Force Field

Hello World, Where does the time go, I ask you that. So here we are, at the last weekend in January already, and staring down both barrels of February, which will be here - guns blazing and nostrils flaring - on Monday, ready or not. After that, it's just a very short hop, skip, and a - holy jumping jambalaya! - until Mardi Gras hits the streets on February 9, which means that Ash Wednesday has to be hard on its heels the next day. Of course, this ushers in the season of Lent for grouchy Christians everywhere [Note to all 2016 Presidential candidates: my vote goes to anyone who will implement legislation, by executive fiat if necessary, making it mandatory that people who have given up chocolate for Lent must wear a sign to warn unwary bystanders - and long overdue, I don't mind saying] and also trapping poor Valentine's Day in its penitential grasp besides, thanks not. With Shrove Tuesday being so early, and not to be an alarmist, but we can't even get out of March before Easter comes hopping down the bunny trail on the 27th, which is itself so early that it beats Passover by more than a month this time around. This certainly would have surprised the heck out of early Christians in Jerusalem, I dare say - since the whole Easter story of the Passion, Crucifixion and Resurrection started with the disciples in the city to observe Passover in the first place, and here we've now gone and put the cart before the horse, as it were, by rather a wide margin, and tossed the whole time-line right out the proverbial window. Our Eastern Orthodox friends at least have the sense to wait until after Passover to celebrate their (late) Easter on May 1, of all things (suntan lotion and watermelon, anyone?) which seems ridiculously late, but has the advantage of being in the right chronological order, after all. Besides, it will give those marshmallow Peeps plenty of extra time to get even more stale in their packages, if that would even be possible. In fact, I can see where people might wonder if these confections are actually left over from Biblical times, but not so! I understand that archeologists have discovered cave paintings of them, way back from the times when our old friends the dinosaurs were roaming the great unformed land masses in the primordial ooze, and they probably hadn't even started to go stale at that point. Garcon, more of those Troglodyte Peeps, if you please! In sports news, one thing we still have to look forward to in January is the Pro Bowl on Sunday, and if there's any more rejuvenating sight than watching football in January from Hawaii, I'm sure I would have a hard time coming up with it, I kid you not. This would be a far cry, and a relaxing change of pace, from the previous week's championship games, where the NFC saw the Carolina Panthers clobber the Arizona Cardinals, while the AFC provided a genuine nail-biter between the Denver Broncos and New England Patriots. It's the Panthers and Broncos going on to meet in Super Bowl 50 on February 7th, and it remains to be seen if the experience and cunning of the veteran Peyton Manning can overcome the youth and energy of newcomer Cam Newton - although if the fix is in, I wouldn't entirely rule out Tom Brady either, and it goes without saying, I know better than to turn my back on the evil spirit of Affirmed, that's for sure. (Mint juleps, anyone?) It's true that Carolina has the better record this season, but Denver has 7 previous Super Bowl appearances, winning twice, while the Panthers have only been there once before in a losing effort. On the other hand, if there’s any possibility of collusion behind the scenes between the Patriots’ Tom (“Shady”) Brady and the evil spirit of Affirmed, Super Bowl 50 could be the first one in history where neither team wins - and in spite of the odds, I know better than to take that bet, believe me. In other entertainment news, we finally joined with the rest of humanity (albeit very belatedly bringing up the rear, ahead only of people who are currently in a coma, or living in primitive conditions without electricity) and went to see the new Star Wars movie, "The Force Awakens" in glorious IMAX 3-D at long last. The latest installment from this franchise obviously needs no help from me, and petty detractors will scarcely register, as it continues to barrel along breaking box office records of every description, all over the planet - and very probably, far distant solar systems all over the universe, I shouldn't wonder. It is no insult against its popularity to say that we saw it with a tiny smattering of other viewers in the IMAX theater, since it was not only a weekday evening, but also long after its original release, when everyone else was seeing it for the 3rd or 4th time, no doubt. This blockbuster represents the 7th in the Star Wars canon, and is being universally hailed as one of the very best of