Say It Ain't So

Hello World, Happy (Eastern Orthodox) Easter! At long last, the Greeks bearing gifts have caught up with the rest of Christianity in celebrating the Resurrection on Sunday, hard on the heels of Passover, as it should be, and not clocking in a whole month ahead of time, like the hard-charging Western denominations in March. (Get thee behind me, peeps!) It should be interesting to see if the same problem persists next year, with the darned time-shifting foxes in charge of the chronology hen-house once again, or if things settle back down into more of a routine, and in the proper sequence like they're supposed to be. Also coming up on the schedule, at least for Western churches, Ascension is on Thursday, May 5, which this year coincides with Cinco de Mayo, the Mexican-flavored lollapalooza of all things tequila, and don't spare the churros, my good man! And not to be an alarmist, but Mother's Day is the following Sunday on May 8, so anyone who isn't already prepared for Mommie Dearest's big day had better tear on out of here and scoop up some flowers, candy, and jewelry on the PDQ, or be ready to face the consequences. Squeezing itself in just ahead of that, the venerable Kentucky Derby will have its 142nd running on Saturday May 7, where we can all enjoy their self-titled "The Most Exciting Two Minutes In Sports" before the curse of Affirmed can work its evil spell over any potential Triple Crown hopefuls. And I guess we should all be glad that it's not the darned time-shifting Daylight Savings foxes in charge of the Churchill Downs hen-house, or it would take an hour and 2 minutes to finish the race instead. Alas, there is no joy in at least half of Mudville, on the frozen front these days, and more's the pity, I'm sure. The hapless Rangers, who were supposed to finish in 4th place, anticipating an easy match-up with Florida in the first round, couldn't even get that right - finishing in 3rd place instead, only to run headlong into the teeth of the mighty Penguins, and they were summarily booted out of the playoffs in 5 games to no one's surprise, and with their dreams of post-season glory dashed for yet another year, thanks not. Meanwhile, the surprising Islanders (who now play their games at the shiny new Barclays Center in Brooklyn) ousted Florida in six, moving onto the 2nd round for the first time since 1993, no doubt to the delight of their legion of disappointed fans for the last 23 years, I dare say. Speaking of no joy, Wednesday April 27 passed without incident at my temporary job, with no hint or mention of Administrative Professionals Day to cheer up the downtrodden clerical staff, in stark contrast to the rollicking Secretary's Day luncheons of yore, with speeches and gift bags at local country clubs for the hard-working support staff of the city's finest employers - and even some of the not-so-finest, such as the Employer of Last Resort, where I used to work. While I wasn't exactly expecting a dozen long-stemmed roses and going out to a fancy restaurant for lunch, it would have been a nice touch to at least have some recognition of the day, and not just have it ignored in a completely oblivious manner. Fortunately, I'm planning to have plenty of Ascension tequila on Thursday, which I expect will help take some of the sting out of things, or know the reason why. Say, who let that Mariachi band in here? Also happening around the old homestead, the colorful explosion of spring flowers continues apace, in spite of the rather unpredictable weather, and I don't mind saying, even more welcome for all that. Star flowers have popped up all over the yard, vying for space among the purple and white violets on every side, and hardy money plants giving it their all. The lovely azaleas are starting to bloom from one side of the yard to the other, while on the rock wall, the snowball bush is awash in its namesake blooms, and looking good enough to eat. There's still plenty of grape hyacinths and wind flowers everywhere, and although it's early days yet, I spotted my first sturdy stand of rampant alien mutant poison ivy, standing straight up in the middle of the yard, the way they do nowadays, and daring anyone to trifle with it, and live to regret it. That would not be me, obviously, since I have long since learned my lesson on that score, when it ran roughshod over our patio furniture, swallowed up a couple of unwary Jehovah's Witnesses, and I'm still trying to get the poor mailman's hat back. One of the neighbors is trying to convince me that she hears the unmistakable sounds of slot machines coming from the ivy patch, but I'm chalking that up to an over-indulgence of Ascension tequila on her part, if you know what I mean. In my continuing efforts to land an actual job, I was filling out an application online, where they asked me for the date I started my last job, to which I blithely entered in "May 1898," instead of 