The Dinosaur Age

Hello World, And so here we find ourselves already at the last weekend in April, believe that or don't, with the merry, merry month of May knocking on the very door next Wednesday, ready or not. April doesn't really have much to boast of, especially when Easter has already happened in March, although the dinosaurs and I certainly don't want overlook Earth Day, which was last Monday, giving us all reasons to be thankful. After all, astrophysicists have long since determined that ours is the only planet in the vast and multitudinous cosmos that is capable of producing chocolate, or as it's known in our house, the building blocks of life itself. Even this late in the month, it has continued to be colder than normal, so much so that all of us in the local area can't help but wonder if perhaps Mother Nature forgot to pay the heating bill, or maybe the downstairs tenants fiddled with the thermostat when nobody was looking. On the other hand, we can all enjoy our chocolate without it melting into a gooey mess, and that's a gift of Mother Earth that has no equal for billions of light-years in any direction. Also on the topic of mothers, when Shirley Temple was a famous child star in her heyday, there was no secret to the fact that she was born in the same year as my mother, singing and tapping her way across movie screens and into the hearts of theater patrons from one end of this great land to the other, from the mountains to the prairies to the oceans white with foam. Since she started performing at such an early age, there was no way of hiding when she was born, because it was plain to everybody that a 3-year-old couldn't pretend to be a one-year-old, or a 5-year-old, for that matter - so there was no disguising her actual date of birth. Mysteriously, it didn't take long in little Miss Temple's career before she started losing chronological traction and leaving my mother behind (anyone who knew her can tell you that my mother always was a stickler for accuracy) although I suppose the better definition would be to say that she was leaving my mother ahead, rather than behind, in this case. Every year when the star's birthday would roll around in April, my mother would scoff at whatever irrational number the newspapers would print as her age, which was always several years shy of my mother's age at the time, and she would reiterate belligerently to one and all that they were born in the same year, and anybody could see right through this fast-and-loose numerical subterfuge. Even after leaving the silver screen behind, and embarking on a career of public service and international diplomacy, the times never caught up with the curly-haired wunderkind, and to this day, they're still reporting her age as 85 in the same year that my mother would have been 91. That's some pretty fancy footwork all these years later, and if she keeps up like this, someday soon she'll be famous for making movies before she was even born, and my mother will have the last laugh after all. Apropos of nothing, the dinosaurs have reminded me of a perhaps apocryphal story from the golden age of Hollywood, where the editor at a major movie magazine sent a wire to one of their reporters in Tinseltown, looking for details to round out a column, but failing to elicit the expected response, in blockbuster fashion. Editor: HOW OLD CARY GRANT? Reporter: OLD CARY GRANT FINE, HOW YOU? Meanwhile in the wonderful world of local sports, the plucky Rangers managed to clinch a playoff spot after all, although it was touch-and-go there right up to the end, and required a complex equation of other teams losing in order to achieve the desired result. Somehow they were able to accomplish this end even without Marian Gaborik, while the team he was traded to, the Columbus Bluejackets, have the remotest mathematical chance of just squeaking into the last playoff spot in the very last game, dependent upon a complicated combination of other factors falling into place. But if this is anything like last season, having the best record or winning the division is no guarantee of success in the playoffs, and battle-scarred veterans of many campaigns will attest that the puck takes a whole lot of strange bounces on the path to drinking champagne out of Lord Stanley's Cup, and that's not just a lot of ice-capades, believe me. Speaking of playoffs, the Knicks found a way to win 3 games against the mighty Celtics, although it must be said that Boston's woeful 41-40 regular season record only qualified for the post-season based on the NBA's profligate attitude that allows just about every team in the league to make it into the playoffs - probably including a few college softball teams, jai alai, high school lacrosse, and roller derby tossed in for good measure. The 54-28 Knicks have nothing to be ashamed of, with the second best record in the Eastern Conference, but at some point, they're going to run up against the 66-16 Miami Heat, and that's not going to be a pretty sight, I'm thinking. Frankly, my money's on the roller derby. This week started off with some of the lousiest weather we've had all month, but one thing we've come to count on over the years is that it never rains on Secretary's Day, which was Wednesday, and a more lovely day could not have been hoped for. The Chamber of Commerce worked their magic at the annual luncheon, held at one of the local country clubs as usual, and the hospital cognoscenti were out in force for the occasion, including yours truly. After last year's debacle, I don't take any chances with this event anymore, and I have a note in my calendar good and early to start making inquiries about it way ahead of time, so I don't find myself being left out, while everyone