All Washed Up

Hello World, Happy Autumn! For all of us residents of the Northern Hemisphere, we observed the Autumnal Equinox on Thursday, where just like its vernal counterpart in March, the daylight and night time hours are exactly the same length. I would say that "it's all downhill from here," but in actuality, the days have already been getting incrementally shorter all along, since the Summer Solstice in June, which marks the longest day (in terms of daylight hours) of the year. Around here, the summer has resolutely refused to loosen its grip, with temperatures hovering around 90 degrees on many days, practically all the way through the entire month of September, and wilting humidity on top of it all, thanks not. If it keeps up like this, I expect the big Halloween costumes this year to be the cast from "Baywatch," with skimpy swimsuits and flip-flops, and neighbors throwing ice water on the trick-or-treaters, the way they do at marathons. Suntan lotion, anyone? In other seasonal news (or perhaps this is a season whose time has not yet come, and frankly, may never come, I dare say) I'm sure that alert readers may have noticed, but were too polite to cast aspersions, on one of my previous notes from a couple of weeks ago. Our crack research staff went to great lengths to describe how The Flag Brigade staunchly flies the colors, weather permitting, for Memorial Day, Flag Day, July 4th, and Labor Day during the warmer months, before retiring them back to their regular posts indoors for the remainder of the year. This seemed rudimentary enough to explain, but - alas and alack! - the scourge of modern technology stepped in at precisely the wrong moment, and made a hash out of the business, entirely on its own initiative. What started out originally as that great American holiday, Independence Day (obviously mis-spelled slightly, but not egregiously so) ended up in the final version as the completely fictitious "Impendence Day," and I don't mind saying, thank you so very much not, auto-correct. Webster's College Dictionary defines "impendence" as: something that is imminent, about to happen, or near at hand, and I have no quarrel with their interpretation in any way. Personally, I blame the Microsoft spell-checker in Notepad for misconstruing my typing error of "Inpendence Day," and blithely substituting the comically ridiculous "Impendence Day" in the place of what clearly should have been "Independence Day" instead. So a great big fat virtual raspberry to the inept minions behind the MSN auto-correct feature (and a failing grade to our crack research staff on their faulty proof-reading) for making me the laughingstock of cyberspace, even more than usual, and no way to blame this on the usual culprits of Comrade Mischka, the evil spirit of Affirmed, or our old friends the dinosaurs, try as I might. Frankly, if this is the best they can do with artificial intelligence after all this time, I'm not as worried about robots taking over the world as I used to be, and that goes double for HAL and Daisy on a bicycle built for two in 2001. On the local scene, for anyone who may have wondered - and well may they wonder, indeed - whatever happened with the other couple that we were trying to meet for dinner last month, and instead went to two different Italian restaurants on the same street, here's an update. Not leaving anything to chance, the four of us put our heads together to come up with another date in our busy schedules, and then they invited us over to their house, rather than trying to meet up somewhere out there in the big, bad world, where anything can happen, let's face it. This time we had no trouble getting all four of us together in the same place at the same time, and our hosts greeted us warmly with steaming plates piled high with lasagna and garlic bread, which we happily devoured, and not by half-measures, believe me. There were also ice cream sundaes for dessert, and we made short work of those as well - and even better yet still, they sent us home loaded down with left-overs, so we had even more to enjoy at another time. We were glad for the chance to right a wrong from our busted dinner date in August, and this certainly worked a whole lot better now than it did back then, and you can believe me when I say that a good time was had by all, including their resident feline, her majesty Princess Ella, her own royal self. Although it must be said that it doesn't make nearly as good a story in retrospect, as the slapstick classic mistaken identity restaurant mix-up, which we are still laughing about to this day. In an interesting coincidence, I was looking through some miscellaneous papers in the den last week (old bills, junk mail, copies of church reports, catalogs and the like) when I stumbled across a menu from Carlo's restaurant, which they had carefully mailed to us last year (actually, it was addressed to RESIDENT, but we kept it anyway) and ended up in this loose pile of effluvium heaped on the far corner of the desk. It's only funny now because Carlo's was the Italian restaurant where our friends showed up on the ill-fated dinner date in August, while we were up the block at La Villa Brick Oven Pizzeria instead, and I had been saying all along that Carlo's was a place