Shop Around

Hello World, Alert readers may be wondering - and well may they wonder indeed - if our annual Christmas caravan has finally pulled into the terminal, or whether we continue to chase after far-flung friends and relatives with presents for one and all. Usually by the time the Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday weekend rolls around, we can pack away the caravan for another season, but not this time, as we still have some of the more elusive individuals to track down yet. But we have been up to the Great White North and returned to tell the tale, so that's one more stop off the caravan's itinerary so far, and that's not just a lot of sugar plum fairies, by holly. We started out bright and early on Saturday morning, with plans to meet our friends at the 76 Diner in Latham for lunch. This worked out better than expected, as the weather was fine and the traffic was negligible, and we ended up getting there before anyone else, in spite of the fact that we were coming from 150 miles away and they only needed to come from the other side of town. But finally everybody showed up and we had a very nice lunch, one might even say, sedate by our usual standards - by which I mean that the diner staff did not have to hold us at bay with whips and chairs, while the local police escorted us out. After lunch, we decided to take advantage of proximity, and check in to the nearby La Quinta hotel, where we have stayed on several occasions, and expected more of their usual hospitality, that we have come to know and appreciate over the years. Not so fast! Apparently there is such a thing as the Executive Suite, which I had reserved this time around, and I have to tell you that mere words would be woefully inadequate to describe it properly. It was not only huge, and tastefully decorated, but fully handicap accessible, and - la piece de la resistance - comes complete with its very own hot tub, right in the room. We walked into the room, and our jaws dropped, not just from the size of the place (it was enormous) but all of the amenities, like the kitchen, large closet, gigantic bathroom, and of course, that decadent hot tub. As I said, we've stayed there before, and in fact, friends of ours once stayed there in a different room with a hot tub, but we never in our lives dreamed of a room like this one, so we couldn't have even asked for it if we wanted to, since we had no idea that it existed in the first place. Even more astounding, it cost the same as their regular rooms (which are in the $100 range, very reasonable nowadays) and if I had only known then, what I know now, we certainly would have requested this very same room each time we stayed there. It's true that it has only one room, so it's not technically a "suite," executive or otherwise, but it more than makes up in features what it lacks in doors, and as far as I'm concerned, we can just call it "Paradise" and leave it at that. Two of our friends bought a new house, and moved from one side of town to the other, so we jumped in the car and raced over there to get the tour and see what all the excitement was about. It turned out to be a lovely place, in remarkably "move-in" condition, in a quiet neighborhood of modest homes, just right for empty-nesters looking for a simpler lifestyle. There's plenty of room for them and their cats, and even a couple of spare bedrooms for guests, plus more storage than you would expect from its size, and all the conveniences that anyone could hope for, including a fireplace in the living room. It will come as a surprise to no one that for us, the best part of the tour was their wonderfully elaborate train layout in the basement, which was every bit as exciting to see in person, as the Winter Wonderland Train Ride video made it appear. And that's not just the sleigh bells and snowmen talking, believe me. Speaking of the holly jolly train video, I couldn't help but notice on my recent swing by the site, that the page views had only improved to a paltry 33 from the previous pathetic 28, so come on, people - let's show that we can do better than that. All aboard! Since it was still daylight, we figured the time was right for one of our favorite shopping destinations in the local area, Hewitt's, where we snapped up some after-Christmas bargains on holiday decorations and novelty lights. Of course, every day is a bargain day at the nearby Dollar General, where the variety is just as appealing as the prices, and always lots of interesting things to look at. While we were out, we picked up some pizza for dinner, and brought it to the hotel, where it was no trouble to fit 6 people comfortably in our spacious room with plenty of seating to go around. Our original plan was to go in the pool, but instead, we dove into the free WiFi in the room, and amused ourselves pursuing trivia and entertainment online. We sensed that our room was in the hotel's party hallway, with lots of running up and down, giggling and yelling the way youngsters do - so we were surprised later that it turned out to be very quiet overnight, compared to what we were expecting. After our friends left, Bill and I took advantage of the hot tub with just the 2 of us, and it ended up being just as