All That and a Bag of Chips

Hello World, And so here we find ourselves, perhaps unaccountably, perched atop the very last weekend in July (believe that or don't) and literally staring down both barrels of August, and with the hammer cocked, I dare say. I realize in this day and age, it's difficult to tell with a gambol through the stores - because the "back-to-school" merchandise has long since been on the shelves from the beginning of June, heaven knows - but the beach towels, suntan lotion, patio furniture, and pool toys have been quietly but inexorably shuffled off into the corners from their previously prime locations, and I said to Bill, I'm sure that you couldn't buy a swimsuit now if your life depended on it. In fact, we were in the supermarket on Thursday and bumped into a large display of seasonal candies, comprised of candy corn and fun-size Halloween candy bars, and once again, believe that or don't. Out in the real world, summer continues throughout August, regardless of what the eager retailers would have you believe, so you can relax and enjoy more lazy days of lemonade, hammocks, and watermelon without the impending sense of "holiday creep" sneaking up on you unawares. Just for a lark, why don't you plow through the racks and cartons full of turtlenecks, wool coats, ice scrapers, and snow shovels at the stores, and buy yourself a beach chair and some swim shoes? I'm sure that would be good for a laugh, if nothing else, by golly. Speaking of the fabled "dog days" of summer, we had all that and more recently (and early, at that) with about a week full of the most unbearable weather, with sweltering temperatures close to 100, and wilting humidity that made it feel even hotter on top of it all. Of course, the weather reports always exaggerate bad weather, in an effort to make people buy more newspapers and watch more TV, and toss around terms like "blizzard" and "heat wave" willy-nilly, usually in a haphazard manner where they don't really apply. But even actual meteorologists will agree that three days in a row where the thermometer hits at least 90 degrees does indeed constitute a bona fide heat wave, and not just media hyperbole for the sake of ratings or other self-serving purposes. Even the occasional pop-up thunderstorm or torrential downpour failed to turn the tide, and gardens bore the scars of the extreme conditions, their botanical victims alternately frying in the blazing sun or collapsing under the pelting rain. The TV forecasters, cosseted in their air-conditioned studios, kept assuring us that the outrageous weather was just about to break, clear out of the area, and make way for more seasonable conditions right behind it, but still it persisted, day after day, until even the most summer-loving beach babies were ready to throw in the proverbial towel and head for the ski slopes, and I ought to know. It finally cooled off by the end of this week, and not a moment too soon, I don't mind saying, and I'm sure whoever kicked over that display of ice scrapers and snow shovels probably felt bad about it in retrospect, but you didn't hear that from me. In other seasonal news, it may surprise alert readers in the general public (and our old friends the dinosaurs even more so, I shouldn't wonder) that I did actually slog through all of my camping laundry already, and would have packed it all away in the attic where it belongs - that is, except for the fact that if it was 150 degrees in the house during the recent heat wave, it must have been about 150 million degrees in the attic at the time, and blast furnace workers in asbestos suits would have been no match for it, much less me in my ratty T-shirt and clam diggers, as it were. Discretion being the better part of valor, as they say, I left it all on the attic stairs for a cooler day, and didn't chance the solar flares that were sure to come my way in the upper reaches. Also on the subject of camping, it was long after we left the campground and came home that I realized I had no idea where my camping watch had gotten to, since I hadn't seen it in with my camping gear that we had unpacked from the cars in the driveway. This was an upsetting revelation, since I really need that watch when I travel because it lights up, which doesn't matter that much during the day, but at night is an absolute necessity. I went around and poked into all the places it should have been, or any other ridiculous place I might have stashed it in error, but there was still no sign of it anywhere. I even called the park and asked them if anyone turned it in to the Lost & Found, but no luck. I finally gave it up as a lost cause (and in fact, Bill had already ordered a replacement) when it rather miraculously turned up in a shopping bag full of souvenirs on Thursday, five days after we came back, and long after I had surrendered all hope of ever seeing it again. So that was a very special post-vacation bonus that I wasn't expecting, and even more so now that I not only have my camping watch back, but a brand new back-up watch to boot. Obviously the Camping