else gets to party hearty. We always have fun at the yearly shindig, but us old-timers can't help but notice how they've really tightened things up since the wild and woolly early days back in the 90's. (No, not THOSE 90's, and I would appreciate if the dinosaurs in the Peanut Gallery would kindly keep their snide comments to themselves.) They have spared no effort to speed the proceedings along, so there are no long and boring speeches by local dignitaries, which years of relentless complaints and scathing criticism could not have accomplished. They also serve a pared-down menu with fewer courses ("No soup for YOU!") with the same entree for everyone, and no choice between fish, chicken or whatever. There's also fewer raffle prizes, and this year at least, not any big expensive prizes like they used to have at the end - travel packages, membership at the club, cars or major appliances - that if nothing else, discouraged people from leaving early. In a virtually unprecedented turn of events, I actually won something valuable, although I didn't keep it, since I was playing for our Mail Room staff at the time, and they were delighted with this unexpected windfall later. Even more out of the ordinary, I didn't even jinx the rest of my seat-mates as I normally do, so that people blanch at the sight of me approaching their table - just about everyone sitting there won something, and several of them, more than one prize. I can't say if it helped or hurt our chances to be seated at a mixed table including 4 hospital employees, a pair from Ridgewood Bank, and another 4 from the New Rochelle Public Library, compared to the other tables beside us, where all 10 places were taken by our hospital coworkers. There's no disputing that a fine time was had by all, with a tasty meal served expeditiously, and a streamlined program that got us all back out on the streets in short order, unlike the interminable confabulations of yesteryear. Which is just as well, because the dinosaurs reminded me that it was time to wish a certain former tap-dancing toddler a very happy 85th birthday, so I'd better hurry up and do that - after all, it's only 6 years too late. Elle

Blank Check

Hello World, Well, April is certainly charging along, and the days are obviously getting longer, there's no denying that, although the temperatures remain cooler than normal for this time of year. It hasn't seemed to affect the jaunty daffodils, which are busting out all over, and the delightfully fragrant hyacinths, as well as very early tulips, that never fail to delight. I see that the magnolia is just starting to open, and all over town there are white or pink cherry trees along the sidewalks like lovely cotton puffs. There's the usual carpet of creeping buttercups at church, and early violets are popping up everywhere you look. Last week, I even saw a caterpillar - of course he was in the house at the time, but still that has to count for something. I was about to say that next thing you know it will be dandelions, but I've already spotted them in the yard, and we all know there's no stopping them once they get going. Hard on their heels, and just as unwanted, soon we'll be dodging the menacing tentacles of rampant alien mutant poison ivy, I shouldn't wonder, and woe to the unwary. I may as well say right now, if they think I'm going in after them when they get entangled in its fearsome clutches, I'm sorry but my machete is in the shop. Fans of America's Pastime rejoiced with Opening Day on April 1, and it certainly seemed like an April Fool's prank in many ways. The local teams came north from Florida, and the first thing they did was play the San Diego Padres from southern California and the Marlins from Miami, thanks not, when I'm sure the last thing those 2 teams wanted was to be playing baseball in Queens in early April, of all things. A reasonable person would have left the Mets in Florida to play the Marlins, and then go play the Padres in San Diego instead, which would have made a lot more sense, even to the fans - and the Mets faithful are well known to be more than a little nutty after all. When they finally did go on the road, they headed even farther north (honestly, who comes up with these ideas?!) and got snowed out of Minnesota, where the pelting sleet and freezing temperatures were far from the ideal conditions that Abner Doubleday envisioned for The Boys of Summer, that's for sure. It was already snowing in Denver before they got there, and those games were snowed out too, which was probably just as well, with the 13-4 Rockies being a buzz-saw that the 8-8 Mets certainly didn't need to face. Of course it's way too soon for scoreboard watching, but the early season standings are always so entertaining, and often wildly out of whack with the long-term reality. Quick-start teams like Atlanta, Boston, and Oakland are living large in April, but might very well be fighting for their playoff lives in September, while the bottom-dwellers could turn it around and make a run for it when it counts. At that point, I'll just be glad if they're throwing baseballs and not snowballs, and don't spare the Zambonis! On the local hoops scene, both the Knicks and Nets made it into the playoffs, giving their long-suffering fans reason to cheer, however short-lived it may be. Meanwhile on the frozen front, hockey is also winding down, with a mere handful of games left to play, and then it will be playoff time there too. The tri-state area teams are still battling for playoff spots, and it could go down to the very last day. It might be a very long summer for disappointed fans in dozens of cities. On the other hand, they could feel right at home going to a baseball game in Minnesota during a