1989, and I'm not sure which of us was more surprised. Mind you, 1989 is bad enough in this go-go Gen-X millennial-fueled job market nowadays, heaven knows (many of whom weren't even born yet in 1989) but I'm figuring that being saddled with a job from 1898, of all things, I wouldn't stand any kind of chance with them whatsoever, not even as a historical curiosity - and I don't need our old friends the dinosaurs snickering in The Peanut Gallery to know that, by golly. Speaking of chronology challenges, it's entirely possible that I might well be the only person who appreciates the irony of the Christmas Tree Shops selling beach umbrellas. In April, no less. Meanwhile on the AOL Welcome Screen, alert readers couldn't help but notice that they recently offered what they described thusly: ============================== Peak Inside Bing Crosby's Desert Mansion ============================== Gee, I sure hope not. Here I'm thinking, if there was any sort of a "peak" inside Der Bingle's mansion, it would have made it plenty uncomfortable for the rest of the inhabitants - that is, unless they were all avid mountaineers, looking to get in some practice time on their home turf. And not to sound like a broken record, but we all know that the spell-checker is not going to help you with that either. Also not saying what they mean (one hopes!) our local newspaper (their motto: "We Break The News, So You Don't Have To") recently ran a front page story on private and municipal developments in the city of Peekskill, which they expected to re-invigorate the downtown for the arts, dining, entertainment, and shopping. The story enumerated a wide variety of different proposals being considered, with a multitude of purposes, and serving a broad audience of residents and visitors alike. They credited this arresting quote to the city's mayor, and apparently without a hint of irony: ========================== "Like dominoes, you will see these projects rise off the drawing boards and forever change the skyline." ========================== What the .... ????? [Please insert your own cartoon image of vigorous head-shaking, with the sound effect of two marbles rattling around in a tin can, and thanks ever so.] Whoever heard of dominoes rising off a drawing board??? Heck, even without the drawing board tossed in there out of left field, dominoes aren't something that rises up, like a house of cards, you lay them flat on a table to play with, and the only time anyone stands them up is for the purpose of knocking them over in elaborate patterns to amuse and astonish onlookers. And which, I don't mind saying, is just about the exact opposite of rising up, no matter how you slice it. Under the circumstances, I wouldn't begrudge Mr. Mayor an "A" for enthusiasm, but if this was The Idiom Olympics, well, let's just say that he wouldn't be taking home any medals for that mixed metaphor, I can tell you that. Quick, will someone please get the Ascension tequila away from that man! Elle

The Hot Seat

Hello World, Happy Passover! Alert readers of all faiths may be surprised (and justifiably so) to find Passover lagging almost a whole month behind Easter, when usually they are more congruously located on the calendar, and not just for chronological reasons, but historical and theological as well. But apparently each contingent has their own arcane and labyrinthian calculations for determining when these movable feasts occur (if the sun rises in the east ..... divide by the hypotenuse ..... any month without a "Y" ..... then carry the 1 ..... turn counter-clockwise ..... times velocity squared ..... plus compound interest at 5.25% ..... stir to combine and shake until frothy ..... 5:00 in the afternoon on July 4, 1776. Oh, for heaven's sake, that's when the Continental Congress approved the Declaration of Independence all over again.) So now and then, there's a lot more divergence than congruence, and this is one of those times, like it or not. But in the "better late than never" category, I'm sure we're all glad to see Passover at last, and no less welcome for the delay. Besides marking the beginning of Passover, the 22nd was also Earth Day, and I hope that everyone did their part to make the world a better place, since after all, it is the only planet in the universe (that has been discovered so far) with chocolate, and which, let's face it, is the basis of all life as we know it. Around here, our yard was fully primed and ready for Earth Day, ablaze with our heavenly lilacs, early tulips, delicate English wood hyacinths, creeping phlox, bleeding heart, and even the elusive checkered lily put in an appearance for good measure. Garcon, more Passover peeps, if you please, and don't spare the hot fudge! In other local news, last week we took a break from the workaday world and went to the movies to see "My Big Fat Greek Wedding 2," the sequel to the surprise hit from 15 years