well, because that's basically all that would fit in there, and even that was a snug fit. But it was very warm and soothing after a busy day, and its restorative powers cannot be overstated, believe me. In the morning, our friends came back to join us for the hotel's breakfast, and we were able to relax and enjoy ourselves before checking out at noon. From there, we were determined to hit the shopping circuit in earnest, and devil take the hindmost. We started at the sprawling Goodwill, which certainly has something for everyone, as well as some items that you couldn't think of anybody at all that could possibly make use of them. After that, we went to yet another Hewitt's for more post-season bargains, and once again, did not leave empty-handed, I can assure you. Across the street is Cracker Barrel, where their selection of shakers did not disappoint, and their old-fashioned confections always manage to sweeten the pot. (Our favorite story was the cashier, when we said that we were tourists from downstate, explained to us that his uncle was also a downstater - he lives in Poughkeepsie. That made us laugh, because Poughkeepsie is what we consider upstate, and here he's thinking that his uncle is all the way down in the apple pit with those of us living on the fringes of the city that never sleeps. Poughkeepsie may fancy itself "The Queen City of the Hudson," but it's got a long way to go to reach "The Queen City on the Sound," by golly.) All in all, it must be said that we hopped aboard the commerce bandwagon, and rode that thing right into the ground - leaving every store with bulging bags full of goodies, and happy merchants on every side in our wake. In fact, I'm expecting my commendation from Governor Cuomo's economic advisers any day now, for spending so much money in the Albany area over the weekend - although truth to tell, for as much damage as we did to our poor beleaguered wallets, I'm surprised that he didn't show up in person to hand us the keys to the city. Anyone can tell you that marathon shopping works up quite an appetite, and luckily for us, Cracker Barrel is located in the same parking lot as Denny's, so anybody could see what was about to happen next, and plenty of it. I can tell you that many things change in this cockamamie world, but Denny's is a treat that never grows old. Speaking of treats, we went from there to visit our friends on the other side of Albany, who promised to shower us with gifts, that is, as long as we could navigate the hundreds of tiny slanted wooden steps up to their house in the wilderness, that were smothered in varying stages of snow, ice, slush, and other super-slippery surfaces that the semi-conductor industry could only hope to achieve. Our friends are not known for their misanthropic ways, but my personal feeling is that common hospitality demands a ski lift in a case like that, or at the very least, a rope line that guests could use to pull themselves hand-over-hand safely to their destination, as well as hang on for dear life on the way back down. When we successfully overcame the obstacles, they had no choice but to give us our presents as a reward, which we were not in the least embarrassed to accept, with the feeling that we had certainly earned them fair and square. All too soon, it was time to pack up and hit the road for home, after taking our life in our hands, sliding back down the hillside to our car, and glad to make it in one piece under the circumstances. The trip home was uneventful, which is always my favorite way to travel, and we arrived at our doorstep around 9:30 PM to find everything quiet and under control. The cats greeted our return with their trademark indifference, and we in no way improved our popularity when they discovered that all of our vast cornucopia of conspicuous consumption included not a single cat toy or kitty treat of any kind. I'll admit that I wasn't surprised when they fired off angry letters to Governor Cuomo (so much for our commendation, alas!) but frankly, I thought the protest songs were just way too much. Probably our best bet would be to lay low and wait until this whole thing just blows over, and give it some time to cool off. I hear that Poughkeepsie is very nice this time of year. Elle

Hit The Roof

Hello World, I see that the month is creeping along at its petty pace, and little by little, you notice that each day is just a tiny bit longer than the day before - it gets lighter a wee bit earlier in the morning, and stays lighter just a tad later than the previous day. Before you know it, all of us workaday stiffs will be going to work and coming home while there's actual sun up in the sky, and not skulking around in the shadowy gloom of winter's inky darkness. This may be bad news indeed for the rank and file among the vampire classes - and of course, the werewolves, it goes without saying - but for sun worshipers like the rest of us (and you Druids know who you are) it's a welcome shift in the right direction. It's not exactly Richard III's "Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer" by any means, but I'm still happy to embrace the improvement, however incremental, and let the vampires, werewolves and zombies fend for themselves, by