the bunch, with kudos heaped upon the new young stars taking up the crusade, while still paying homage to the seasoned veterans of its storied past. The studio certainly threw everything they had at it, and then some, and it definitely features some of the most eye-popping special effects, gadgets, and gizmos you will ever see this side of hyperspace, and devil take the hindmost. Over the years, I've seen all of them as they've come out, and while I will say that the first one (“A New Hope”) is still my favorite (and I will cheerfully admit that I simply don't remember how bad “Attack of the Clones” was) but good or bad, I always find them impressive and worthwhile. I think it’s fair to say that I stand alone in disliking this newest one, which I thought was noisy, disjointed, confusing, and humorless - and which struck me as something of an implausibly long-winded intergalactic car chase punctuated with explosions, for the most part. Not to spoil things for anyone just now coming out of a coma and going to see it, but killing off central characters is no way to woo fans, and that alone would have been a deal-breaker for me, even if I had liked it in the first place. Frankly, I never thought I would see the day I would long for Jar-Jar Binks, alas. And speaking of things that are hard to see, I don't mind saying that the horn on the Aveo is so impossible to find on the steering wheel that one can only assume that Chevrolet has come down squarely on the side against noise pollution, and safety be hanged, because you're not going to just go tooling around town blowing your horn if they can help it, by golly. It's true that there's a tiny incomprehensible black-on-black splotchy area on the side of the steering wheel that ostensibly indicates where the horn is located, but by the time your average person would locate that minuscule nonsense, whatever it was that they wanted to honk the horn at, would have long since vanished and gone along its merry way, which is probably just as well. You can pound on the steering wheel all you like, and never get so much as a peep out of it, in spite of your best efforts, and I ought to know. Trying to look on the bright side, at least it doesn't go off when you don't want it to, for instance when making a turn, rolling down the window, or switching on the windshield wipers, and hitting the horn button by mistake. As it is, all the King's horses and all the King's men couldn't see their way clear to hit the horn on purpose, much less by accident - although I would still have a hard time trying to recommend that as a safety feature, try as I might. But it does qualify in the category of good neighborliness, since you can't possibly bother anyone with any wild and unwarranted honking at all hours of the day or night, and I suppose that has to count for something right there. So for all of the pedestrians and other motorists out there in the wide world, who can't stand it when they're going along minding their own business, and someone honks at them from out of the blue, for whatever reason and perhaps no reason at all - you can relax, because you won't hear it from me. Elle

Tip Top

Hello World, Happy post-Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. weekend! Although this occasion is considered a holiday by the federal government, I find that out in the real world (oh, hit that easy target!) most businesses tend to give it the old go-by, and for most of us average working stiffs, it's just another work day as usual. For anyone lucky enough to have the day off on Monday, and enjoy a nice long weekend, they certainly can't do any banking, or receive mail, or have their trash picked up, because the banks, Post Office, and municipal services tend to follow in the footsteps of the feds, and close up shop for the day anyway. They would scoff at the idea of having the day off at the real estate management office where I'm working as a temp now, but I would advise the late and lamented Dr. King not to feel affronted at this slight - heck, they don't even close for Presidents Day next month, and some of those guys were not only the Father of our Country, but freed the slaves, and built the Panama Canal besides. So Dr. King would have plenty of high-profile company if he wanted to take offense (over 200 years' worth, in fact) and showing no partisan politics, "I have a dream" takes its place cheek-by-jowl alongside "I cannot tell a lie," "Four score and seven years ago," "Speak softly and carry a big stick," and "I am not a crook," on the ash heap of holiday history, and more's the pity, I'm sure. Even though Monday was not a holiday for me, we still went to visit our friends in The Great White North for the weekend, and I would like to add, if you thought we would judge them on the color of their skin, and not on the content of their character - well, all I can say to that