ago, which we had also seen. Unlike back then, in our callow youth, this time we qualified for the Senior Discount, which we were all too glad to accept, and scored a free drink at the concession stand, as well as a small bag of popcorn, that we passed along to some younger patrons, since we were already having our favorite personal pan pizza, as usual. Since we ordinarily go see super hero movies in 3-D at the IMAX, we had not been aware that the regular theaters in the multi-plex had all their seats replaced with comfy wide reclining seats that you can control with the touch of a button, and if there's a better way to watch movies, heck, it hasn't been invented so far, believe me. That was absolutely the most comfortable I have ever been at the movies, and in fact, if the movie wasn't already so loud, they would have had to come around and wake me up afterwards, by golly. It's all too easy to complain about how expensive it is to go to the cinema nowadays, but this is an innovation that really makes it worthwhile, and that's not just the Raisinets talking, believe me. As for the film itself, it was fun and entertaining, with many of the same ingredients from the first one, plus some new faces, and a few twists and turns along the way. It was light-hearted and sentimental, and while I wouldn't exactly say that it was worth waiting 15 years for, we still had a good time. And heck, at this point, I would basically go see a movie about paint drying, just to get back into those seats. Usher, another pillow, if you please! Speaking of being out and about, Bill and I were at the supermarket last week, of all places, when I was startled to see the following sign on the rear entrance to the Pharmacy, which announced in giant letters: ================================= DOOR MUST REMAIN CLOSED AT ALL TIMES ================================= I said to Bill later, it seems to me that entirely defeats the purpose of a door in the first place, in fact, it sounds rather like a textbook example of a wall, and not a door, in my opinion - and I don't mind saying that I am unanimous in that. I'm also struck with the peculiar thought of the beleaguered pharmacists hopping in and out of the place by leaping over the countertops to and from the outside, so as not to defy the edict of the sign, and risk opening the door at any time for their passage. Personally, this is what I call words having lost all their meaning, and civilization going all to blazes in a hand-basket, right along with them. I just hope the door isn't closed when we get there. Also on the local scene, and something nobody would expect from us oldsters, we actually went out clubbing earlier in the week, just like the young whipper-snappers of today, and the veriest Millennials from this century, and not shrouded in ancient mists from the Age of the Dinosaurs, or even earlier. On Monday after work, we jumped aboard the train to Grand Central Station, and then took a taxi downtown to see the one and only Amber Rubarth at the Rockwood Music Hall - and which I don't mind saying, even the taxi driver had never heard of the place, and turned out to be so far downtown, I could smell sea water. But we succeeded in getting there early, ostensibly to fight off her legions of eager fans, although that concern resolved itself quickly, when we realized that we were the only ones there. Luckily they let us in early, even before the bar was open, and it was an unwelcome surprise to find that they didn't serve any food, since that was part of our dinner plan for the evening. Since there were still no lines of clamoring fans, Bill trotted down the block and returned with a couple of pizza slices that were not half bad, and under the circumstances, I would describe them as virtual manna from heaven. When it was time for the show, they led us downstairs into a tiny dark venue that would be a staple of stand-up comics everywhere ("How small was it?") which claimed to seat 60, but that would only be if half of the audience were sitting on the other half's laps, I can assure you. With no fanfare, out from behind a curtain stepped Amber Rubarth herself, who is a pretty young girl and very engaging, playing an acoustic guitar with an interesting blend of folk, alternative, and as the saying goes, a little bit country. She brought along some ladies to play violin, viola, and oboe, plus a pair of fellows to handle the cello, and tenor harmonies. According to Bill, who knows her work well, they played some old favorites, as well as covers of popular tunes, and music from her new album, all of which was very well received by the indulgent crowd. There was even a meet-and-greet afterward, and Bill wasted no time - which was just as well, since the management was soon shooing us all out of the place, since apparently there was another artist performing in the same space right after that, believe it or not. I wouldn't