Jove. In local news, the long-awaited roof project finally shuddered to a close last week, as impossible as that might seem. It was all too easy to get used to the routine of waking up to the roofers clambering all over the house, then coming home to the yard being all topsy-turvy, with their supplies and equipment having been moved hither and yon from where they were the day before. It was an interesting experience, with only a few casualties along the way - most notably, the poor yard lights, and one of my Christmas decorations will never be the same. They were more than equal to the challenge of the roof's many sharp angles and steep sides, and when the derelict butler's pantry proved too unstable for its intended covering, they simply rebuilt the framework underneath it, and then attached the new roof to that. The last thing they needed to do was the garage roof, and that also did not stymie their efforts, in spite of countless obstacles in their way that lesser men would have quailed before, and called it a day. Finally it seemed to get quieter and quieter around the place, and less and less material scattered everywhere, until there was nothing left but their copious conglomeration of ladders in the backyard. Eventually even that was gone, and they scoured the property down to the bare earth, leaving not so much as a leaf standing in their wake, so that a person could be forgiven for wondering if there really had been roofers there in the first place. Two days later, even the tiny Dumpster was a thing of the past, being spirited away under cover of daylight, while we were both at work, and not even a last opportunity to wish it well on its merry way. The last nail in the roofing project coffin, as it were, was when we received an invoice in the mail for the balance of the project, and at that point there was no denying the fact that it was well and truly over. It's pretty much been raining ever since, and we certainly have no complaints about the new roof, that's for sure, and looking forward to many decades of sturdy, leak-free service from our newest addition to the old manse. Of course, we haven't been up there to check it out in person, and can only surmise that it's all that we could have hoped for. My primary concern is that the cats might have prevailed upon the roofers to install a big sign that lights up and says "ALIEN SPACESHIPS LAND HERE," and then all bets are off. Meanwhile in sports news, literally dozens upon dozens of loyal fans in hockey cities throughout North America were rejoicing last week when the NHL contract dispute was resolved at long last, and their favorite teams - or bitterest rivals - could get back to playing hockey once again. All pre-season games and the early part of the season were lost to the labor conflict, as well as the beloved Winter Classic, which is a fan favorite and media magnet that far surpasses anything else that they do for the entire season. The league management was able to salvage 48 games out of the usual 82-game schedule, and the teams will play only other teams in their own conference, rather than the wide-open, coast-to-coast forays of the regular season, when time is not an issue. For clubs with post-season hopes, like the new and improved Rangers, it will be a mad dash to the playoffs in May, dragging their exhilarated fans right along with them, as each individual game in the truncated season looms large in the overall picture, and there is virtually no room for error. So while the rest of the wide world may continue to ignore hockey as boring and insignificant, for those of us who hang on every face-off, this is indeed "the winter of our discontent made glorious summer," and let the pucks fall where they may. After all, Richard III may have been King of England, but he never won the Stanley Cup, and that's not just the Zamboni talking, believe me. And while we're on the subject of seasonal delights, I would be remiss if I didn't take this opportunity to invite one and all to view a very special video that is sure to please, and can't help but fill you full of the holiday spirit all over again and again. One of our friends has painstakingly constructed an elaborate model train layout, with the meticulous attention to detail that you would expect from a retired engineer - although it must be said, not an actual locomotive engineer like the fabled Casey Jones, but still a certified professional with an engineering degree nonetheless. A recent addition to his railroading paraphernalia is a tiny camera that mounts on the front of the train itself, and gives you a wonderfully unobstructed view of the sights, as if you were sitting right in the conductor's lap as the cars go rattling along the tracks. At the time, the layout was all decked out in its winter finery, with snow everywhere, ice skating, snowball fights, sledding, shopping, and holly jolly decorations at every turn. Why, if they tried to cram any more yuletide merriment into this model landscape, they'd have to build a bigger house. It also features a suitably cool soundtrack, and running commentary that points out the various highlights along the way, lest you miss the outhouse or popcorn cart in all the excitement - not to mention, the