is, "Dream on." We found the traffic light on Saturday morning as we went, and certainly a noticeable lack of tour buses taking happy crowds to the upstate ski resorts - since it's been much too warm all winter for snow around here, and even the most advanced snow-making equipment is no match for 60 degree temperatures day in and day out. We arrived just in time for lunch (timing is everything!) and hurried over to the 76 Diner, where I was disappointed to find that their signature fried ravioli was unavailable, but taking a chance on their mysterious Greek Fries (a basket of French fries with vinaigrette, garlic, and feta cheese) turned out to be a happy accident of a great find, rather than a culinary misfire that I might have feared. After that, it was off to Cracker Barrel, where we usually have good luck finding unique apparel, knick-knacks, and treats - but not this time, unfortunately, and we even struck out at Staples, and the axiom holds true that sometimes the simplest things turn out to be the biggest headaches. We had no such problems at the nearby dollar store, where we loaded ourselves down with all manner of paraphernalia, to the extent that the store owners felt sorry for us and actually gave us a discount on top of their already ridiculously low prices. They may not see us again for 6 months, but we'll be going back there when we're up that way again, you can be sure of that. Once we had enough shopping for one afternoon, we headed back to enjoy our hosts' new 60-inch flat screen 4K TV, and it was a joy to behold, believe me. It includes a veritable welter of entertainment options handily built right in, so you can easily choose to watch selections from Netflix, YouTube, Hulu, Amazon Prime, ChromeCast, or your own computers and cameras, right there on the television with the touch of a button. This is great news for people who don't already have enough ways to waste time on their own, which can really blow a sizable hole in your day, and I ought to know. What won't they think of next! Anyone can tell you that watching videos of cats riding robot vacuums, and chickens playing pianos can be hungry work, so we finally had to take a dinner break, and our friends at Paesan's were kind enough to provide the pizza that was just what the doctor ordered. It was all we could have asked to revive our flagging spirits, but even though we were in the other room, the big screen TV kept luring us back, and we soon found ourselves back in its thrall once again. Our friends had never seen "Inside Out" at the movies like we had, so we checked it out on demand, and settled into their comfy recliners for this animated treat - and no less welcome for the second time around for some of us. Somehow, even with a long day and plenty of food, we all managed to make it through to the end without falling asleep along the way, as impossible as it might sound, and which is something that I can never manage at home, I don't mind saying. But as it was getting late, we toddled off to bed after that, and their spacious and well-appointed guest room was as warm and inviting as ever. It also includes their two friendly felines, who must have decided that guests are simply extra house staff that have been brought on to attend to their every need, and they seemed genuinely perplexed when we didn't instantly spring up to fetch them extra food, snacks, fresh water, and toys to suit their every whim. They might even have tried to wake us up in the middle of the night, but with a house full of kitties of our own, I could have told them that was never going to work. In the morning, we tore into donuts and bagels, plus crumb cake and fresh fruit, as well as my personal favorite, hard-boiled eggs that have already been peeled, and thanks ever so. Then it was off for more shopping at Goodwill, the Country Trunk's going-out-of-business sale, and Oceans Job Lot, where we all found much that was to our liking, and spared no expense in doing so. I expect my commendation any day now from the Governor's economic advisers for our selfless contributions to the local economy, and deservedly so, if I do say so myself. This turned out to be one of those trips where we come home with more stuff than we started with, so after enjoying some wonderfully scenic pictures from one of their recent cruises on the television, we set about in earnest to pack all of our belongings into the car, and bid our fond farewells, before the day had completely slipped away from us. The traffic on the way back home was treacherous, with a wintry mix of snow and sleet tossed in for good (or rather, bad) measure, but fortunately we had Denny's to look forward to, and I am happy to report that it did not disappoint. The rest of the way home, luckily the weather and the traffic both let up, and it was smooth sailing right to our very doorstep. Regrettably, it was the