its own little hanger, believe it or not. I pulled both bra hangers out of the bag in wide-eyed wonder, and I admit that my mouth was opening and closing, but no words would come out. I don't dare suppose that the Bali brain trust presumes we live in a society where ladies actually keep their foundation garments on hangers, neatly arranged on their closet rods, with all their lace and frills in perfect order. But otherwise, I can formulate no reason why they would send me a bra on a hanger, since it serves no purpose during shipping, unless they thought I would require its services afterward - and apparently, folding up the bra and stuffing it in a drawer would be out of the question, heaven forbid. So this was certainly a new, and I don't mind saying, unimproved direction for lingerie to be going in these days, and at this rate, it won't be long before I have amassed quite a collection of bra hangers to be cluttering up the joint. Then next thing we know, they'll start gathering moss, and after that, all bets are off - and that's not just the Brown Sugar talking, believe me. Elle

Pep Pills

Hello World, Happy Columbus Day! I hope that the legendary navigator's spirit of adventure lives on, as you explore new wonders, discover greater happiness, and claim a brighter future full of everything you've been searching for. Even better, you shouldn't have to launch three ships and hundreds of men, plus travel thousands of miles to reach your goals, however lofty they might be. (But if you do, please tell Queen Isabella that I said, "hola.") Of course, nowadays Columbus has been all but forgotten by just about everybody but fusty academicians, and relegated to the exploration catch-all of historical has-beens, from Roald Amundsen to Amerigo Vespucci, and everyone in between. I took the day off from work anyway, and enjoyed a nice long weekend, not the least of reasons to be grateful to these valiant explorers and their legacy of vision, bravery, and scientific achievement. Not to mention, the Nina, the Pinta and the Santa Maria, and that's not just the Magellan Blue Gin talking, believe me. We have our friends at The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to thank for the following Revelation that they shared with us in a letter with this startling opening salvo - ====================================================== I, Jehovah, Even Your Holy God, Speak Holy Word to Now Hear, Lest Thy Land Be of No People Soon: I, God, seeth world conflict soon to be all nation of full nuclear power unholy one way, if such way of hasty retaliation happeneth. I am He that speaketh this order of holy message way holy will of God of all nations on world; telling all to have no aggressive way at all, lest aggressive unholy nation cease to exist. ====================================================== Now, I will admit that I'm not a Mormon, and I don't even play one on television. But I can't help but wonder why the Almighty Father in the heavenly firmament seems to speak to a fallen humanity like The Lone Ranger's faithful companion Tonto (or perhaps Tarzan) by leaving out all articles and prepositions, so that it sounds like English is not only not His first language, or even His second, but some alien dialect He's never heard before. Personally, I'm inclined to prefer my Omnipotent Being to sound more like the mellifluous tones of Morgan Freeman, or even George Burns, and leave the rest of the semi-literate gibberish to the likes of Hop Sing from "Bonanza" and other cultural stereotypes of his ilk, Kemo Sabe. Speaking of things that make no sense, I couldn't help but notice this arresting review of the PBS show "Market Warriors" in the Best Bets section of our local newspaper - ================================= Bob Cirillo joins the pickers as they arrive in Pasadena, California, for the popular monthly flee market ================================= Well, it's undeniably true that calling a tag sale by the name of "flea market" appears to fly in the face of all logic, but frankly, trying to turn it into a "flee" market instead only seems to make matters considerably worse. In fact, it makes me want nothing so much as to flee in the opposite direction, with my coat-tails full of tags and fleas, flapping behind me, and don't spare the garages, by golly. And while we're on the topic of tempus fugit (that's Latin for "my garage has fleas") we had our own major chronological anomaly at work earlier in the week, which was not only unexpected, but inadvertently amusing in its own way. Anyone can tell you, and perhaps I better than most, that the time clock in my building always runs slow - and I don't mind saying that it's amazing to me that you can pay well over $1,000 for one of these gadgets, and it can't even keep time as well as a plastic quartz watch from the dollar store. Apparently it had finally gotten so far off the mark that they called the crack Engineering team to come over and make the necessary adjustments, with the expectation that it would then line up more in harmony with the time in the real world, and not continue marching to its own drummer, at whatever slower time it happened to settle on in its own wayward brain. In actuality, this had the no doubt unintended result that instead of lagging behind the rest of humanity on a sluggish but consistent basis, the time clock went from being 10 minutes slow, to one hour and ten minutes fast, at a stroke, in the middle of the day. I noticed it when I punched out at 5:00, and it registered as 6:10 