expect them to run two shows on a Monday night, but if they can get 60 people each, with a $10 cover charge per person (and they have 2 other stages besides) I guess the numbers speak for themselves. We were lucky to snag a cab off the street to take us back to Grand Central, where we were on the prowl for dessert before catching the train home, so we skipped downstairs to the food court, which boasts a variety of options to suit just about every taste, from the weird to the wonderful and back again. Just about the first thing you stumble upon is the justly famous Magnolia Bakery, where you can buy their "Complete Magnolia Bakery Cookbook," right out front on the counter for all the world to see - and which probably seemed like a good idea at the time. That is, until they came out with a second cookbook (oops!) which they then had no choice but to call "More From Magnolia Bakery," and probably regretted calling the first one "complete," since the second one pretty much rendered that description null and void, in yet another textbook example of words having lost all their meaning, thanks not. Anyway, not to cast aspersions on our friends at Magnolia Bakery, since their skill at baking far outpaces their skill at cookbook titles, and you can believe me when I say that everything on the shelves looks and smells positively delectable, and that goes double for their signature caramel pecan cheesecake, which is nothing short of perfection on a plate, and I ought to know. It was a couple of full but happy geezer tourists who climbed aboard the train for home later, and I can tell you right now that if the railroad had those same seats as the movie theater, the conductors never would have been able to wake me up at the New Rochelle station, try as they might. Say, how's about a blanket over here, Casey Jones? Elle

E Pluribus Taxes

My Fellow Americans (I am not a crook) - Beware the Ides of April! (Said no one, ever.) Which you would think would be a more common catch phrase in these parts, considering that it's Income Tax Day, confound it all. Not so fast! This year, due to a combination of factors, the tax filing deadline has been extended to April 18, so we can all hold on to at least the illusion of having our own money for a few more days. Our friends at wikipedia explain it this way: ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Due to Emancipation Day in Washington, D.C. (observed on the weekday closest to April 16), when April 15 falls on a Friday, tax returns are due the following Monday. Tax Day occasionally falls on Patriots' Day, a civic holiday in Massachusetts and Maine. When that happens, the federal tax deadline is extended for the residents of Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, New York, Vermont, and the District of Columbia, because the IRS processing center for these areas is located in Andover, Massachusetts and the unionized IRS employees get the day off. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ So there are two reasons why Income Tax Filing Day is not on the Ides of April as usual, but instead on April 18, and I have no idea what the ancient Romans called this day (IDES + III possibly) but one thing I'm sure of is that it will be here before we know it - so for any tax laggards out there in the wide world, the time has long since come to step lively, and be pretty darned quick about it besides. Meanwhile, here's a little bit of tax humor (which is an oxymoron if I've ever heard one) for everyone. "Benjamin Franklin said nothing is certain but death and taxes: but at least death doesn't get worse every year." =============================================== The tax man cometh, and he is saying things you'll never figure out April 06, 2003|By Dave Barry | Dave Barry,Knight Ridder / Tribune IT'S TAX TIME. I know this because I'm staring at documents that make no sense to me, no matter how many beers I drink. Take, for example, my Keogh Plan. If you're wondering what a Keogh Plan is, the technical answer is: Beats me. All I know is, I have one, and the people who administer it are always sending me Important Tax Information. Here's the first sentence of their most recent letter, which I swear I am not making up: "Dear David: The IRS has extended the deadline for the restatement of your plan to comply with GUST and various other amendments until, in most instances, September 30, 2003." I understand everything in that sentence, up to "David." After that I am lost. Apparently I have until September 30 (in most instances) to get my plan -- no, sorry, the restatement of my plan -- to comply with something (but what?) called "GUST." And of course various other amendments. But how do I do this? And what if I don't? The letter doesn't make this clear. It does, however, say this: "You must adopt EGTRRA prior to the end of the plan year beginning in 2002." I am, frankly, reluctant to adopt anything