Gods were asleep at the switch that time, or perhaps they really had thrown in the towel and headed for the ski slopes after all. That reminds me of a day on my vacation when I hurried back from the beach so I could scoot into town and grab one of their most excellent egg salad sandwiches from The Deli, which is a special treat that I look forward to every year when I go out there. Not so fast! Even though it was just barely 6:00 PM, and the rest of the shopping center was bustling with activity, The Deli was shut up tight, and my quest for egg salad was doomed to failure, alas. I had already been to the pizzeria the night before, and a second night in a row was not an idea that appealed to me, so I decided to cross the street to the King Kullen, and prevail upon the young lads in the deli department to make me a Swiss cheese sandwich instead, and eat it in my car if necessary. They actually have a shady spot with benches outside of the supermarket, so all I needed was a drink and some chips to go with it, and I would be all set. I found myself drawn to a package of Snyder's Pretzel Pieces in Zesty Ranch, which they described (apparently without irony) as "Naturally Flavored Sourdough Hard Pretzel." I said to Bill later, this is all well and good, but let's face it, Zesty Ranch not a natural flavor, no matter how you look at it. Lemon is a natural flavor. Onion, garlic, chives, and dill are natural flavors. But you simply can't walk up to a farm anywhere in the world and say, "Please sell me a basket, I want to go out in the field and pick my own zesty ranch." I will say in fairness to Snyder's, their Zesty Ranch Pretzel Pieces were pretty darned good, and I have no quarrel with them as a snack, but I would still stop short of calling them a natural flavor. On the other hand, I apparently have a camping watch that mysteriously catapulted itself from my wrist into a shopping bag of souvenirs in the trunk of my car, entirely on its own initiative, so from that I can only surmise that anything is possible. I suppose as long as the Age of Miracles has not passed, I should go out and try to buy a swimsuit in July, especially since the Camping Gods are obviously off skiing instead. Elle

I Spy

Hello World, Good morning, campers! And so here I am, once again, back safe and sound from adventures in Camping Land, and none the worse for wear, on top of it all. I realized that one of the disadvantages of going on vacation as a temp is that I don't get paid for any days that I'm not at work, so unlike my previous job at the hospital, I can't take time off - for instance, the Friday before my vacation to pack up the car - without losing a whole day's pay, thanks not. That left me no alternative but to pack everything in the car on Friday night after working all day, which has not much to recommend it, but still beats getting up early to pack Saturday morning, then drive all the way to God's country and set up 2 campsites, and once again, thanks ever so much not. When we left, the weather forecast was inauspicious, being very cool and overcast, with scattered sprinkles that could turn into severe thunderstorms, and everything up to and including hail and tornadoes - and need I add, once again, thanks not? Probably as a result, the traffic out to Vacation Land was much lighter than usual, and we arrived at the park in record time. I was surprised not to see the "FILLED TO CAPACITY" sign at the entrance as usual, and driving through the campground, it certainly seemed like every site was already taken. We hurried out to claim our sites and set up quickly, so we could try our luck at the beach before the really bad weather had a chance to move in and spoil that for us. Not so fast! It seemed that the campers at C-35 had yet to vacate the space, and not wanting to muscle in on them, we set up what we could on C-17 first, and then waited nearly 2 hours for them to clear off. We went to the beach anyway, for the cheese fries if nothing else, and were greeted with the highly unusual prospect of murky waves crashing on the beach, compared to the usual crystal clear, smooth-as-glass water that Wildwood is so justly famous for. We stood in the waves for a bit, just for the novelty of it, but the water seemed to be about 30 degrees, and everyone was wearing sweatshirts, so that was as far as it got. The churning water was up to the bottom step of the boardwalk, the lifeguard chair was already in the water, and even the umbrella line signs were being washed away - although it didn't matter since it was way too windy for umbrellas in the first place. In fact, with the blustery winds, it was a great day for kites, and there were more people at the beach than I would have expected under the circumstances. For everyone who braved the choppy chill and pounding surf, which was not for the faint-hearted, well, all I can say is that I give those folks a lot of credit. Back from the beach, we set up the clothesline and battened down the rain fly, in case the threatened storm came to pass, and then lit off to check into our motel