vampires. (Okay, I admit there's not really any vampires.) The video is called "Jayne and Eddie's Winter Wonderland Train Ride," and I encourage everyone to just go right ahead and see it for yourselves at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x-IBVp58ngE if you've got 5 minutes to spare in your busy schedule, and you won't be disappointed. Best of all, you'll do your part to help improve the number of page views, which were at a pathetic 28 the last time I was there, and which is probably fewer people than our friends have in their own actual families to start with. So if we all pitch in, we can do our best to get those numbers up to a more respectable level, or at least on a par with hockey fans, even without the vampires, werewolves and zombies. Say, is that Richard III driving that Zamboni? Elle

There And Back Again

Hello World, Well, what better way to start the new year off right, than to celebrate a merry Christmas II The Sequel at the log cabin? As they say down on Old Macdonald's Farm, "HOE HOE HOE!" So when the first Saturday in January rolled around, we packed up the sleigh - I mean, car - with all of our goodies, and headed over the river and through the woods, then over the ground like a hunting hound, for the horse knows the way to carry the sleigh - or should I say, the GPS surely does. The weather was beautiful for traveling, and not being any sort of holiday, there was no traffic to speak of along the way. It was chillier up north, and "countryside covered with snow," as the song goes, but we received a warm welcome from the cabin elves, and some home-made soup and sandwiches soon revived our spirits. There's nothing like presents to lend cheer to any proceedings, so we hunkered down and tucked into ours in earnest, uncovering hidden gems of apparel, snacks, entertainment, jewelry and even cat toys among the gaily wrapped bags and boxes. Hours later, we finally had to stop for dinner, and even better, topped that off with desserts like gingerbread cake, peach cobbler and chocolate mousse. Now, that's what I call Kringle-jingle yum-yum! It may not have been actually Christmas day, but we could not have been more merry and jolly if we tried. We had a nice enough stay at the Quality Inn when we were there for Thanksgiving, but Kingston (as they like to tell everyone, the original capital of New York State) is chockful of hotels on every side, so I thought it might be interesting to cast a wider net and try some place different this time around. That was how we ended up at the SuperLodge across the street from the Quality Inn, so it was certainly easy to find, and almost 30% cheaper besides. Alert readers may recall our experiences the previous winter at the nearby SkyTop, where we found that the rooms were in a condition reminiscent of a Siberian gulag, and the grouchy Russian staff made us reluctant to complain. We spotted no Russians at the SuperLodge, but the rooms were just as frigid - only this time, we outsmarted them by showing up in the middle of the day to check in, so we had plenty of time to turn on the heat and warm the place up, rather than checking in at midnight, and trying to sleep in a deep freeze after a long and busy day. It never did get to what I would describe as "balmy," but it was a lot better than when we first got there, that's for sure. We expected that our "Christmas II" weekend would be too busy for a splash in their pool, which was just as well, because we found out from the desk clerk that even though the pool is indoors, they close it for the winter so they don't have to keep the room warm enough for swimmers. (I had a nagging suspicion that in the summer, they would have another excuse why the pool wasn't open, but I bit back that thought before it sprang from my lips.) Somewhere, Vladimir Lenin is having a big laugh, comrade. In the morning, we scooted back over to the log cabin bright and early, for French toast and cinnamon buns, and they did not disappoint, believe me. A normal person might think it would be impossible for us to follow that with even more dessert, but it was back to the gingerbread, cobbler and mousse all over again, and we did not go at it in half-measures, I can assure you. Our hosts had plans in the afternoon to cheer on the Marist women's basketball team (go, Red Foxes!) so we stuffed all of our booty in the car, and bid them a fond farewell. This left us with plenty of time on our hands in the middle of the day, and we all know what they say about idle hands and the devil's playthings, which is bound to be just nothing but trouble in the making, and plenty of it. So instead, we lit out for Newburgh at a trot, and arrived there just in time for the early show of "The Hobbit," which we had wanted to see when it first came out, but never got around to it. Having this free block of time gave us the perfect opportunity, and we leaped at it with our pointy ears and furry feet flying, as it were. The movie is all they claim, and the special effects are nothing short of stupendous, from the tiniest woodland creatures to the brawniest mythical monsters, and everything in between. For a very long movie, it certainly never lags, and you really get your money's worth out of