that I had never heard of, and had no idea that it was even there to start with. So obviously, their going to all the trouble to send us a menu did not have the impact that they might have been hoping for (and that's putting it mildly) and finding it now added just one more absurdist element to an anecdote that was already pretty darned absurd as it was, and I ought to know. And speaking of absurd things, I would be remiss if I didn't bring up this last tidbit, that would make even the least discerning among us shake our heads and wonder. It all began innocently enough, as these things so often do, when I needed to take in the ruby red rocket, Captain Scarlett, for its annual inspection, or know the reason why. For decades, Bill and I had all of our automotive needs serviced at the same small neighborhood place, by our exceptional mechanic extraordinaire, until he retired (and well-deserved, I might add) after years of faithful, yeoman service at all hours of the day and night, and in weather that would make a Russian trawler pilot blanch at the prospect. At that point, his son took over the business and tried his best to make a go of it, until he finally threw in the towel and gave it up as a lost cause. The station was taken over by Tariq, who our mechanic's son assured us was highly qualified and reputable, so we had nothing to worry about on that score. Previously the business was not certified for car inspections, and our mechanic would send us around the corner to his cousins for that (which I don't mind saying, was more of a hit-or-miss proposition than we would have preferred) but the new ownership had other ideas. In order to be approved for inspections, it was necessary to increase the square footage, and they accomplished this by removing a few walls in the office, which heretofore had hidden some of the more unsightly aspects of the operation from the general public in the waiting area. Now that everything was wide open to view, there was no disguising the bathroom in plain sight - and which, in fact, you can now see directly from the street in front of the place, like it or not, which I might not consider an improvement over the previous arrangement, to be honest. My favorite part was the big sign right next to the bathroom door, which announced in blaring type for all the world to see - ================ EMPLOYEES MUST WASH HANDS ================ And here I'm thinking, heck, the employees would be coming out of the bathroom and going into the shop full of grease, grime, muck, and grit, so you would think the very last thing anybody would care about was whether they washed their hands or not. In fact, it would make more sense to ask them to wash their hands BEFORE going into the bathroom, rather than after they came back out again, as far as I can tell. Then again, we all know that cleanliness is a virtue, and virtue is its own reward, so I won't quibble with their dogged pursuit of good hygiene practices. I think it was Nathan Hale who once famously said, "I regret that I have but two clean hands to give for my country," and let's face it, without him and the rest of the Founding Fathers, we wouldn't even have Impendence Day in the first place, by George. Elle

Ticket To Ride

Hello World, All aboard! I can't say (or sing) along with Casey Jones that "I've been working on the railroad, all the live-long day," but I'll be happy to regale everyone with tales of our recent excursion on land and sea, and with a fee-fie-fiddle-ee-i-oh to boot. Locally famous, at least in The Nutmeg State, is the Essex Steam Train and Riverboat (and please do feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site @ www.essexsteamtrain.com and see for yourself) where they've been doing this for 45 years already, so you have to figure they should pretty much have all the kinks worked out by now. And so it was with no trepidation at all that Bill and I decided to take the plunge, as it were (hopefully not literally) and see what all the fuss is about. We all know that not every spectacle lives up to its billing, and while we were not prepared to wholeheartedly embrace the hyperbole sight unseen, we approached the prospect with high hopes and a full head of steam. Whoo-whoo! Alert readers may recall our Connecticut friends, with whom we have historically enjoyed the Round Hill Highland Games at scenic Cranbury Park in Norwalk, lo these many years. We were planning to change things up this year, and attend the Irish Fest at Fairfield University over the Father's Day weekend in June, but their schedule fell apart at the last minute, and had to cancel. We only see them once a year, so I asked them to give us a date when we could climb on board this famous tourist attraction, and they were very obliging about it. So last weekend, there we all were in lovely Essex, with plenty of time to poke around the vintage railroad cars and take pictures at the train station, plus see the other sights - including a building full of model train layouts, displays, and all manner of train paraphernalia for enthusiasts and novices alike. It would be all to easy to get lost in all there is to see and do there, but fortunately, they make an announcement over the PA system when your ride pulls into the station - and