Sherpa's night off, so we had no choice but to lug all of our voluminous appurtenances into the house all by our little old lonesomes - and to the consternation of our terrified furry residents, who stared at us wild-eyed as if they had never seen us before in their entire lives, and would be just as glad to keep it that way, thanks not. They seemed to like us a little better once we gave them some food, but the jury was still out on whether that was going to completely turn the tide in our favor, or only offer a temporary truce while they considered their various alternatives. Of course, we've long since resigned ourselves to the inevitable picket signs and protest marches, but frankly, we thought the documentary film crew was just way over the top, even for them, and that's with taking into account that our standards for them were extremely low to start with. They may have us outnumbered, and I know they think they have us outsmarted, as well as outflanked most of the time, but I'm not worried - as long as they can't figure out how to use a can opener, we still have the upper hand. Elle

Nothing To Write Home About

Hello World, And so here is January, the first month of the bright and shiny New Year, already marching along relentlessly to the tireless beat of implacable Father Time, showing no favor or partiality to the prepared or the woefully unprepared alike, alas. Now that Epiphany (also known as "Little Christmas") is already behind us, bit by bit, you see the wonderful holiday decorations coming down and packed away for another year, like a dispiriting mirror image of the yuletide classic, "It's beginning to look a lot NOT like Christmas, everywhere you go," indeed. Ahead of us, winter stretches out forlornly, and Valentine's Day is no match for it, I dare say - while Chinese New Year and Mardi Gras offer only vicarious thrills for most of us. The rest of us will have to console ourselves with Super Bowl L on February 7, which they tell me will be played at the state-of-the-art Levi's Stadium in Santa Clara, and blue jeans are definitely not optional. (There's a joke in here somewhere about tackling a new adventure "by the seat of your pants," so please feel free to fill one in entirely on your own initiative, and thanks ever so.) Actually, the NFL brain-trust apparently feels that Super Bowl L would be too confusing for the average schmo in the general public, so they're taking a one-year break from Roman numerals for this game, and calling it Super Bowl 50 instead - although why they think that Super Bowl LI the following year would be any less confusing, is a mystery to me, I'm sure. Unlike the world-wide phenomenon of Christmas, Super Bowl is about the biggest holiday that Americans can claim as uniquely their own in this great nation, considering that it doesn't have its own wrapping paper and greeting cards. (Yet.) Fortunately, next month also brings us the three most beautiful words in the English language, "Pitchers and Catchers" for most teams with spring training facilities in Florida or Arizona, and a sure-fire cure for the winter blahs that come on the heels of the post-holiday let-down. Tell them Levi Strauss sent you. Speaking of sports, it reminds me of the long-suffering Casey Stengel of baseball lore and legend, who once famously despaired of his hapless players reaching new heights (or perhaps depths) of ineptitude by wailing, "Can't anybody here play this game?" Lately it seems that every day, on every side, I am bombarded with wretched examples of English gone horribly wrong, sometimes amazingly so, to the extent that I can't help but wonder, "Can't anybody here speak this language?" It all started on the local scene with our friends at Mendiola's restaurant, who wanted to make sure that we knew exactly where to find them, so they put their street address on the awning over their front door. Right now, they are handily located in the heart of the bustling Union Avenue on the west side of town, and they are occupying number 231B at that location. (Why don't you hurry right on over there - tell them Levi Strauss sent you.) However, because of how the awning maker had the wording printed on the fabric, it looks for all the world like it says 231 BUNION instead - and which does not exactly paint the most appetizing picture in your mind for a food establishment, believe me. Then last week, the USA Today section of our local newspaper actually had the following headline, and apparently without irony - Istanbul Bombing May Hurt Tourism [Ya think?] Personally, I'm guessing that even the hard-working minions at the Turkish Tourism Board would have trouble putting more of a positive spin on that event, as far as encouraging tourists. ("Hurry to Istanbul for all the incendiary munitions that you could possibly want!") In the explosives business, this is what we call a non-starter. They followed