it, as it drags you along pell-mell from one rollicking misadventure to the next. I can tell you that the one thing you will never hear is snoring, because there's no way that anybody could fall asleep during this crowded and boisterous journey, and that's not just a lot of dragon fire, believe me. Our chief interest in the film was Martin Freeman as the unlikely hero Bilbo Baggins, who makes up in courage what he lacks in stature. We admired his work as Watson in the new PBS series, "Sherlock," which brings A. Conan Doyle's iconic detective into the modern era, with a level of intelligence and craftsmanship that is almost unheard of in television nowadays. His multi-faceted Watson to the prickly Sherlock adds a dimension to the show that is both powerful and endearing. The earnest and methodical Watson seemed an odd choice for the latest hobbit to hit the big screen, so we had been curious to see how it would all work out, since we first heard the announcement that he would be starring in the new movie. (Although truth to tell, anyone in the film, no matter how significant, is only playing second fiddle to the computer wizardry of the post-production effects masters - maybe even third or fourth fiddle, the way things turned out.) We were suitably impressed with his thoughtful performance, occasionally offset with some welcome comic relief, and felt that he was just as much at home in Middle Earth as in the heart of 221b Baker Street after all. And while we're on the topic of what the Sherlock Holmes Museum immodestly refers to as "the most famous address in the world," it was also no secret that the versatile Benedict Cumberbatch, who plays Sherlock to Martin Freeman's Watson on TV, would be in the new "Star Trek Into Darkness" flick coming out this year, which might be considered another odd casting choice, although perhaps in a different way. But for all of you trivia buffs out there (and you know who you are) the one thing that I never heard one single solitary soul breathe a whisper of, from beginning to end, was that he also appears in "The Hobbit," of all things - which you would expect to have made a bigger splash, after they've basically been connected at the hip for 3 seasons in "Sherlock." It's true that they have no scenes together, and Cumberbatch only materializes as the sinister shadowy silhouette of The Necromancer in a different subplot altogether, but even still, of all the English actors in the whole wide world, I thought it was a remarkable coincidence that they both showed up in the same movie, after being in the same mini-series all these years. In fact, I would say that it could be considered something of a mystery, but then again, that would be elementary, my dear Watson. Elle

Hold That Thought

Hello World, Happy New Year! Here's hoping that 2013 will be a wonderful year for all of us, especially hard on the heels of the late and very much unlamented 2012, which managed to wear out its welcome long before its time was due, and I can assure you that the dinosaurs and I were not sorry to see it go. Now the new year is spreading out before us like so many bright shiny presents, just waiting to be plucked up and enjoyed, full of promise and undimmed by the bitter disappointments of yesteryear. It's true there is some concern among suggestible folks that the number 13 will prove unlucky, but frankly, after some of the calamities and chaos of last year, I'm not exactly sure how the new year could manage to get much unluckier than that - barring invasion by alien spaceships, collapse of the world financial structure, or Biblical plagues like raining frogs, boils and locusts. I guess what I'm trying to say is that 2013 will not have to go far to be an improvement over 2012, and that's not just a lot of hurricane punch, believe me. Speaking of new and improved, Bill and I took the opportunity to try out a different nail salon last week, and it was the geographic opposite of our previous establishment. Although located nearby on the same block in town, they could not have been more different. The first place featured a bevy of young Russian ladies, all turned out in the latest fashionable duds, with plenty of long legs and cleavage to go along with their perfect hair and sparkly jewelry. The salon was a bit on the dowdy side, with care-worn furnishings, and a mix of new and old elements that really didn't mesh well together. The atmosphere was all business, but some of the girls could be friendly if you drew them out. The other salon seems brand new and shiny, with fresh paint, bright lights, and plenty of matching furniture on all sides. It's not wider, but is much longer than the Russian salon, and the walls are full of decorative mirrors that give a sense of being even more open and spacious overall. Jumping to the other side of the Iron Curtain, this new place is entirely Chinese, and the difference is striking. First of all, if your interest is in short skirts and cleavage, you can give up on that idea right from the start. The slim China dolls gather their hair in careless ponytails, and the dress code seems to consist of nondescript blue jeans with plain hoodies and matching aprons, that do nothing to enhance their sex appeal, I