instead, when I knew that it had been at least the right hour, if not the right minute, when I punched in at 9:00 earlier in the day. I wasn't surprised when I came in on time the next day, but punched in at 10:10 anyway, because I wasn't expecting it to miraculously repair itself overnight. But I was surprised later, when the entire day came and went, and I punched out at 6:10 just like the day before, without any corrections having been made in the interim. In fact, it continued that way for the remainder of the week, with everybody punching in and out an hour and ten minutes later than real time, which out in the world of actual business, people would recognize that for what it really was, namely, defeating the whole purpose of a time clock in the first place. We've already started an office pool to see which happens first: if the Engineering trolls come back to adjust the time, or if the time clock just continues to run slow enough that eventually it loses an hour and ten minutes to come back to where it should have been to start with. The smart money's on the clock in this scenario, I can tell you that. Meanwhile in news of a more local flavor, alert readers may recall earlier in the year when an old broken tooth necessitated a visit to the oral surgeon, where to ward off complaints from the excruciating pain, they eagerly offer prescriptions for serious controlled substances, that magically take away even the most relentless pain, like turning off a light switch. I already have a second broken tooth that hasn't bothered me yet, but I carry my left-over magic pain pills with me when we travel, just in case of emergencies, so I don't find myself 100 miles from home with agonizing tooth pain and no relief in sight. A couple of weeks ago, when I was unpacking from our excursion to Cold Spring, it was the first I realized that what I had taken with us on the trip, rather than being my magic tooth pills, was instead an identical bottle full of Clindamycin from the Animal Hospital, from when one of our cats had an infection. Did I laugh! Now, that's what I call an idea that was good in theory, but failed miserably in the application. Sort of like the time clock at work, of which I am reminded that "close only counts in hand grenades." Garcon, more Magellan Blue Gin, if you please! Elle

Big Bang

Hello World, Happy October! Or should I say, "HO-HO-HO!" I was at the supermarket on Sunday (which was still technically in September) looking for Halloween candy, and of course discovered (and I will not add "to my horror," although it is clearly implied) that they have their Christmas decorations out already. It's pretty stiff competition for the cornucopia of fun-size candy bars in the stores now for trick-or-treating, but it pales in comparison to November's beleaguered victims of the relentless St. Nick steamroller, running roughshod over the poor obliterated Pilgrims, as if Plymouth Rock was nothing more than an obstacle on the way to the North Pole. The way things are going, the smart thing to do would be to just give up and move Halloween and Thanksgiving to some less-cluttered part of the year (like March) and let Christmas have carte blanche from back-to-school to New Year's all to its gargantuan and extravagant self. Back-to-school eggnog, anyone? For those of us who have not yet jumped aboard the yuletide bandwagon, and for whom the calendar is still firmly focused on October, the time has surely come, when the Boys of Summer must give way to the Fall Classic, and not a moment too soon. The baseball season came to a close on Wednesday, not with a whimper, but with a bang, that's for sure, and a genuine whiz-bang, bang-up finish that kept the hometown fans on the edge of their seats all the way. Several of the pennant races went right down to the wire, including a couple where the division wasn't decided until the very last day. It's shaping up to be a wild and woolly playoff picture this time around, with the usual batch of perennial stalwarts (Yankees, Texas) and some other up-and-coming novices (Washington, St. Louis) and a few stone cold shockers that just came right out of nowhere, like a bolt out of the proverbial blue - or as we say in the bleachers of America's Pastime, out of left field. Under the new Wild Card format introduced this post-season, two teams that didn't win their division will face each other in a one-game playoff, with the winner advancing to the opening round against one of the 3 divisional winners in each league. This seems to be just another way to disappoint even more fans in two extra cities over the course of the playoffs, since there will now be 9 teams that don't win the World Series, compared to 7 losing teams previously. Heck, if that's their goal, why don't they just put ALL of the teams in the playoffs to start with, and by November, they can have disappointed fans in 27 separate cities all at once? Suddenly, that back-to-school eggnog doesn't sound like such a bad idea after all. Going from the wide grassy diamonds to the frozen rounded rectangles (you'd think there would be a word for this shape) I regret to report that there has been no settlement in the NHL lockout, and the wailing and gnashing of teeth is beginning to reach epic proportions among the literally dozens of hockey fans in two countries. (Okay, there may be more than a few dozen fans in Canada, I'll grant you that.) Pundits are suggesting that the stalemate might last until the end of the year, stopping just in time to salvage The Winter Classic