that up later in the week with a story about lack of diversity in the Academy Awards nominations, quoting Erik Davis at Fandango as saying: "There are some great performances and films out there that are just being underlooked." Excuse me??? Does anybody else think that "underlooked" is an actual word??? I mean, here in this solar system, on this planet, in the English language as it is spoken nowadays??? I've long since been aware of "underwhelmed" used as a humorous counterpoint to "overwhelmed," but "underlooked" is certainly a new one on me, and I don't mind saying, no sort of improvement on "overlooked," which is what he should have said in the first place. Then there was a front page story in the Life & Style section about genealogy, and some instructions on how to apply for acceptance into the venerable Daughters of the American Revolution organization. They went on to describe it thusly: "To enter the DAR, you must prove you're a direct (via your grandparents) lineal decadence from someone who was a patriot of the Revolution." [Please insert elaborate eye-rolling here, or you may substitute wailing and gnashing of teeth, if you prefer.] I will freely admit that I am not in the DAR, and don't even play one on television, and I won't claim to know everything about their policies and procedures. But just taking a wild stab at it, I'm pretty sure that they meant "lineal descendant" and not "lineal decadence," which frankly, casts a rather depraved reflection upon the grandparents in question, that they most likely would have been mortified by, I shouldn't wonder. The Life & Style section struck again with their review of the Consumer Electronics Show in Las Vegas earlier in the month. The sub-head referring to self-driving cars actually said: Detroit and Silicone Valley companies want to show their new car tech is ready for prime time Honestly, sometimes you just don't know whether to laugh or cry, and don't bother to bang your head against a brick wall, because I already found out that doesn't work. Taking this at face value, I would hazard a guess that Silicone Valley is where the high tech wizards get their breast implants - which may sound like a cliche, but to be blunt, I really don't know what else silicone is used for, although I'm sure it must have plenty of other (less well-known) uses. Here I'm thinking, if the person filing the story doesn't even understand the difference between the renowned Silicon Valley (home of the technology epicenter) and the purely fictitious Silicone Valley (home of the Valley of the Dolls, perhaps) then one can't help but wonder if they didn't send the wrong person out to Las Vegas to begin with. In fact, it reminds me of a recent story about high school girls basketball in the Sports pages, where the under-sized home team was trounced by visitors from upstate. When it was suggested that a lack of experience might have been a factor, the beleaguered coach merely shrugged, and trotted out the old sports adage, "You can't teach height." Apparently, between bunions and bombs, underlooked, decadence, and silicone, there's a whole lot of other things you can't teach either, and I ought to know. Anyway, that's my story and I'm sticking to it, or my name isn't - Levi Strauss

Common Cause

Greetings, Mr. & Mrs. America, and all the Ships at Sea: This is the time of year when it comes as a surprise to no one that every other person you meet is either starting to catch a cold, has one right now, or is just getting over one - and I always say, when the germ comes traipsing along that has your name on it, there's nowhere to hide, believe me. It's unusual that Bill and I would both succumb to the current spate of the galloping cruds at the same time, but I can tell you that when it happens, it's no laughing matter, and I ought to know. Fortunately, better minds than mine have long since tackled the humorous side of this most common of ailments, so I will be happy to leave the subject in more capable hands, and take my sniffles back to bed for the duration. Ah-choo! ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Check Out These Cold Remedies By Lewis Grizzard The medical community has been excited recently over the discovery that a drug called interferon may be the long-awaited cure for the common cold. I think it is only fitting, however, we remember some of the methods that were used to battle colds in the past. There have been some marvelous remedies - even if most of them didn't work - handed down through the years. My mother once told me when she got a cold her mother put a lot of stuff that smelled badly into a sack and then tied the sack around her neck. They did the same thing, incidentally, to captured prisoners in World War I to make them talk. I, too, have developed remedies for bad colds that I have had. And just in case interferon falls on its runny nose, I