it goes without saying, right on the dot, because this is a railroad, after all. Back through the mists of time, this was an actual passenger railroad, up until railroads everywhere fell on hard times, and then it continued offering freight service for many years after that, before finally shutting down for good in the 1960s. Determined volunteers banded together, refurbished a short section (about 4 miles) of track, lovingly restored some old passenger cars - and to top it all off, capped it with a genuine steam locomotive, for a tourist experience that is well worth the name. "But," as they say on TV, "that's not all!" Not resting on their laurels, the nice folks at the Essex Steam Train have partnered with the equally popular Becky Thatcher Riverboat, to create a unique adventure that has "not-to-be-missed" written all over it. We had been thinking of checking it out for years, and missing out on the Irish Fest gave us all the incentive we needed to make it right now, instead of putting it off any longer. So when the train puffed in at 12:30, we jumped right on board, and plumped down in the plush swivel chairs in First Class like the high society elite from a bygone era. (Our friends had previously warned us that when you sit in the Open Car at the front, you risk a shower of cinders from the actual steam engine, which tends to make the whole journey a lot more incendiary to hair and clothing than we were prepared to undertake.) The train proceeds to go north(ish) from Essex to Deep River and then Chester at a very leisurely pace, to the inconvenience of motorists at the several grade crossings along the way - but they are uniformly gracious about it, and wave one and all in a convivial manner as the train passes by. Admittedly there is not much to see in this particular area, but they also serve drinks, and provide a running commentary about the history of the railroad, which makes a pleasant counterpoint to the backdrop of trees and creeks outside the windows. After reaching Chester, the train backs up and goes back to Deep River Landing, where the Becky Thatcher Riverboat is waiting patiently for us to embark, which we did with alacrity, I can tell you that. It's true that the riverboat is not an authentic paddlewheel steamboat from days gone by, or even a reproduction of one (in fact, it has no paddlewheel at all, and looks remarkably like a ferry) but it is comfortable and decorative, with a very smooth ride. It plies the waters of the Connecticut River, and here again, the expert commentary explains that it was the river that named the state, and not the other way around. (They also take pains to point out, rather undiplomatically, how Deep River is a colossal misnomer, since the river bottom is barely 15 feet down in most places.) The boat chugs its way upriver from Deep River Landing through Hadlyme to East Haddam, before turning around at the historic Goodspeed Opera House, which can be plainly seen from the open air top deck. The unspoiled river is the main attraction here, since there is little to see along the shore, besides a handful of yacht clubs here and there, and of course, the legendary Gillette Castle, home of noted eccentric William Gillette, who was also a celebrated actor, best known for his signature portrayal of Sherlock Holmes on the silent screen. Naturally there is a snack bar to entice the passengers, and I can't fail to mention that just like on land, the surrounding armada of pleasure boats, canoes, and kayaks are filled with jovial folks who are eager to wave and smile as the Becky Thatcher churns on past. Especially in good weather, this is a fun and relaxing trip, perfect for the whole family of youngsters and oldsters alike. Meanwhile, back at Deep River Landing, the steam train is all set for us to take our seats once again, as it brings us back to Essex train station where we started, just about 2-1/2 hours later. (The train also offers a wide range of other activities for all interests, such as gourmet dinner and luncheon trips, fall foliage tours, wine tastings, picnics at Gillette Castle State Park, Santa Special and North Pole Express, Caboose Weekends, even weddings.) Once we were off the timetable, and no longer watching the clock, we took the chance to browse their charming gift shop, and did not come away empty-handed, believe me. There's also a quaint cafe in an old train car in the rail yard, and the station itself is plastered with posters for silent movies and obsolete advertisements - which serve as the perfect accompaniment to the Tin Pan Alley tunes that continually play from speakers inside and out. Left to our own devices, one wag in our group (who shall remain nameless, and for once, did not look suspiciously like me) suggested that we pose in front of a picturesque caboose, facing away from the camera to show our [ahem] "cabooses" - a concept that so tickled a railroad employee that she insisted on taking the picture for us. (She claimed that nobody had ever happened upon this idea before, in all the years that she had worked there, and she couldn't stop laughing.) Since it was still early, we left the train station behind, and set out for the hamlet of Essex itself, where the waterfront area is historic, scenic, interesting, and