on January 1, and rescue whatever remnants are left of the tattered season through April. We have Dave Shoalts from The Globe & Mail of Toronto to thank for his cogent observation that the NHL owners see the fans as "ATMs with arms and legs." I can guarantee that those fans have been using their arms now to make some gestures that no ATM has ever thought of, by golly. Meanwhile on the local scene, alert readers may recall early last year when a film crew from the TV show "Law & Order: Criminal Intent" came to shoot scenes at the hospital where I work, which can be an exciting prospect, but also very disruptive to the daily routine, or a situation that you would think a hospital would wish to avoid at all costs. Not so fast! A couple of weeks ago, we found ourselves once again being visited by yet another film crew, this one for the hit TV show on CBS, "Person of Interest," starring Jim Caviezel, Kevin Chapman and Michael Emerson. While the first shoot was in the Operating Room and CEO's office, mostly hidden away from the employees and general public, this time around, the filming was being done in a variety of locations such as the Lobby, G.I., O.R., and the hallways on two different patient floors, as well as taking over the auditorium with their catering services for cast and crew. This presented a lot more opportunities for the average guy or gal to mingle with the stars and production team, and just about everybody came away with a story of meeting someone from the show in the elevator, hallway, courtyard, or out on the sidewalk by the equipment trailers. A week later, we all received a copy of a note from the producers, stating "The entire crew commented on how kind, considerate and friendly everyone was, and stressed that your hospital and employees were the best we have ever encountered." They went on to add that they were so pleased with the experience that they have already requested to return for another episode. Normally, this is where I would say that I'm all for it, and what could be better than using the power of television to put us on the map, and spread our name far and wide, so that even in the remotest villages in the densest jungles, we'd be right up there with the Mayo Clinic, Johns Hopkins, and of course, General Hospital. But frankly, I'm concerned that the management here will get so star-struck with this idea, that they'll decide to give up on being a real hospital altogether, and just rent the place out as a studio from now on - and where 1,600 people would go to find new jobs, once the employer of last resort is gone, well, it's just a mystery to me, I can tell you that. Speaking of local celebrities, The Journal News has a gossip column on their web site called LoHud LowDown, where they promise me they have the latest news on the big names in our area, " ... like Leonardo DiCaprio's recent sighing in Ardsley." I think not! While I can't entirely rule out the possibility that the Titanic star was indeed "sighing" in Ardsley, I'm guessing that if you read that sentence again and substitute the word "sighting" instead of "sighing," it suddenly makes a lot more sense. Of course, there are no standards anymore, heaven knows, and the spell-checker's certainly not going to be able to help you with that one, if you can't come up with the right word on your own. Honestly, sometimes you just don't know whether to laugh or cry. In other even more local news, it certainly has come to the end of an era here in our neighborhood, and just as unwelcome as it was unexpected. Without a word of warning, our next-door neighbors moved away, right out from under our noses, and took all of their various brood of pets right along with them. (That would be 2 dogs, 4 cats, 2 boys, and who knows what all else - which I would think would be quite an undertaking, when you're essentially packing up your tents and sneaking off in the dead of night.) After years upon years underfoot, it suddenly meant the abrupt end of the ubiquitous Mooch of lore and legend in our midst - the undisputed master of wheedling treats out of just about everyone, whether they were homeowners, construction workers, or the film crew from the commercial shoot across the street. She fancied herself the neighborhood's good will ambassador, and was widely recognized everywhere she went (which was absolutely everywhere) and while she seemed sweet and friendly on the outside, underneath it all, she was totally fearless and backed down from nothing. Better known to her family as Cinnamon, this pint-sized critter has left a king-sized hole in our yard, along with her kaboodle of cohorts, C.C. (who we called Sugarfoot) and Will (what a name for a cat, no wonder we called him Squeaky!) and the irrepressible Cooper, who was rescued on their visit to the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown. It's certainly not going to be the same around here without them, and we can bang the door shut on that chapter of our lives, alas. Of course, we wish them well in their new locale, and looking forward to meeting our new neighbors whenever they may arrive, with whatever may be their assorted entourage in tow. But you can be gosh-darn sure that we'll be making them sign an iron-clad agreement (I call it a "pre-neigh") that we are entitled to visitation rights if they ever move away and take their pets with them. I'm not going to be like Leonardo DiCaprio sighing in Ardsley, without even hockey to console myself with. Say, where's that back-to-school eggnog when you need it? Elle