thought I would mention a few of them here in case others may want to give my remedies a try. - Ginger ale. I am convinced ginger ale can heal the sick and raise the dead. There is something about its bubbliness and sweet taste that always seems to soothe my scratchy throat and achy head. Ginger ale will work even better if you can get somebody else to bring it to you while you are in the bed. If they will talk baby talk to you while they are serving you the ginger ale, this is even better. "Does my little tiger want some ginger ale for his coldy-woldy?" is the type of phraseology I have in mind. - Sympathy. I don't care what anybody says, the more sympathy you get when you've got a cold, the faster you will recover. It probably won't do any good to call any of your friends looking for sympathy, so the best place to find it is to call your mother. If she says something like: "Does my little tiger have a coldy-woldy?" you can expect to be up and around in no time. - Moaning and whining. These have been two of my favorite cold remedies. What you do is get into the fetal position and moan or whine. A moan and a whine are different. When you moan you make low grunting sounds like "Oooooooh, my God." When you whine, you make sounds like a poodle dog yapping for its dinner. I don't know how to spell what a poodle dog sounds like when it is yapping for its dinner, but you get the idea. Even if nobody is around to hear you moaning and whining, it will still help your cold. If somebody is there to hear, however, that's a lot better. - Old black & white movies. Nothing helps a cold more than lying in bed drinking ginger ale, getting sympathy from somebody while you are moaning and whining, and watching an old black and white movie on television. If Jimmy Stewart, Barbara Stanwyck, Alan Ladd, Victor Mature or Yvonne DeCarlo are in the movie you will probably be well by the next morning. If Ronald Reagan is in the movie, however, you can be flat on your back for weeks. - Chicken soup. This, of course, is the all-time homemade remedy for the common cold. I really don't know if chicken soup works on a cold, but in the immortal words of my mother, who was kind enough to feed me chicken soup when I had a cold rather than tying smelly bags around my neck, "Have you ever heard a hen sneeze?" Think about it. ~ Lewis Grizzard is a columnist with the Atlanta Journal Courtesy of The Gadsden Times, January 31, 1986

Dress For Success

Hello World, Happy New Year! Here's buckets and buckets full of all the very best wishes for a happy 2016, with good health, security, and prosperity at every turn. As Bill says, even if 2015 was excellent for you, our hope is that the new year will be even better yet still, however impossible that might sound. Of course, I always say that this is how we know we haven't all died and gone to Heaven, because things are not perfect. On the other hand, if things were perfect, let's face it, all of the persnickety sticklers and cantankerous curmudgeons like me would have nothing to keep ourselves occupied with, and we've all long since come to understand that idle hands are the devil's playthings, heaven knows. So please feel free to go right ahead and enjoy the bright shiny new year responsibly, and remember before you do anything stupid, ask yourself: "Do I really want everyone in the world to see this on Facebook?" Meanwhile at work, I happened to bump into one of our tenants out in the parking lot last week, along with her tiny Yorkshire terrier, who was all decked out in her holiday finery for the occasion. The little darling was a sight to behold in her very special Santa suit, complete with all-over sequins and a fancy bow at the back, plus ribbons in her hair so that the cuteness quotient was totally off the charts, believe me. I told both of them that it certainly made my day, and that's all I could say about it. And while we're on the subject of getting all dolled up, our local newspaper recently ran a front page story in their Life & Style section about finding that perfect little black dress for holiday entertaining, and suggested that I head over to the venerable department store Lord & Taylor for their vast selection to suit every taste. What's trending now, according to the store's fashion director, is what the newspaper described (and apparently without irony) as, "Dresses with beading, sequence, or a touch of Lurex woven into the fabric." Frankly, a dress with sequence would make me nervous about getting to my destination all in one piece, and with my dress intact, rather than arriving separately in disconnected segments, thanks so much not. Of course, the poor over-burdened spell-checker is not going to prevent anyone at the newspaper from the misuse of a perfectly acceptable word like "sequence" in the place of "sequins" as it should be, although even a cursory examination of either word