called "EGTRRA," which sounds like the name of a giant radioactive chicken that destroys Tokyo. The thing is, this letter isn't from the Internal Revenue Service. ("We're Working to Put You in Jail!"). It's from people on my side, people who sincerely want to tell me something, probably important, about GUST and EGTRRA. But I won't even try to finish their letter. I'll put it, with all the other tax documents that I do not understand, in a folder marked "Taxes," and I'll mail it to a guy I know named Evan. A few weeks later he'll mail me back a tax return that I will sign and send along to the IRS without reading any part of it, except where it says "SIGN HERE." That's right: I have no idea what my tax return says, even though I'm legally responsible for it. I just have to hope that, when Evan prepares it, he's not in a prankish mood: IRS auditor: Mr. Barry, can you explain why, on Page 27 of your return, stapled to Form 4992, "Depreciation and Amortization," is the thymus gland of an otter? Me: That's not mine! IRS auditor: Also, on Page 23, you claim, as dependents, and I quote: "The Entire Cast of Buffy the Vampire Slayer." I'm not the only taxpayer who has no idea what he's sending to the IRS. This year, only 28 percent of all Americans will prepare their own tax returns, according to a voice in my head that invents accurate-sounding statistics. Why can't Americans do their own taxes? Because the federal tax code is out of control, that's why. It's gigantic and insanely complex, and it gets worse all the time. Nobody has ever read the whole thing. IRS workers are afraid to go into the same room with it. They keep it locked in the basement, and, once a day, they open the door, heave in a live taxpayer -- some poor slob who failed to adopt EGTRRA in time to comply with GUST (and various other amendments) -- then slam the door shut, before the screams start. As a result, we have reached the point where even the IRS doesn't know what the Tax Code says. Last year, the Treasury Department discovered -- I am still not making this up -- that the IRS paid out more than $30 million to people who filed for the slavery tax credit. Yes! Thirty million dollars! Only guess what? It turns out there is no slavery tax credit! Whoops! It would not surprise me if, any day now, they discover that there is no such person as "Keogh." The question is: What can we, as citizens, do to reform our tax system? As you know, under our three-branch system of government, the tax laws are created by Satan. But he works through Congress, so that's where we must focus our efforts. Here's my proposal, which is based on the TV show Survivor: We put the entire Congress on an island. All the food on this island is locked inside a vault, which can be opened only by an ordinary American taxpayer named Bob. Every day, the congresspersons are given a section of the Tax Code, which they must rewrite so that Bob can understand it. If he can, he lets them eat that day; if he can't, he doesn't. Or, he can give them food either way. It doesn't matter. The main thing is, we never let them off the island. ======================================== If Congress can pay farmers not to raise crops, why can't we pay Congress not to raise taxes?

Lock, Stock and Barrel

Hello World, Well, April has certainly been nobody's fool so far, and that's no joke, believe me. Not only has the impossible weather been all over the map, heck, it's been all over maps to places that haven't even been invented yet, and then some. I was driving to church on Sunday, which I would like to point out was technically April 3rd, and a car coming towards me was all covered with snow, thanks not. (Or to quote one wag on social media recently, "April showers bring snow plowers!") (Thanks, Jim!) Not to cast aspersions, but we have Bill to blame for at least some of the meteorological hazards lately, since his assiduous attention to picking up loose twigs in the yard no doubt ushered in the latest round of gale force winds to buffet the region - thereby releasing a veritable cornucopia of extra twigs, and making the yard look even worse than before, and once again, thanks so very much not. On one of those particularly blustery days, a tenant at work stopped by the office and complained that she went outside looking fine, and was going to go back looking like a wreck, and didn't think much of the idea, I can tell you that. But I said, looking on the bright side of things, at least they couldn't accuse her of going to the hair salon while she was out, obviously. She laughed. On the other hand, and once again, it seems that the ridiculous weather has had no impact on the continued parade of delightful spring flowers everywhere, as our yard has exploded with grape hyacinth on all sides, with perky star flowers giving them a run for their money as well. I believe that I even saw early azalea along the sidewalk on my way to