snowstorm, especially if there was any significant accumulation, because you know they say that baseball is a game of inches, after all. I will not say, "in our continuing efforts to find a new nail salon," because we would have been perfectly happy to stay with the fashion-forward Russian ladies, but apparently the entire staff all left in a clump (or were banished to the Siberian salt mines for fraternization with the enemy) and we also found the descendants of Chairman Mao a bit too rough for our tastes, so once again we set off in search of yet another new nail salon to try. We found one in the shopping center with our supermarket, which was very handy and easy to get to. This one had the distinction of being the best furnished of the lot, with plenty of soft curves, mirrors and decorative columns in pale soothing colors, all the way down to the tasteful accessories. So far it's the only place we've been with no TV sets on the wall, which admittedly would have detracted from the elegance they were trying so hard to achieve. It also featured the pride of the Chinese mainland for staff, with even slouchier jeans and aprons than the last place, no makeup and hair askew in every direction like they spent the night in a barn - and for all I know, they might have done exactly that. These new ladies were marginally better than the other ones, in terms of inflicting physical punishment in the search for health and beauty - which is to say that all of their pummeling and grappling didn't leave as many obvious bruise marks that we had to explain away in the following weeks. All this would probably not have been enough to discourage us from returning for a second try, but they somehow arranged our visit there in such an inconvenient way that Bill had to wait all by himself during the entire time they were working on me, and after I was finished, I had to hang around waiting for him to be done separately, making the whole experience take at least twice as long as it really should have, with only a little better planning. They have a smiling Buddha on their counter, but I have the feeling that somewhere, the ghost of Chairman Mao is scowling. In other local news, alert readers may recall the previous week at work when the auditors implemented the Payroll Payout Audit, and all of us who usually have direct deposit, instead were presented with actual "live" paychecks that we had to take to the bank ourselves, which I personally have not done since 1989 when I first started working here, thanks not. I already knew that I was going to be busy on Sunday after church, so I figured that Bill and I could bring it to the ATM on Friday night after dinner at the diner, and be done with it. Not so fast! We drove all the way across town to HSBC, only to find that the ATM would not accept deposits, because the little deposit drawer was stuck closed and wouldn't open. I'm figuring that it was probably still working for withdrawals, otherwise a lot more people would have been complaining. I was complaining too, but only to myself, and I went home in a dour frame of mind, muttering imprecations about the double-edged sword that is modern technology, while trying to remind myself that patience is a virtue and virtue is its own reward - although I admit this gambit was much less successful than I might have hoped, alas. I was off from work the following Thursday for a far-flung doctor appointment, and took the opportunity to go back to HSBC afterwards, and give the ATM one more good old college try, hoping against hope that we could "win one for the Gipper," and actually get that check deposited in my account. Believe it or not, even though it was just about a solid week later, the ATM deposit drawer was still stuck closed, and I was turned away disappointed a second time, and none too happy about it, I can tell you that. The difference this time was that the bank was still open at this point, so I marched inside with my rejected deposit clutched in my fist - and although I hesitate to add "with eyes blazing," it can't be denied that the poor teller jumped backward when I stomped up to him, like he had been bit by a snake. I waved the check in front of him, and launched into a diatribe about the shortcomings of the ATM, and the woeful inattention of the maintenance crew charged with making sure that it was working properly for days at a time, and other such denouncements as the dinosaurs have long since gotten used to over the years. I have no doubt that he would have actually said something, if I had stopped at any point to take a breath, but what happened instead was that his mouth kept opening and closing but no words would come out, as he regarded me from a safe distance with a wariness that was just short of outright panic. But at least he took my check and deposited it in my account at long last, thus proving himself superior to faulty technology, heads and shoulders above the derelict ATM, and more than equal to my wrath - although I have the feeling that the bullet-proof glass between us played a larger part in that than either of us would care to admit. In any case, one thing that I will promise, the next time the auditors come up with some screwball scheme like this darned Payroll Payout Audit, I can tell you right now that I've got some rampant alien mutant poison ivy with their name on it, and don't forget, my machete is still in the shop. Elle

Odd Ball