in Coram. We found it much as we had left it, and no complaints on that score. After a reviving meal at Denny's, and some wide-ranging shopping at Wal*Mart, we tucked ourselves in for a good night's sleep, and which after a long and busy day, was not slow in coming, believe me. Things looked considerably better in the morning, with clear skies and warmer temperatures, and we hurried over to the park to take advantage of it. We noticed that many campsites were already empty, which was too bad after sticking it out on Saturday, that they didn't hang around to enjoy the difference on Sunday. It's true at the beach that the water was still borderline freezing, but it was less choppy and muddy than the day before, and there were cheese fries for good measure - plus the surprising innovation of live music on the boardwalk all afternoon, which has never happened in 50+ years that I've been going to Wildwood. The scoffers may scoff, but I can assure you that I have (bad and jittery) video to prove it, and it goes without saying, I'm not afraid to use it. Last year, our friends at Calypso on the Sound were running the concessions at the park (and doing a fine job of it, I might add) but now it all seems to be under the auspices of New York State, and they call it simply Wildwood State Park Beach Stand and leave it at that. (Please be sure to LIKE them on Facebook!) They are responsible for the gift shop, Camp Store, and snack bars on the boardwalk and in the picnic area, and their menu tells me that they serve breakfast, lunch, and dinner - including such lofty fare as lobster, shrimp tempura, and chicken with bleu cheese. They came up with this idea of live music on weekends, and seems well received by all accounts, with blaring acoustics that you can hear (whether you want to or not) all the way down the beach on the other side of the boardwalk, and I ought to know. Sunday and Monday were both beautiful days, although the park was fairly empty by then, so naturally the next people to check in were assigned the site right next to mine, thanks not, in a repeat of the "clump-hooligan factor" that has plagued me in the past. Bill left on Monday afternoon to go home and hold down the fort, and I finished setting up the shelves, chairs, lanterns and fire bucket for the rest of the week in the woods. Going back to the beach on Tuesday, I drove to the picnic area, and although there were only about 5 cars in the parking lot at the time, I found myself parked next to another Chevy Aveo, and honestly, what are the odds. In my travels taking pictures around the park on Wednesday, I came across a hawk in B Section, and chipmunks in the picnic area - in fact, there were way more chipmunks than there have been in years out there, including showing up for breakfast peanuts right in my own site, besides the usual parade of squirrels, blue jays and grackles. Speaking of Wednesday, it was then that the Sound finally cleared up to its regular clarity, and was cool enough to be refreshing without fear of frostbite - although unfortunately it was dead low tide all week, so that made for some difficulty swimming in the rocky shoals, rather than the pristine sand of high tide. The Wednesday night movie was "Big Hero 6," which I thought was remarkably current, compared to what they usually show, but to be fair, it is free, so there's no point in complaining anyway. Let's face it, you could drag the entire family out to the movies, and between the tickets, drinks, popcorn, and snacks, it would wind up costing more than a whole week camping at the park, I dare say. Thursday turned into one of my favorite days of camping in a long time, for odd reasons. It started in the morning when I drove into town to take vacation pictures, for instance, of the venerable duck pond and other local landmarks of lore and legend. At one point, I needed to turn around, and I found the Baptist church a handy place for this maneuver, since they have a spacious parking lot that was conveniently deserted on Thursday, except for one lone and solitary vehicle all the way in the corner. Can you believe it was a red Chevy Aveo that looked almost identical to mine, except for the spoiler, and as I said to Bill later, the odds against that must have been astronomical, to say the least. I had to pull in next to it and take pictures of the two cars side by side, and considering that General Motors stopped making the Aveo in 2011, stumbling over another two of them in two days was a coincidence bordering on the bizarre, no matter how you look at it. Back at the park, I noticed they had brought in some buses with about 50 disadvantaged children and their counselors all in matching T-shirts, for a day at the beach, which used to be a mainstay of Wildwood in the summer, but I haven't actually seen them doing it for years lately. When I was taking pictures from the boardwalk about 3:00 PM, I spotted them being rounded up with their belongings to go back up to the buses in the picnic area, although I didn't give it much thought at the time. I left the beach much