work last week, and if the tender buds can stay one step ahead of our vile fraternity of juvenile delinquent squirrels, we might actually have tulips pretty soon. At church, the beginnings of what will soon turn into a carpet of sunny yellow buttercups have (or has, if you prefer) already popped open, and vacant lots are already over-run with a weedy purple groundcover, whose name escapes me just now, although I want it to be vinca in the worst possible way, alas. Speaking of church, I have a date book that I use to keep track of financial matters there, which I ordered from our friends at Brown Trout online, and is helpfully printed in Viet Nam, I'm sure. So you can imagine my surprise when April 3 rolled around, and printed on the day in question, it very plainly said "Daylight Saving Time Ends." (???) (???!!!) On closer inspection, in very tiny faint type, it went on to say "Australia and New Zealand," as if this was at the top of my list of critical information that I needed to know. (NOT!) I will say that it certainly got my attention, and not in a good way - and I wouldn't be surprised if the whole confounded tomfoolery is just as unpopular with our friends Down Under as it is here. Garcon, throw some more shrimp on the barbie, and don't spare the Fosters, if you please! And once again speaking of church, as a community outreach to the wide world, I maintain a Twitter account on their behalf - and I wish I could say that modesty prevents me from pointing out that it has over 7,000 followers, but apparently modesty has been laying down on the job, and not preventing me one single little bit. On Twitter, they give you a notification any time another user sends you a message, follows you, re-tweets one of your posts, or the like, so you're not left in the dark about what's happening around you. They're usually not especially interesting, so I was startled to see this curious announcement recently: ================================== Marco Maldonado has added you to List "Fellow Catholics" ================================== Don't you believe it! I'm afraid I have some bad news for ol' Marco there, what with being a life-long Protestant and likely to stay that way - and which would probably come more as a great relief to His Eminence than otherwise, I dare say. In sports news, the inaptly named Boys of Summer have started playing baseball in earnest already, in spite of the weather, with the usual cockeyed early results that make even the wild and woolly stock market seem downright normal by comparison. At what used to be known as The House That Ruth Built, the mighty Yankees took 2 of 3 from the Astros, while the junior franchise started off at a sluggish 1-1 against the Phillies. Meanwhile on the frozen front, the NHL regular season wraps up next week, with the Rangers limping into the playoffs in 4th place, virtually tied with the Islanders, and a dizzying 20 points behind the league-leading Capitals, with an impressive 55-17-8 record that will be hard to beat. (Place your bets on them being knocked out in 5 games by the Wild Card team - you heard it here first, folks!) If everything stays the same, New York will play Florida in the first round, while the poor Bruins will be stuck facing the buzz-saw that is Washington, and not caring for it much, I shouldn't wonder. The Islanders would have to contend with the next best team in the East, the Penguins, while all of the Western Conference clubs are so evenly matched, it would be too close to call. It's hard to believe that they start the playoffs when it's still snowing in April, and don't finish the finals until we're all sweating in June, but there you have it. Heck, by then the evil spirit of Affirmed could have long since jinxed all of the Triple Crown hopefuls to the point that nobody wins any of the races at all. Personally, my money's on the Australians. On the local scene, last week at work I was getting some staples out of the supply closet, when I noticed a functional peculiarity that defied rational explanation, try as I might. At first glance, the closet door seems perfectly ordinary, with a knob that you can manually lock on one side, and open with a key on the other side. The problem is that they're on opposite sides of the door from where they should be. The door, which is your first line of defense in protecting its contents, has no way to secure it from the outside, so whatever supplies you may have stored within its confines are essentially up for grabs to anyone who wanders in, and there's nothing you can do about that, like it or not. Conversely (or perhaps, perversely would be the better term under the circumstances) if you happen to step inside and inadvertently let the door close behind you, I'm afraid you would be inescapably locked in the closet, in the dark (the light switch is outside the door), and no way of getting yourself out if you were alone in the