Hello World, Well, it's all too easy to complain about the weather, heaven knows, but there's certainly nothing like the prospect of golden yellow forsythia all over to bring cheer to the gloomiest day, and single-handedly renew a person's faith in better days ahead - and it goes without saying, hopefully sooner rather than later at this point. It seems later than usual for forsythia (especially at the hospital, where they bake in the sun against a brick wall all day long, and invariably open earlier than anywhere else) but their perky glow is welcome anytime, and a joy to behold. And speaking of joy, unfortunately there is none in Mudville, as pitching ace Johan Santana is expected to miss the entire season in what may turn out to be career-ending shoulder surgery, and dealing a big blow to the hapless Mets' chances, from which they may not have time enough to recover and salvage anything out of this year without him. This is a tough luck break on many levels, especially after the bird-brain management traded away Cy Young winner R.A. Dickey over the winter, which should remind all of us that you make your own luck, most notably by not making stupid decisions to start with. And while we're on the topic of luck - good, bad or indifferent - last week I picked up a lucky penny on the floor at the diner, took it with me carefully tucked inside my pocket, and then promptly dropped it in the litter box at home, which pretty much belies its name as a lucky penny, I'm thinking. Around here, that's what we call the poop, the whole poop, and nothing but the poop. Meanwhile at work, there had been rumblings that an old and heretofore little-known provision of the pension plan was about to be eliminated, at a cost-savings in the millions, that would basically be coming out of the pockets of future retirees, who would no longer have access to this advantage. It would be no exaggeration to say that this rumor essentially scared the pants off of our most long-term employees who fit into this category, and who then took the sensible way out, and figured they should get going while the going was good, so 40 people left at a stroke on December 31st, with their coat-tails flapping behind them. Two of them were from Purchasing, which had a considerable impact in a department with only 4 employees to start with, especially since only one of the positions was expected to be replaced, and the other was being re-allocated to a different department altogether. This put a lot of pressure on the two of us that were left, not only to do the extra work of the people who left, but heaven forbid, if one of us got sick, the entire department could come to a grinding halt. Even worse, at least from my perspective, the consultants in charge of our department decided that it should fall to me to pick up the slack, in spite of the fact that I was already working through lunch and staying late every day, just to keep up with the work that I already had to do - and not keeping up as it was, thanks not. Of course, I already knew that I could never afford to retire, and would just have to drop dead at my desk, but I always figured it would be from old age, and not trying to do four jobs at once. Adding insult to injury, there was the bone-headed decision to close the Mental Health department, where anyone can tell you that they had been holding a padded room for me - on the clear and certain knowledge that I would absolutely need it one of these days, and many times just the appealing idea of its cozy confines was all that kept my Evil Twin at bay, and an unsuspecting public from unspeakable danger. (Don't forget that I hold the chair-throwing record at church after years of cantankerous congregational meetings, and there is no safe distance from me when I let fly with two hymnals at the same time, believe me.) If there was some method to their madness, I failed to comprehend it, and it would be too late for regrets when I finally snapped, and they would feel my wrath in a hail of chairs, with no one to blame but their very own idiot selves. On top of everything else, those of us who are dues-paying members of the 1199 SEIU local bargaining unit of business office workers were rather rudely informed that the hospital had failed to submit its mandatory contributions under the terms of the collective bargaining agreement, so the union summarily canceled all of our medical benefits out from under us, thanks not. For their part, the union nabobs wrote a letter telling us that we should complain to the hospital management, but here I'm thinking, then what the heck am I paying you for, if you can't enforce the terms of the agreement, and your so-called solution is that the rank and file should complain? I've got a complaint alright, but it's with the spineless weasels at the union, who seem to forget that I'm paying their salaries, and you'd better believe that I've got a chair with their name on it, and I'm not afraid to use it. So just when we thought that the light at the end of the tunnel would turn out to be an oncoming runaway freight train, it only took them 3 months to replace the retired employee in our midst, which at the time felt like a year in the salt mines, and I ought to know. Our newest addition, the eminently qualified Ethel Gonzalez, started bright and early on April 1st, which should have told us something right there, if we had been paying attention to the warning signs. On her first day, they had to frantically call in the exterminators to fend off a serious rodent infestation, which caused widespread mayhem and panic among even the staunchest coworkers, and is something that has never happened in that building for as long as I've worked there. Next, the auditors came up with some cockeyed scheme they called the Payroll Payout Audit, which is something else that had never happened before in the history of the hospital, where the plan was to hand out paychecks individually, rather than by department as usual, and each person needed their ID badge for identification, and had to sign