engaging all at the same time and on every side. There are many small shops selling one-of-a-kind creations, antiques, collectibles, jewelry, toys, and souvenirs of every description, and a person could easily spend a day just going from one to another. We opted instead for an ice cream break, and Sweet P's really hit the spot, I can tell you that. We killed some more time browsing until it was time for, yes, dinner at Denny's, this time in Westbrook, and even though we had been to Denny's the two previous weekends as well, you can believe me when I say that our meal did not disappoint, and I ought to know. So for anyone who has wondered if this little "surf-and-turf" escapade is worth the time and money, please accept my unsolicited testimonial as a guide, and act accordingly. Tell them Casey Jones sent you. Elle

Playing The Field

Hello World, Happy September! Alas, there is no turning back now, and we realize that the stalwart Flag Brigade has put out the flags for the last time of the year on Monday for Labor Day, marking the unofficial star-spangled end to the summer season around here, as we pack away the flags for the winter. (Actually, Old Glory - what so proudly we hailed - stays up year-round in the library and sun porch, but only braves the outdoor conditions for Memorial Day, Flag Day, Independence Day, and Labor Day when the weather is accommodating.) Speaking of weather, it's not just your imagination that the intractable heat has seemed worse than usual, and we're all pretty darned sick and tired of it, I don't mind saying. I read a story in the news recently that corroborated what we've all been thinking, and it's not just right around here, either. Cities as varied as Cleveland, Detroit, Las Vegas, and New Orleans sweltered through their hottest summers in history, while all across the country, the months of June-July-August set records for the highest overnight temperatures, since they started keeping records in the 1800's, and I can tell you that it certainly felt like it. Meteorologists explained that it was the persistent high humidity responsible for that, since "temperatures don't drop as much at night when the atmosphere is humid," according to NOAA, and thanks ever so much not. After a mild winter, we're well on our way to the 3rd warmest year ever, with only 3 months left to buck that trend before the end of the year puts it in the books for good. Here I can't help but think that somewhere in The Great Beyond, the fellow who invented the snow plow lost a bet to the guy who invented the air conditioner, and once again, thanks not. On a positive note, we took advantage of the balmy conditions to visit our friends upstate for a pool party over the Labor Day weekend, and it was all that we could have hoped, and then some. We left early Saturday morning, and the traffic was no problem at all, arriving at our destination just about lunchtime, and none the worse for wear - especially considering that the air conditioning in the Aveo doesn't work, and it could have been a lot worse, I dare say. We dropped off our belongings in a hurry, turned right around, and headed out for lunch - this time at the nearby Capital City Diner, where we had never been before. Our waitress was a bit on the gruff side, but even she couldn't put a chill in my fried ravioli, which was excellent, and enough of a rarity in our travels that I am prepared to forgive a multitude of shortcomings on its behalf. Thus fortified, we were all set for a long afternoon of splashing in their exquisite pool, letting the cares of the day fade away, and having the oppressive heat work in our favor for a change. Not so fast! It turns out that our arrival in the area coincided with the Capital District Scottish Games on Saturday and Sunday, and even though we had just been to the Long Island version of the games the previous weekend, by golly, there's no such thing as too much bagpipe music or caber tossing for the likes of us, so off we went. We found them still going strong in their 39th year at the spacious Altamont Fairgrounds, and if the sea of vehicles in the open fields was any indication, certainly popular and well-attended besides. And just like last weekend, more highland dancing! More heavy-weight sports!! Over 20 bagpipe bands!!! Not to mention, tents upon tents full of Scottish food, clothing, knick-knacks, and books - plus more Celtic jewelry and clan paraphernalia than you could shake a proverbial stick at, and I ought to know. And yes, there was a bouncy castle and plenty of activities for the kiddies. And yes, there was also dog agility, birds of prey, jousting, livestock, and the ubiquitous clan tents. There were 4 stages with performances by contemporary artists such as Diamh, The Ceilidh, Colin Grant-Adams, The Brigadoons, Aaron Drescher, and the McKrells, which we personally had never heard of, but I'm sure they're popular in their own right. Unlike other events that we've been to, Altamont Fairgrounds is eager to offer campsites to its visitors, with very reasonable rates for tents, as well as electric and water hook-ups for trailers. For us, it was all very different and interesting, and we were glad for the chance to work it into our trip, as unexpected as it might have been. And