would be all it would take to ascertain which is the correct one under the circumstances. Otherwise, what you would end up with would be a wardrobe malfunction in spades, and that's not just the rhinestones talking, believe me. Speaking of our worthy tenants at work, it was last week that the estimable Marjorie from the dry cleaners trotted over with a large package of Godiva chocolates for the business owner, in honor of the holidays, and also a little something for me, which I thought was so nice, since I'm really just a temp there, after all. I admit that my enthusiasm was tempered somewhat, when the object in question turned out to be a very decorative Kate Spade mug (no doubt on the pricey side, as befits a designer item) boldly emblazoned with the letter M in several places, which could not be overlooked, or confused with anything else in any way. And try as I might, I couldn't suppress the thought that sprang immediately to mind, that someone had given the mug to Marjorie as a gift, which made sense for her with a monogram M - but since she didn't want it, she turned around and passed it off on me, where frankly, the "M" part of the gift made no sense whatsoever. But far be it from me to cast aspersions on anyone heaping presents on me for the holidays, or their gift-giving choices, so you can be sure that I accepted the maligned article not only gratefully, but also as graciously as I could muster. Mind you, it could have come from Lord & Taylor with sequence, which would turn drinking out of it into a test of endurance that I would not be equal to, I dare say. In other holiday news, we greeted the big day on Friday upstate at the cabin in the woods with my sister - although admittedly, it was a little hard to get into the spirit of the thing when it was 70 degrees and sunny the whole time. Or as one wag in our local paper referred to it recently, "summer wonderland" (or perhaps it was "winter summerland") but in any case, I doubt they'll be writing many Christmas carols about it, with sunburn nipping at your nose instead of Jack Frost, and countrysides covered with fog rather than snow. But the company was convivial and everything was delicious as usual (surely not more seasonal chocolate lollipops!) and we were soon in a holly-jolly frame of mind, as if we were snugly cosseted at the very North Pole itself, by jingle. After brunch, we took advantage of the fine weather to bring carrots to the neighborhood horse (who was very much in favor of the idea, I don't mind saying) and then took in the various sights and attractions at nearby Forsyte Park, where there is certainly no lack of things to occupy even the most demanding patrons, and we have the pictures to prove it, believe me. Traipsing through playgrounds can be hungry work, so we hurried back to the cabin for stuffed shells and tortellini, followed by dessert, and there were no complaints on that score, I can assure you. Alert readers may recall that the SuperLodge in Kingston had been bulldozed previously, and so was not an option for us to stay overnight, but fortunately, the Quality Inn was still across the street, and unlike Bethlehem, there was room at the inn, even though it was Christmas. Having learned our lesson too many times in the past, we had checked in earlier in the day, and turned up the heat in the room, so we were all set when it came time to settle in for the night. In the morning, it was back to the cabin for our hosts' famous pancakes, which we made short work of, and I ought to know. There was no time to dawdle, because we had been invited to visit our cousin and his family in Walden for the afternoon, which worked out for us, since we could leave directly from there and already be closer to home. Between the 6 of them and the 4 of us, it soon turned into quite the raucous mob, especially when we started playing parlor games that were not for the faint-hearted, I can tell you that. ("Luke, I am the father of your country, by George!") All too soon, the dark of night had crept upon us unawares, and it was time to bid our fond farewells, however reluctantly. Our parting sorrow was offset by the inviting prospect of dinner at Denny's, always a special treat of travel for us, and we grabbed our trusty GPS to lead us safely there, and on the double, if not sooner. Alas, the occasionally erratic GPS picked this moment to lose its concentration, and instead of the warm and welcoming cozy confines of our favorite restaurant in Newburgh, the navigation system left us high and dry smack in the middle of nowhere, looking for all the world like Chainsaw Bob was just about to leap out of the bushes, one step ahead of the Zombie Apocalypse, and no doubt, a basement full of curvy co-eds in their lingerie with broken flashlights, I shouldn't wonder. Personally, when it comes to lingerie, I prefer mine with sequence, if you please. Elle