later, and it was about 5:30 when I went to take a shower as I normally would. Not so fast! Here were all those same youngsters and counselors in their matching shirts still on line for showers in the new Roundy, more than 2 hours after they left the beach in the first place. Luckily I knew something they didn't, which was that there were 2 other bathrooms in the park, so I turned around and sauntered about 1000 feet to the old Roundy for my shower, and there wasn't a soul in the place, and I certainly didn't have to wait on any lines. Wrapping up my Thursday oddities was how I jinxed things by washing the car windshield, and in spite of being outstanding weather all day, suddenly around 6:00 PM, it started pouring rain out of nowhere. I just about pulled everything off the clothesline and threw it all in the tent to stay dry, then drove into town for some pizza. By the time I got to the pizzeria, the sun was shining. This is what we call the Camping Gods toying with us. Alert readers may recall that one of the biggest challenges of my annual frolic in the forest is often finding out where the "spy site" is each time around, which once located, is easily identified by having one tent, no kitchen, no chairs, no beach towels, and most importantly, no car, no inhabitants, and no signs of life at any point during the day or night. In a handy turn of events, the clandestine spot became even easier to find, since it ended up being right next to me on the corner, where I complained about them dumping those people on top of me even though the park was practically empty. From the time they first set up on Monday, I never clapped eyes on them, and if they were ever at the site unseen, I never heard two peeps out of them the whole week. I did see them on Saturday when I was leaving, and they seemed like a perfectly average family of four, but they didn't fool me - I have a lot of experience with this sort of thing by now, and I know spies when I see them. After all, this is not my first time at this particular rodeo, and when it comes to sniffing out spooks under cover of canvas, there's nothing new under the sun. Speaking of new, I'm sure we all realize that progress can be a double-edged sword, and often more trouble than it's worth. But I recently came across an innovation in camping adventures that was worth every penny and more, which is high praise indeed from a hidebound traditionalist like me. I'm happy to enthusiastically recommend the EcoForest Light 'n Go Bonfire Jumbo (and please feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site at www.light-ngo.com and see for yourself) which Bill had gotten for me as an experiment, and while purists would dismiss this out of hand as "campfire for sissies," it has numerous advantages over the real thing. First of all, unlike every other year, I didn't have to wrestle 250 pounds of firewood out there with me, because these all natural birch stumps are neat and compact, with their own handle for convenience. They are specially heat-treated to be free of mold, mildew, and insects, so you can take them anywhere and still comply with firewood restrictions when you get there. You can use them indoors or outdoors in a fireplace, chimenea, or a fire bucket like mine, and while I might find their claim that it "lights in an instant with one match" may be fanciful in the extreme, everything else about it is exactly as advertised. You simply light it and it burns all by itself for about 2 hours or so - you never have to touch it - and then it just goes out, all on its own, with practically no ash left over. You can get them right at Home Depot, and though the nitpickers and survivalists might consider it treasonous, I stand by Patrick Henry and say, "If this be treason, make the most of it." Say, I'm starting to think that those spies are beginning to rub off on me! Elle

Out To Lunch

Hello World, I declare! Independence Day has already come and gone on Monday, and I do hope that everyone out there in the fruited plains, from sea to shining sea, was able to enjoy a long holiday weekend, with plenty of baseball, Mom, and apple pie to put just the right Uncle Sam spin on the occasion. Of course, nitpickers on the quest for pinpoint accuracy (and you know who you are) will tell you that, technically, American independence was declared on July 2nd, although the actual document wasn't signed until the 4th - and personally I think the 4th of July sounds more grandiose than the 2nd anyway. It goes without saying that The Flag Brigade was hot on the case, giving the star-spangled banner its place of honor upstairs and downstairs, and lending the necessary patriotic hue to the neighborhood. (And much to its improvement, if I do say so myself.) Monday turned out to be a lovely day but extremely windy, and it must be said that the poor overworked Flag Brigade spent an inordinate amount of time unwinding the flags from their poles, all the livelong day, than is usually required. But at least it didn't rain, and Old Glory was brought back inside at the proper time, so it