let's face it, having my picture taken as a cow was just the icing on the cake (or kidney pie), as it were. By late afternoon, the heat at the fairgrounds was more than we could stand, and recalling the cool and refreshing allure of the pool, we flew back over there and jumped right in, just barely stopping long enough to change into our swimsuits first. You can believe me when I say that it was its own little slice of heaven on earth, and we lapped it up like desperate dehydrated castaways, until we got wrinkled and turned blue. Having spent most of the day on the move, we elected to stay at home for dinner, with some locally renowned pizza from Paesano's, and it really hit the spot, especially their yummy garlic knots. (Our friends have now been living 200 miles away from The Big Apple long enough that it seems perfectly normal to them to enjoy this urban staple not only with pineapple and catsup, but knife and fork besides, which would be considered a sacrilege in the five boroughs, I can tell you that.) We wrapped up the evening with a movie on their big screen TV, and then toddled off to bed in their guest room with their 2 friendly cats, although if their intent was to keep us awake, they failed miserably with me, that's for sure. In the morning, instead of driving into town to pick up bakery items, we decided to bake our own, and the folks at Krusteaz Cinnamon Swirl Crumb Cake did not disappoint, believe me. After breakfast, we thought we would give the local economy a boost, so we set out to do some shopping - although inasmuch as we went to the local Goodwill and 99c store, I doubt if our (meager) contributions to retail sales were exactly what the Governor's economic advisers might have hoped for, I dare say. Supporting local merchants can be exhausting, so it wasn't long before we were back at the pool, and glad of it, I can assure you. Having friends with a beautiful pool is a luxury that cannot be over-emphasized, and we were lucky to have such fine weather so that we could enjoy it to the hilt - or perhaps that should be kilt, under the circumstances. But all too soon it was time to hit the road for home, so we rounded up the Sherpas to get us all packed up and ready to go. Of course, Denny's on the way home was a particular delight of our travels as usual, and having Monday off was just the proverbial cherry on top of a perfect weekend. I see now that I have a multiplicity of frantic messages from the Governor's office, asking us to go out and do more shopping, but unfortunately, I realize that I left my sporran at the pool. Elle

Oh, What A Night

Hello World, Happy Labor Day weekend! I can see by the unquiet spirit of the late and lamented Samuel L. Gompers, that we have reached the unofficial end of summer, and the copious sales circulars arriving daily stand in silent reproach to his ideals of the original Labor Day, especially in the retail sector, where the down-trodden rank-and-file seem to be working more days and longer hours than ever. It's true that back-to-school is in full swing, and the bulk of those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer are behind us already, but the weather is still lovely, and hopefully there's still a bit more fun left to be wrung out of the season before we hang it up for good. So take a tip from that old show tune, and remember "... before the parade passes by ..." get in your last licks while you still can, and drain the cup of summer goodness right down to the very last dregs, with all the food, folks, and fun that you can possibly muster. Samuel L. Gompers would be so proud. Speaking of fun and games (or not) if this is pre-season football, can the Snoopy Bowl be far behind? I think not! The New York metropolitan area teams squared off at MetLife Stadium in the wilds of East Rutherford, New Jersey, last week, with the Giants besting the rival Jets by a single point - in spite of the fact that the senior franchise spent almost the entire game trapped in their own territory. Of course the games don't count yet (except for bragging rights) and the 21-20 outcome, far from being a nail-biter, could not disguise the sloppy offensive play and haphazard defense that marred the contest throughout. I think even their legions of die-hard fans would agree that Big Blue at 2-2 and Gang Green at an even worse 1-3 is no way to limp into the regular season, and woefully far from sending a message to the rest of the league that either team is ready to charge into contention and play with the big boys. Sometimes you can't help but wonder if playing in a swamp isn't more of a metaphor than the owners would like us to believe, I dare say. Also on the subject of fun and games, we took advantage of the beautiful weather to attend the 56th Long Island Scottish Festival and Highland Games at the spectacular Old Westbury Gardens, and please do feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site at www.liscots.org and see for yourself. We met my sister there, and how she managed to pick us out of a mob scene of literally thousands of visitors, vendors, musicians, dancers, athletes, staff, and local dignitaries - covering an area of about 200 acres amid a forest of tents, booths, rides, and food trucks - is a mystery to me, I'm