office at the time - where even relying on the kindness of passing strangers would be of no avail. This kind of potential danger is the sort of thing that would never be tolerated in the wonderful world of healthcare, not even at the Employer of Last Resort where I used to work, whose lax safety standards I may have scoffed at then, but at least I never had to worry about getting locked inside a closet, by golly. Now, I'll be the first to admit that I am not the sharpest knife in the drawer, as it were, and especially nowadays, heaven knows - but I'm not as dumb as I look, and you can bet that when I have any reason to go in the closet from now on, I'll be propping the door open with a trash can until I'm finished, and safely back on the outside and out of the trap. After all, I wouldn't want to leave poor Marco Maldonado and his Fellow Catholics in the lurch, now would I? Elle

That's Just Crazy Talk

Hello World, Happy April Fools Day! I do hope that everyone out there in the wide world had a cheerful day full of innocent fun on Friday, and did not fall victim to all of the various and sundry pranks, hoaxes, and practical jokes that the day is so justly famous for - or perhaps infamous might be the better term under the circumstances. Tossing around its own brand of practical jokes (haha) (NOT) the local weather has been all over the map, ranging from the bracing 30's to the balmy 70's, with everything from rain, snow, fog, and gale force winds thrown in for good measure. It hasn't stopped the spring flowers, which are no joke, with colorful hyacinths doing a land-office business all around the yard, and not to mention, the sunny yellow forsythia busting out all over besides. Early flowering shrubs and trees have already started to bloom, with the stately magnolia leading the way, and I don't mind saying, ours is one of the stateliest. This past winter must have been just the thing for our Glory of the Snow, which have exploded in every corner of the yard, and while I haven't spotted any blue squill so far, I'm not giving up on them just yet. Earlier in the week, I saw my first dandelion in a parking lot on the way home from work, so we all know what that means. Can rampant alien mutant poison ivy be far behind? I think not, and I'm not fooling. Speaking of fools, alert readers may recall that inauspicious occasion a few weeks ago at church, when the tiny but earnest choir launched into the Anthem by inadvertently singing 2 different verses at the same time - and very much not an improvement, even with the novelty factor in its favor, I dare say. Any normal person would be safe in thinking that something of that sort would be a once-in-a-lifetime mishap that there would be no danger of it ever occurring again in the same church, much less soon after that, heaven knows. Well, it was on Maundy Thursday last week that essentially the same thing happened all over again, only this time, I've got nowhere to hide, because there was no one else to blame but me, try as I might. Somehow I forgot to bring my reading glasses to church for the service, so when the tiny choir (and temporarily reduced to just 3 of us at the time) was singing an Anthem during the Offering, and even though we had rehearsed it previously, I found that without my glasses, and at night in the dim lighting of the Sanctuary, I simply could not read any of the lyrics and was basically just fumbling around and making up my own words as it went along - and much to the detriment of the songwriter's original intent, I don't mind saying. Fortunately the other two stalwarts stuck to the printed page, and didn't allow me to lead them likewise astray with my ad lib (one might justifiably say "Mad Lib") mis-handling of the actual lyrics, and I'm frankly embarrassed to report that the indulgent congregation gave us a very nice round of applause at the end of it all. I suppose they might have just been glad that it was finally over, because I know I certainly was. Of course, we also had an evening service for Good Friday, and the choir also sang, although this time I brought my glasses (YAY) and all 5 of us did a rousing version of the Anthem, to help blot out the memory of the previous night's snafu. I even had Friday off from work, which was a nice change of pace from my temporary job, where they don't close for even the most widely recognized holidays. Also last week, we finally managed to clear some time in our schedule, and squeezed in a belated birthday dinner out at Pizzeria Uno in Yonkers, where we had been before, and glad of it. We found it easy to get to, with plenty of parking, and not a bit crowded on Wednesday night, so it was all good, all around. I stuck with my tried-and-true selections from the 2-for-$12 menu, deep dish macaroni & cheese and baked tortelloni gratinati, which were utterly delectable, and their non-alcoholic Uno Colada was as good as ever and just as