was definitely a red, white, and true blue holiday all around, and that's not just Francis Scott Key talking, believe me. Now here's a bit of a tasty morsel that needs a heaping helping of background information to make any sense, so here goes. Back in March was my birthday (Sweet 16 again, almost for the 4th time!) and the irrepressible Greg, the young maintenance fellow at work, gave me a lottery scratch-off ticket for luck, and many happy returns of the day, and thanks ever so. At the time, I admit that I was not feeling particularly lucky in so many ways (it had gotten to the point - at home, at church, and at work - where everything I touched broke, anything I picked up turned into a problem, and whatever I looked at was doomed to failure) that I put my scratch-off ticket aside for another time, rather than jinx it with all the bad luck that was my constant companion on every side, thanks not. Well, sure enough, time went by, as it does, and things seemed to turn a corner, so I didn't feel as much like the hapless Joe Btfsplk from the Li'l Abner comics, under a perpetual rain cloud, so I figured I would pull out my ticket and give it a chance. I had never tried one before, so the results were somewhat confusing to me, and I called Greg over to explain what all the circles and squares and arrows were trying to tell me. He needed no more than a cursory glance before shouting: "You won $50!" (!!!) Well, this was certainly a welcome turn-around in the luck department indeed, especially the way things had been going previously, I dare say. Greg volunteered to redeem the ticket at the pharmacy where he bought it, and I was going to split it with him, but by the time he came back, I had a better idea - there are only 2 maintenance men and me at the real estate management office, and with $50 in my hands, I declared: "Let's all go out for lunch!" So the three of us marched into the Grassy Sprain Diner (one of our tenants, and please feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site at www.grassyspraindiner.com and see for yourself) where the proprietor was delighted to see us as customers for a change, and not just representatives of the Landlord, doing our jobs. He assured us that we could count on the "family discount," but I waved the thought away by telling him that the New York State Lottery would be paying for lunch, and they had famously deep pockets, so no worries on that score. Now anyone who knows me can tell you that if I eat a big lunch, I will spend the rest of the afternoon snoring at my desk, so I was on the lookout for some of their lighter fare that would keep the Rip Van Winkle effect at bay at least until quitting time. My original plan to have cheese blintzes came a cropper when I saw that they had none on the menu, which surprised me since blintzes are a staple of diners everywhere, and a particular favorite of mine. (Although I did notice that they had something they described as a "Monte Crisco," which I'm thinking is probably somehow related to the Count of Monte Cristo, but with a lot more fat.) In the end, I settled on French Toast, which was excellent, while the boys tucked into huge plates of assorted victuals, and made them disappear in record time. We also ordered desserts and extra side dishes to go - plus some appetizers that our host threw in on the house - and with the promised family discount, still came in within our prize money budget, with a little to spare. So that was my lucky lottery lunch story, and all it took was a dollar and a dream, as they say. Last week I also mentioned Greg from work as an energetic young man who had never heard of the iconic pop duo of Simon & Garfunkel. That was no old musty cultural reference pulled out of thin air - I explained to the work crew having lottery lunch at the diner that my husband and his traveling companions were making tracks to see Paul Simon in concert at Forest Hills Tennis Center, where they had seen him 50 years earlier, in what may be his final New York appearance before riding off into the sunset and hanging up his spurs for good. It was one of the reasons that I was taking home extra food to go, since I was on my own for dinner - and their yummy egg salad did not disappoint, I can tell you that. Meanwhile, Bill was braving the wilds of Flushing Meadows, and what turned out to be a very wild and woolly night of thunder and lightning, with torrential downpours that would have sent lesser fans scurrying for the exits, and glad of it. But Paul Simon inspires the sort of rabid loyalty among his fans to the point that they will spare no expense, endure any hardship, go to any lengths, and scale every obstacle to see their hero in person - and certainly not let the slings and arrows of outrageous weather stand in their way, that's for sure. In the true spirit of "the show must go on," Paul and the stalwart band gave the legion of soggy fans something to cheer about, and did not cut corners in either quantity or quality at any point along the way. Bill didn't get home until the wee small hours of the