can tell you that. Chairman Mao would be so proud. They don't appear to speak any English, and mostly point at things to get you to pick a polish color or tell you where to sit, so if you haven't brought a companion along with you, you can certainly be alone with your thoughts, or perhaps a magazine instead. Although both salons have flat-screen TV sets mounted on the walls (the Russians have the edge here, with 2 large sets, compared to the small one tucked in a corner of the Chinese place) you very rarely find them turned on, or to show anything worth watching. I had a manicure and pedicure, and was very happy with both, although I must admit that my nails have seemed extremely inscrutable ever since. Also in the realm of other new things, alert readers may recall that one of the victims of Hurricane Sandy on the home front was the venerable storm doors outside of the front French doors in our living room, which were tugged loose from their moorings during the height of the tempest, and shattered when they slammed against the stucco on the side of the house. It's true that there was broken glass everywhere, but the door frames were still intact and standing in sturdy formation as they had for decades, and we thought it would be simple enough to just replace the glass panels and get on with our lives. Au contraire! (That's French for "I'll take Door #3, Monty!") We couldn't find anyone who was willing to put new glass in our old door frames, and finally gave it up as a lost cause. We prevailed upon one of the contractors who had worked on our porch project, and he came over and removed the old frames, then fabricated all new Plexiglas panels to cover the door openings for both the front and rear French doors, to protect the outside of the doors and keep out the chill. They came out very nice, and although they don't open like the previous doors did, they have the advantage of being good and snug, clear as crystal, and a solid barrier against the elements. So that was a solution we weren't expecting, from an unlikely source, and the next hurricane that comes our way is going to have its hands full with that new Plexiglas, by golly. In other construction news, the roof replacement continues apace, and our diligent roofers made short work of the giant Dumpster in our driveway, and it was soon filled to the brim with debris of all sorts, and no room left to squeeze in the least little thing. One day when I was getting dressed for work, along came a huge and lumbering carting truck, which summarily scooped up the giant container onto its back and hauled it away - and I will not say, while I waved a dainty lace handkerchief at it from the upstairs window and brushed a sorry tear from my cheek. I was certainly surprised when I came home later and found in its place, the trash company had replaced it in our driveway with what I could only describe in comparison as a tiny Dumpster, that was a fraction of the size of the enormous original one. Presumably, the roofers must have decided that since the project was more than half finished, they weren't going to need a second container of the same size, but could make do with something on a smaller scale. I said to Bill that I don't know anything about refuse, but I certainly didn't see how they were going to get our entire garage roof into the new little Dumpster, besides whatever was left to do on the house, and as far as I could tell, they hadn't even started on the garage yet. I suppose it's fair to say that they know better than I do about things like this, but I'm thinking that poor tiny Dumpster really has its work cut out for it now, and that's not just a lot of shingle with a shimmy and a shake in the alley, believe me. Meanwhile, I couldn't help but notice that recently our local newspaper ran a cover story about pop singer Bruno Mars releasing a new album, "Unorthodox Jukebox," featuring an eclectic mix of songs in various genres. They quoted him as saying: "I've always wanted to make music like that -- that could be spread out, and can't be pigeon-held to one thing." Now, I defer to no one in my admiration of pigeons, and their namesake holes rank very high in my estimation. But I can tell you right now that I draw the line at cobbling together a term like "pigeon-held," presumably as a misbegotten past tense variant of "pigeon-hole," then making a very errant left turn to "pigeon-hold" (rather than "pigeon-holed" as it should have been) and from there, it's basically just a hop, skip and a jump - and Bob's your uncle - and suddenly we find ourselves covered with "pigeon-held" right there on the front page of the newspaper, of all things. Well, the dinosaurs and I will not stand for it, not to mention, the stool pigeons, it goes without saying. What's next - after someone peeps through a keyhole, would they be key-held? Would someone taking advantage of a loophole, then be considered loop-held? Arriving at their destination after passing through a wormhole, would space travelers be worm-held? The mind reels. It's at times like this you wonder if the whole world hasn't tumbled down a rabbit hole, and frankly, the pigeons and I need that about as much as a hole in the head. Or should I say, head-held. Elle