for their check in a log book. In addition, there would be no direct deposit and no on-site check cashing service as there always was, so this was really a bolt out of the blue in so many ways that the possibility of alien abduction could not be entirely ruled out. Of course, it didn't help that they decided to spring it on us at the last minute, with the end result that it was total chaos, instead of the usual simple process that we've come to expect every payday since the 1890's, and that's not just a lot of buggy whips and bustles, believe me. With the infamous "comedy rule of three" in our minds, we couldn't help but wonder what fresh horror would befall us, since everything seemed to be going topsy-turvy after she started, and who knew what would be next. We didn't have long to wait, and as surprises go, this was really one for the books. Now, Ethel is the first person who has ever worked there who likes it hot, and was looking forward to an office in our old rattle-trap flea-bag of a building (which alert readers will remember is made entirely of mud and straw, and pre-dates the invention of elevators) where the relentless steam heat is so oppressive that everybody leaves their windows open and air conditioners running full-tilt all year. It is only due to the perversity of fate that since the day that she started, our building has been noticeably colder than usual, so much so that people have been wearing their coats all day long, and this is in April, mind you. It was Friday when a nasty storm blew in, and it was so frigid in my office that I actually turned on my heater, and anybody who knows me will agree that I would rather tear off my own arm than add any more heat to my usual sauna-like surroundings, so to say that this was an extraordinary turn of events would be an understatement of epic proportions. I will say that it has certainly cut down on the volume of unwanted visitors to our location, and even those who do brave the indoor elements - which in too many ways, mimic the more unpleasant aspects of the outdoor elements - tend to transact their business at a hasty clip, and flee the premises at a trot. I would be less than candid if I didn't admit that I happened to consider this a vast improvement over the usual state of affairs, and seeing poor Ethel all bundled up like an Eskimo in her uncharacteristically frosty office did nothing to change my opinion, alas. Just like the bird bath heaters, I should have realized sooner that all we needed to do was hire a person who likes the heat, and from that point forward, it would be a veritable deep freeze in our building from one end to the other. I don't really mind the skating rink in the conference room, but frankly, I thought the snowball fights were just way too much. Elle

Grand Prize

Hello World, Happy April! I don't know about where you are, but around here, the calendar seems to know something that the weather doesn't, as it continues to be colder than normal, even on the sunniest days. You can't help but notice bunches of sunny yellow daffodils, but if you look in the corners of parking lots everywhere, you'll still see bedraggled remnants of snow that the plows pushed into piles from storms that were many long weeks ago and still haven't melted away, so that tells you something right there. One bright clear day this week, I happened to bump into one of the neighbors out walking her dogs, and she smiled and waved while calling out cheerfully, "It's finally spring!" Mind you, at the time she was wearing her quilted winter coat, hat, scarf and gloves - and even the dogs were wearing sweaters and doggie boots, for heaven's sake. If this is anyone's idea of spring, I say the heck with it. In the local area, the month started off with a bang, as Opening Day saw the Mets clobber the Padres - although there was no such luck for their cross-town rivals, who lost to the dratted Red Sox in spite of Kevin Youklis in pinstripes for the first time, thanks not. Of course, there's no need to worry about the mighty Yankees of lore and legend, who are always the team to beat in the AL East, while the jury is still out on the woeful Mets, who can usually be counted on to be either a .500 team all season, or just as easily wind up at the bottom of the standings, looking up from the cellar at what might have been. Meanwhile in other sports news, the Rangers traded away their lone legitimate superstar from seasons past, Marian Gaborik, whose significant numbers on a so-so team need no apology. On the other hand, the club has been flirting with 8th place all through the lockout-shortened season, and more out of the playoff picture than in, so the owners probably figured if they're going to miss the playoffs anyway, they may as well do it with a smaller payroll, and sent their top scorer packing. Suddenly, Gaborik bears an uncanny resemblance to legendary slugger Ralph Kiner, and somewhere Branch Rickey is having a great big laugh. Alert readers will be glad to hear that the time finally came, and in fact it was long since past due, that we had our very special 30th anniversary celebration after all, and don't spare the party hats and confetti. We decided to take a page out of guitar great John Pizzarelli's book, and "Meet me at Foxwoods!" So we packed up to spend the weekend exploring "the wonder of it all" at Foxwoods, where we had never been before, and expected it would be fun and different, and hopefully memorable in a good way. We were up bright and early on Saturday to open presents, which is probably my favorite way to start any day, and had no trouble reaching our destination at the majestic MGM Grand Hotel, where we found our room very well appointed, although we were surprised that there