morning, and ready to give the whole experience a thumbs-up in spite of it all (although his poor phone was definitely the worse for wear as a result) and that's not just a lot of parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme, by golly. The week started off with a literal bang, owing to the fireworks for July 4th on Monday, and we all know how those short weeks at work usually turn out to be the longest weeks after all, thanks not. This one perhaps even more so, since there was so much pressure to get everything wrapped up and ship-shape before my vacation, plus all the packing, and there just didn't seem to be enough hours in the day somehow. Starting tomorrow, I'll be off on my annual romp in the park, and anyone looking for me will be on a fool's errand - or, in those immortal words from "I'm Still Standing," by Elton John and Bernie Taupin, "If our love was just a circus, you'd be a clown by now." Anyway, that's my story and I'm sticking to it, because after all, my name is - Not Joe Btfsplk

Word Of Mouth

Hello World, Happy July! It doesn't seem possible that half of 2016 is over already and in the books, but that's exactly where we find ourselves, and no buts about it. Next week, I'll be packing up to go on vacation (YAY) which seems a lot less daunting now that the weather has finally started to cooperate and act like it's actually summer out there - much more so than just a few weeks ago, when it was damp and blustery with overnight lows scraping the 50's, and the idea of days on the beach and nights in the woods held very little appeal, I can assure you. Alert readers may wonder, and well may they wonder indeed, if the time for my vacation is upon us, whatever happened to the venerable Highland Games in Norwalk that we enjoy every year around this time? Last year, we decided to swap them out with Irish games on the same weekend, which was an interesting change of pace, but not necessarily representative of the event. So this time around, our friends invited us to sample one of the grandest Irish festivals in the region, the rollicking Irish Fest at Fairfield University spanning 3 days over the Father's Day weekend in June, and not to mention, a special Celebration Mass on Thursday as well. This wide-ranging Celtic bonanza features folk dancing, games, sports, rides, ethnic food, vendors, children's activities, agricultural exhibits, and more music and entertainment options than you would think could be crammed into one campus, and that's no blarney. We were really looking forward to a double-fisted time of putting on the green, and more pomp and pageantry than you could shake a shillelagh at - but unfortunately, our friends' plans fell through at the last minute, and had to cancel. This left us woefully bereft of bagpipes this year so far, and as far as I can tell, not an improvement by any stretch of the imagination. Garcon, more green beer, if you please! People who don't regularly shop at Staples on behalf of their employers may not be aware that you can buy postage stamps there, in booklets or coils, and how handy is that. I was there a few weeks ago picking up office supplies for my temporary job, and also stamps, and I admit that I left the store shaking my head. When I checked the receipt later, I noticed they charged $47 for a coil of 100 stamps, which confused me because the last time I bought stamps to send out Christmas cards, I paid $49 for a hundred, since the stamps were 49c each, thanks not. (And I don't mind saying that the dinosaurs and I can remember sending mail home to our friends from camping at Wildwood, and it cost all of 6c - and which I'm sure we complained about at the time even then, by George.) Of course, everybody knows that the price of postage never goes down, heaven forbid, so I was understandably baffled at this turn of events. Later I was at the supermarket, where they also sell stamps, and in fact, the overhead public address recording was encouraging me to do just that, with the added incentive that the cost of stamps had gone down, and I could now buy them for 47c each and use them forever. Personally, I thought this was kind of a dirty trick, since I had already bought 100 stamps in November at 49c each, and now I realized that every time I mailed something with those stamps, I was losing 2c on the deal on every one - and once again, thanks so very much not. It's no wonder the colonists threw tea overboard into Boston Harbor, in fact, it's a miracle that they didn't just go ahead and toss Alexander Hamilton himself overboard, right along with it, and who could blame them. Meanwhile in entertainment news, let me say this about that: "##*%^@<>*##!!" (FYI for anyone who wondered, that's known as a "grawlix" when writers use a string of arbitrary symbols to represent curse words, a concept that has been around more than a century according to our friends at Grammarphobia, which is way before you would think such a device would have been needed, I dare say.) In any event, are you tired of sitting through movies you think you would like, but