sure. We had been to the event a couple of times before: once when the threat of Hurricane Irene kept everyone away in droves, and again when triple-digit temperatures (even in the shade) made us worry that we would just die from the heat right on the spot. This time, although it was hot, it wasn't unbearable, and we were totally unprepared for the crowds that greeted us on the property, a surging sea of humanity that would resemble DisneyWorld - that is, if they were to throw open their gates and give everything away for free. Besides the usual bagpipe bands, folk dancing, and Scottish game competitions, there were exhibits of jousting, kilt making, dog agility, birds of prey, battle re-enactments, antique automobiles, classical music, juggling, and story-telling, as well as a bouncy castle, giant slides, and other activities for the wee ones to round things out. Our old friends Mac Talla M'or, the Celtic fusion band, did two shows on the main stage, and although they are now a mere shell of their former selves, their rollicking electric version of "Scotland the Brave" is not to be missed, believe me. We were able to dodge the throngs at the food court because my sister somehow packed an ethnic-themed picnic onto her bicycle, so we enjoyed scones with toppings and other tasty tidbits in the shade, with the Cameron Scottish Music Ensemble for accompaniment. We wrapped it all up with dinner at Denny's, which may not be exactly ethnically appropriate under the circumstances, but since their honorary Grand Marshall was someone called Dr. Lawrence Blumenkrantz, frankly, I admit that I have some doubts about the cultural integrity of the whole situation anyway. Meanwhile on the local scene, after about 6 months of trying to come up with a date that would work for all four of us (it's a shame how working full-time cuts into your social life, alas) we finally came up with a time to meet our friends at La Villa Brick Oven Pizzeria, which recently opened up for business in the place of an old Chinese restaurant on Route 1. We thought the hard part was behind us, after setting a date at long last, and looked forward to a nice evening out with our peers and contemporaries, who at least understand what we mean when we talk about Captain Kangaroo, S&H green stamps, 8-track tapes, and The Great Garloo. I guess anyone could see the storm clouds gathering on the horizon of this scenario, and need I say, "Not so fast!" In a very new and unwelcome wrinkle in the age-old tradition of meeting friends for dinner, what actually happened was that the couples ended up going to 2 different restaurants, and never meeting up at all, believe it or not. This comedy of errors was helped along by the fact that there were (unbeknownst to us) two Italian restaurants on the same side of Route 1, probably within about a quarter mile of each other, and we went to one, while they went to the other - and never the twain shall meet, as Rudyard Kipling once famously observed. Compounding this fiasco, our friends didn't have Bill's cell phone number, while I left mine at home, and as for our counterparts, we only had his work number, and she had her phone turned off, thanks not. (If nothing else, it served as potent proof that old people shouldn't date, because you can only imagine a pair of baby boomers connecting on one of those Singles Over-50 dating sites, and after setting up a blind date, he's busy pacing at one place, while she's nervously waiting at another; besides which he's forgotten to give her his number, but she left her phone home anyway.) Back at our restaurant, Bill drove back and forth to home twice, once to pick up my phone, and once to listen to the answering machine, so at least we knew they had tried to call us - and in fact, let us know they were waiting at the restaurant (but not which one) and gave us her cell number, although she had neglected to turn it on. For our part, we both left numerous messages on her phone, and at their house, but in spite of the wonders of modern technology, we could find no other way to contact them. Now remember that we had retrieved messages from them, so we knew they were waiting for us somewhere, but on their side, they had absolutely no idea what to think, since they couldn't reach us and didn't get our messages. So at their eatery, the sympathetic waiters commiserated with our friends for being stood up, bemoaning the lack of manners and consideration in these uncivil times. I said later that it was even worse where we were, because the indulgent staff assumed that we were so unpopular that nobody would go out with us, so we just made up these "imaginary friends" that we pretended were going to have dinner with us, but didn't actually exist in the real world. In the end, both sides decided independently to go ahead and eat anyway, since we had been lounging around each place tying up tables at great length, and at least on our side, I will say that we had an excellent meal that almost made up for the whole confounded snafu. Anyone who knows us can tell you that we're not easily daunted, and we are planning to try this again, but whenever and wherever we decide to go, you can bet that we'll be taking one car, and leaving Rudyard Kipling at home, that's for sure. Elle