welcome. Bill took a chance on their pizza skins, which turned out to be mashed potatoes and cheese baked in a deep dish pizza crust, which actually tasted a lot better than it sounds, believe me. New at the chain now is a little electronic gadget that sits on the table, where you can place an order, request drink refills, play games, and pay your bill when you're ready to leave, and how cool is that! I said to Bill, if it only had music options, like the old tableside juke boxes from way back in the halcyon days of yore, it would really be the complete package. Anyway, it was a happy stop on the birthday caravan, and Bill even went home with left-overs, so there's no denying that a fine time was had by all, and I ought to know. Even better, nobody asked me to sing, since I had forgotten my reading glasses once again, and we all know what that means, heaven knows. Continuing with the birthday caravan on Saturday, we paid a visit to my sister on Long Island, where we enjoyed our mutual March birthdays (and early Easter) with an outstanding spring day that was tailor-made for celebrating. It all started with lunch at Denny's (of course) and there were no complaints on that score, I can assure you. Taking advantage of the glorious weather, we then headed off to Crossroads Farm, where their spectacular spring flowers were a treat for all senses, and way too much to resist - and I have pots of calla lilies to prove it. The farm also sells fresh produce and eggs (and we saw their chickens, so I have no reason to doubt it) as well as honey and jam and homemade pies, plus a variety of other provisions (and a playground to keep the youngsters occupied) so there are plenty of reasons to head their way. From there, we set off for Mill Pond, where the ducks, geese, and dog walkers were out in force, and my intrepid sister was busy counting fish and taking temperatures as part of a monitoring program that she volunteers for. By then it was starting to get dark, so we grabbed some of our favorite Angelo's Pizza, and it was buon appetito and plenty of it. Now, it's true that it would be hard to improve on a day that already included Denny's and Angelo's pizza, but on top of everything else, I admit that I'm always glad to get birthday presents, belated or otherwise, and there was even cake, all of which served to make a perfect day even more special. Garcon, more birthday cake, if you please, and don't spare the sprinkles! And speaking of Easter, alert followers of social media are probably long since aware of this, but it came as a surprise to me that persnickety Christians apparently won't call it that anymore, after all these many centuries - which seems to me late in the game to take offense at something, but let's face it, that never stops some people. Presumably the word "Easter" is based on an old heathen festival celebrating the goddess Ishtar, which they rightly feel is inappropriate for such a holy day in the Christian orthodoxy, and in the throwing-the-baby-out-with-the-bath-water mentality of righteous indignation (where, oh, where is Liberty Valance when you need him???) have given poor Easter the heave-ho right along with the rest of the heathens, and good riddance. Not so fast! No less an authority than Merriam Webster describes the etymology of the term as Old English, from about 500 AD, and I have the feeling that the venerable Merriam Webster was probably around at the time, so they ought to know. Meanwhile, our friends at snopes.com, famous debunkers of urban legends, hoaxes, rumors, and misinformation of all stripes, have this to say on the subject: ======================================================== The name for this holiday comes from much older times whose customs we're now not all that familiar with. Many old religions had a Spring Goddess, a special deity who breathed life back into the world, both by banishing Old Man Winter and by encouraging growing things to grow. She went by many names. The Scandinavians called her Ostra, the Anglo-Saxons Eostre, and those who lived in the region that is now Germany knew her as Eastre. (Contrary to some modern claims, the term "Easter" was not derived from the name of Ishtar, the Assyrian and Babylonian goddess of fertility and sex.) ========================================================== So there you have it, holiday fans, a staunchly respectable Anglo-Saxon tradition can hold its head up high, with scarcely a Babylonian anywhere in sight, and even Liberty Valance has breathed a sigh of relief, I dare say. Now, anyone can tell you that I'm no fan of revisionist history, but for those who still prefer to call it Resurrection Sunday instead, they are welcome to sing its praises to the high heavens, as far as I'm concerned. But before they ask me to sing along, they should make sure I have my reading glasses with me, or I cannot be responsible for the consequences, believe me. Elle