was no microwave, as they usually do nowadays. Our 18th floor room had a lovely view of the rolling countryside, which was nice enough, although lacking anything else to look at. The massive lobby not only boasts a jackpot of slot machines, but also shops and restaurants, so you never have to leave the hotel if you don't want to. But wait, folks, that's not all! You can take the escalators up to the next level, where you will find not only more gaming options, but the walkway that connects the entire complex together - including 3 hotels and 4 casinos, and more shops, bars, bakeries, bistros, theaters, restaurants, ice cream parlors, statues and fountains than you can shake a stick at. First we stopped at the Gelato Cafe for a snack, and Bill was of the opinion that their bagel did not represent the epitome of the genre from its roots on the lower east side of New York City, but I said let's face it, that was about all that could be expected from the wilds of Connecticut anyway. After that we headed off to see the sights, and there's plenty to see along the walkway, and crowds of people just bouncing right off of you like a pinball machine. Our plan, such as it was, involved finding a likely spot for dinner, and in our travels, we also made the unwelcome discovery that our hotel had no pool or hot tub for us to enjoy in the evening, although there is an outdoor pool for the warmer weather. There were also limited choices for shows in the theaters, so we gave up on that idea too, and then realized that we would have to find something else to do after dinner, and not just laze around watching television in our room, or we may as well have stayed home. We stumbled across The G Spa in our hotel, and although you have to pay to go in, it had the advantage of not only having both a pool and several hot tubs, but also the quietest place in the entire complex - which I can tell you was a very big selling point to us after being buffeted for hours by waves of people and walls of sound on every side. I signed up for a foot massage, while Bill opted for a back massage, and away we went. They have separate areas for men and women, with rooms for sauna, steam, whirlpool and meditation, as well as a large common room with pool and hot tub, and plenty of comfortable lounge chairs and tables where they will bring you food and drinks while you relax. When we met up at the pool later, Bill was rhapsodic about his back massage, and I can assure you that my foot massage felt like I had died and gone to heaven, and that's no exaggeration, by all the saints. I said to Bill that we would obviously have to take Amanda home with us, although the spa seemed to take a dim view of this idea for some reason. We went in the pool and soaked in the hot tub in peace and quiet, which was just what we needed after a long and busy day, until we were ready to once again face the huddled masses yearning to breathe free, with a fresh and revived spirit. We had dinner at the California Pizza Kitchen, and although it's a chain, they have very good food, and I thought their creamy garlic fettuccine was out of this world. Then it was back on the walkway for more sight-seeing, and we also picked up some trinkets along the way, and even tossed coins in the fountains. Finally we shuffled our weary feet back to our room, where we were ready to settle down and see what Uncasville offered in the way of television choices for our viewing pleasure. Not so fast! We discovered that the TV was not working, but fortunately the repairman was right down the hall, and he hurried over to get us all squared away in a jiffy. I will say this is no commentary on the programming, but it wasn't long before we were sound asleep, and although people gamble in the casinos all night long, they were going to have to do it without us, and let the chips fall where they may. In the morning, we did something we have never done before in our entire lives, which is order room service, and I'm happy to report that the pancakes did not disappoint. Then we packed up and checked out, brought our assorted satchels and valises out to the car. and promptly headed back to The G Spa for another day of pampering and relaxing in their welcoming environs. This time around, Bill went for the longer version of back massage, while I elected to try a facial instead, and it was every bit as delightful as I might have hoped. After that we splashed in the pool and luxuriated in the hot tub some more, and it was like having our own private villa, with the whole place entirely to ourselves for the most part, or only 2 or 3 other people there at any given time. I admit that it lacked the heart-pounding excitement of clanging jackpots or blaring live music, but for us it was a wonderful change of pace from our usual hectic vacations, and that made it extra special in a different way. But wait, folks, there's more! Late in the afternoon, we got ourselves on the road for home, and as luck would have it, our helpful GPS lady informed us that we would be driving right past a Denny's restaurant in West Haven, handily located right off the highway, and she wasn't kidding. The exit ramp basically dumps you right into Denny's parking lot, so we hurried in for a special meal that put the proverbial cherry on top of our anniversary festivities weekend, and it was all that we could have wished for. So "better late than never" turned out to be the celebration we could not have had earlier, and it was certainly worth waiting for, as it blossomed into a veritable grand union of treats and treasures from beginning to end, not to mention, the wonder of it all. Branch Rickey may have had the last laugh, but sure enough, John Pizzarelli was right after all. Elle