Get Up And Go

Hello World, Well, you certainly know that the first week in July is well and truly behind us, when the limited edition 2015 calendars start to arrive in the mail, thanks not, as ours did this week from our friends at the World Wildlife Fund. The cover photo features a huddle of fuzzy penguins on icy ground in front of a snowbank, so you can imagine how appropriate that felt in 90-degree temperatures with wilting humidity, not to mention, 5 months ahead of schedule, for heaven's sake. Of course, I'm never surprised anymore when the Back-To-School merchandise starts cropping up in stores, just about as soon as schools close in June, but I'll admit that even I wasn't expecting calendars at this point, and I've long since resigned myself to seasonal creep in all of its many permutations and combinations, I dare say. So please be aware that the days are numbered for our old buddy, 2014, and the impatient spirit of 2015 is already knocking at the door, as it were, tapping its foot and pointing to its watch. Frankly, if this was a TV show where 2014 had just been given round-the-clock Police protection, I'd be seriously concerned right about now. Speaking of things that are right on time, the Round Hill Highland Games came off without a hitch on Saturday, and we were there as usual to cheer them on, at the beautiful Cranbury Park in Norwalk once again. Although we didn't arrive any earlier than we usually do, we were invited to park on site for the first time in years, rather than an off-site location in a nearby corporate office compound, which was much more convenient than having to take the shuttle bus service back and forth in previous years. We found out later that we missed the opening ceremonies, since they moved them from noon to 9:00 AM for some reason, and although we weren't disappointed to take a pass on the usual boring speeches and proclamations, it was a shame to miss the parade of bagpipe bands and clans, evoking all the pomp and pageantry of days gone by, alas. In fact, I said to Bill later, I'm not sure that I actually heard "Scotland the Brave" played at any time at all, and usually by the time you're ready to leave, you've long since had your fill of that particular Scottish standard, as it seems like at least every other band plays it on parade, and often 2 or 3 in a row. It seemed like there were fewer vendor tents than usual, but anyone who knows us can attest that would never slow us down, and we still snapped up some souvenirs in spite of the limited selection. One unexpected item that presented itself was the surprising Tango orange soda, with its explosive dynamite graphics, and a not-so-subtle warning to "handle with care." (Their motto: "We win taste contests. Not beauty contests.") It was actually not as bad as might have been feared, for what I would consider suspect foreign soda, and you can't beat that name, by golly. Also new this year, they apparently moved all of the events around from wherever they had been previously, so even old-timers like ourselves were left wandering around, dazed and confused, and wondering where the heck everything had gotten to. The highland dancing competition was being held on the patio of the Gallaher mansion instead of the pavilion, the heavy-weight sports (the shot-put, tossing the caber, etc) were in the corner of the main field, rather than down in the gully as usual, the country dance lessons were out in the open on the berm rather than inside the entertainment tent, and our old friends at Mac Talla Mor, the Celtic fusion band, were spreading their musical magic in the pavilion instead of in a tent by themselves way out on the outskirts of the forest. Whew! It was a lot to keep track of, and for everybody else who was there drinking beer, it must have been like a bad episode of "The Twilight Zone," and they were just waiting for the late and lamented Rod Serling to show up and intone ominously: "These people don't know it ..... " But anyway, all in all it was a beautiful day, with plenty of sunshine, and not too hot with no humidity, as well as a refreshing breeze, and all the pipes and drums that anyone could ever hope for in one place, believe me. After a day of ethnic pleasures, Denny's in Danbury is always a special treat, and we hurried there for our usual favorites, which did not disappoint. I might as well say right now, that I'm happy to claim Scottish roots in our family ancestry, but if there's no Denny's in Scotland, you can be sure that I'm not going, and that's not just a load of thistles, my wee bonnie. And while we're on the subject of going places, I can tell you that Bill's Neon, once you reach a speed of 15 miles per hour just leaving the neighborhood, the car automatically locks all of the doors, with you securely inside, and no chance of any hazards befalling you along your merry way. Last week, when I was helping our friends relocate from one side of Greenwich to the other, I noticed that her SUV automatically locks all of the doors as soon as you shift into Drive, before the car actually starts moving at all. Meanwhile, my Aveo (which alert readers may recall automatically sets the alarm on you when you don't even want it to, thanks not) has no such provisions built in, or even one that you can turn on by yourself, which seems oddly out of step with the current mind-set in automotive engineering. In fact, it doesn't even seem to have the child safety features for the rear doors or windows that are standard equipment on most modern cars nowadays, which like child-proof packaging, is really only an obstacle to the adults who can't figure out how to circumvent it. Heck, if you're barreling down the highway at 80 miles an hour, and want to throw open the back door, Chevrolet couldn't care less, and no self-appointed automatic door locks are going to stand in your way, by golly. It dawns on me that it's no wonder GM is having all of these recalls lately for safety issues, I dare say. Speaking of safety issues, I had occasion to use a vending machine recently, which suited my purposes admirably, since I had a box full of loose change, which I preferred to put into a machine, rather than foisting it all on some poor over-burdened cashier, if I could avoid it. I must say that the vending machine worked perfectly, and I had no quarrel with its operation in selecting and dispensing the correct item that I was after. Alert readers may recall the aforementioned box full of loose change, which I was still holding in one hand, so I used my other arm to prop open the door to retrieve my purchase, and saw nothing wrong with this plan up to that point. But when I had it in my grasp and removed my hand, all at once the door slammed shut with such force that it pinched my forearm in the hinge, and I can tell you that I certainly saw stars, as they say, and nearly jumped out of my skin - that is, except for the section that was still clamped in the hinge of the vending machine, holding on for dear life like the jaws of some prehistoric predator, whose enormous teeth survive in the fossil record to this very day. I thought I showed remarkable restraint in not screaming out in anguished torrents, which is exactly how I felt, but immediately dropped the box of change, and used my free hand to push the door open again and pull out my poor throbbing arm from its steely grip. I was glad to see that it wasn't bleeding, on top of everything else, but had already turned an ugly black and dark red splotchy bruise, and not waiting until later to hurt, was already sore right on the spot, and probably only going to get worse. I hurried home and put ice on it, which really helped, and I was continually reminded of the immortal words of Abraham Lincoln, when asked how he felt after suffering an injury: "It hurts too much to laugh, and I'm too big to cry." Of course, they didn't have vending machines in Honest Abe's day, but I'm sure he would have sympathized with my predicament, especially the part where I emancipated my arm from the contraption's clutches, no doubt. Overall, this transaction got high marks for efficiency, but still managed to fail the first test of hospitality services, which is not to injure the customer, presumably. I probably should have noticed sooner that the vending machine was made by General Motors. Elle