being affronted by the bad language, nudity, and graphic violence that permeates the whole experience like a noxious odor? You're in luck! Our friends at VidAngel have heard your cries of anguish, and they have the perfect solution for you. [Please feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site at www.vidangel.com and see for yourself.] You simply sign up for their service and pick out a movie, then pay them $20 so you officially own the copy you want to watch. Once it's officially your copy, you can apply whatever filters you want, and they will block, excise, or disable the offensive portions, so you can enjoy the movie in good conscience on your own terms. The best part is that when you're finished, you sell it back to them for $19, so the entire transaction costs you only $1.00 to see the movie you want, the way you want to see it. In any case, ya gotta love their slogan, which is "Watch Movies However The Bleep You Want" - or should I say, "%%*&^@><##*&&!!" "Return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear ..." as they used to say in the old movie serials that the dinosaurs and I would enjoy at the magic lantern cave (obviously there was no such thing as a drive-in then, since Thak hadn't invented the wheel yet) on the great unformed land masses in the primordial ooze. Sometimes you don't know where you're going to be accosted with a blast from the past, and often in the most unexpected ways. I was at my temporary job at the real estate office when the eager young maintenance fellow came bounding into the office, breathless with the announcement that he had spotted a praying mantis in the bushes. This came as astonishing news to me, since I haven't actually clapped eyes on one personally in probably 25 years or thereabouts, and the dinosaurs even more so, I shouldn't wonder. But then I recollected myself and considered the source: our young Greg is a strapping youth, tall and limber with boundless energy - but all of about 20 years old, who believes in UFO's, has a survival plan for the zombie apocalypse, and has never heard of John F. Kennedy or Simon & Garfunkel. What are the odds, I found myself wondering, that he would have any idea what a real praying mantis actually looked like? I was just about to tell him that it was probably a cricket, although I hated to spoil his day, but I needn't have worried. The irrepressible Greg is a product of modern times, and leaving nothing to chance, of course he snapped a picture of this exotic visitor on his phone - which in fact turned out to be exactly what he claimed it was, a full-grown praying mantis on the fence next to the parkway right-of-way. Evolutionists may scoff, but I know that praying mantises (manti?) can't just magically appear individually out of nowhere, so that means there must be at least 2 of them out there somewhere, doing their part to keep the breed alive, and I don't mind saying, doing a heck of a job at it by all appearances. So that was our trip down Memory Lane for this week, and glad to see proof of what I could only have imagined to be a long-extinct relic from those halcyon days of yore, relegated to the scrap heap of history, like quill pens, mimeograph machines, Beta Max, and Microsoft Bob. (Oh, hit that easy target!) Now, Greg is an enthusiastic lad, and will no doubt keep his eyes peeled for more of the elusive creatures, and if he finds the second half of the pair, I'm thinking of calling them "Simon" and "Garfunkel." Or as the dinosaurs and I used to say back in the magic lantern cave, "Hello darkness, my old friend." And speaking of the young whipper-snappers of today ("Get off my lawn!") alert readers on social media may have felt emotionally hamstrung over the years on FaceBook - where your choices when responding to posts from friends and strangers alike was either to ignore it, or click on LIKE, either of which option might seem particularly inappropriate when you wanted to show empathy for someone who may have suffered a tragedy, and frankly, even when you agreed with a post, sometimes LIKE was simply not the impression you wanted to convey. What to do, oh, what to do? [Please insert pathetic cartoon character with elaborate hand-wringing and gnashing of teeth here.] Ta da - modern technology to the rescue! The nerd network behind FaceBook met this challenge with the steely resolve that is their trademark, and presented a clamoring public with a whole new range of custom pictographs (known as "emojis" in whipper-snapper-speak, they tell me, and which seems to be borne out by the howls of derisive laughter from our old friends the dinosaurs in The Peanut Gallery) to cover every eventuality in just the right way. Now, besides the ubiquitous LIKE, you also have your choice of LOVE, HAHA, WOW, SAD, or ANGRY right at your very fingertips, as befits any situation that may come your way, so hand-wringing and teeth-gnashing can be a thing of the past. Sort of like the praying mantises, or in the immortal words of Simon & Garfunkel, "Like a bridge over troubled waters, @@*&^%$~//*##!!" Elle