On The Nose

Hello World, HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! We've now gotten just about as far as we can go to the end of 2016, and there's no point in circulating a petition to have the year lengthened, because I'm sure that nobody would be on board with that idea at this point, heaven knows. The way things turned out, 2016 was certainly a wild and woolly one for the books, so to speak, and I have the feeling that just about everybody will be glad to see the tail-end of it, and sooner rather than later, I dare say. It's possible in retrospect that historians will look back on it with interest as a pivotal year for one reason or another, but right now, I doubt that anyone will be starting its fan club, or sending it off with expensive gifts and a lavish retirement party. The dewy-fresh 2017 waiting in the wings already has several advantages before it even gets here - notably that it is NOT 2016, and virtually can't help but be better than its woeful predecessor, without hardly even trying. This is what the dinosaurs and I call "setting the bar really low," and personally I have to say, I'm all for it. In fairness, 2016 had a chance to redeem itself with the Christmas and Hanukkah celebrations tumbling in together just about at the very last moment, and hopefully everyone enjoyed themselves with whatever Kris Kringle or Father Hanukkah brought them as part of the holiday cheer, as it were. (For the godless communists and KGB agents monitoring my email - whose name is legion, as we all know - and who understand nothing about American cultural norms, I should point out that there is no such thing as Father Hanukkah, although let's face it, there certainly should be.) Starting in early, and weeks before Christmas, but still in the spirit of the season (and perhaps vast quantities of other sorts of spirits, if you catch my drift) I was driving home from work one day when I spotted an oncoming car, not only with large brown reindeer antlers coming out both of the side windows, but also a big puffy red nose on the front of the grille, and I thought it was just too funny. I chalked that up to a bit of over-enthusiasm on the part of the vehicle owner, but not so! As time went on, I saw more and more of them on the roads, at all different times and places, so it was obviously the Christmas decoration du jour, and a jovial bit of ho-ho-happy motoring along the highways and byways of our hectic days, by holly. Top that, Father Hanukkah! Speaking of reindeer paws and Santa Claus, we had a very holly jolly time of things at the log cabin, with plenty of egg nog, sugar plums, candy canes, and gingerbread to go around, and not a Grinch or a Scrooge in sight, by jingle. It all began when they decided at church to maintain our tradition of Christmas Eve candlelight worship service, including special music with soloists and choir on Saturday night, but forgo a Christmas Day service on Sunday - on the probably correct assumption that parishioners would likely show up for Christmas Eve as always, but stay home on Christmas morning with their families instead of going to church. So with church out of the way, we were able to get a nice early start on our journey over the river and through the woods, and since my sister from Long Island had already taken the bus north on Saturday, we didn't even have to stop along the way and pick her up either. We were surprised at the lack of traffic, and arrived at our destination just in time for home-made tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch, which really hit the spot, I don't mind saying. The tree and all the trimmings were just lovely, especially the yuletide plates, centerpiece, and napkins trotted out for the occasion - and the extra special holly jolly napkin rings with jingle bells certainly gave the table a festive tone (get it?!) like nothing else could do. Saturday in the wilderness was a beautiful day, so after lunch it didn't take long for us to hit on the idea of hiking around the nearby Ashokan Reservoir, and enjoy the gifts of nature that the great outdoors might kindly bestow upon us. Not so fast! Apparently we weren't the only people with this idea, and when we got there, the place was so mobbed that there wasn't any room left in the parking lot. (Now we know how Joseph and Mary felt when they got to Bethlehem, haha!) Even worse, we found out part-way into our walk that the DEP had closed off sections of the route for some sort of forest reclamation project, and we couldn't walk the entire way around, like we normally would. This cut out one of our favorite parts of the trip, which is the eagle nest, so it was very disappointing - but even without the eagles, there was a noticeable lack of deer, ducks, squirrels, and other wildlife that would ordinarily keep us company, and that might have been due to the unusual crowds. From a truncated excursion at the reservoir, we high-tailed it over to our hotel so we could check in and turn up the heat in our room (we already learned that lesson at Thanksgiving) before heading back to the cabin for more holiday cheer. And speaking of holiday cheer, anyone "of a certain age" can tell you that we grew up watching the famous Yule Log on old black & white television sets, with its corny 15-second loop of flames and canned Christmas music in the background, that somehow improbably turned itself into a beloved holiday tradition in households everywhere, possibly around the globe, and into outer space itself, I shouldn't wonder. To those people who believe that the modern world is incapable of improving on the original, I can confidently state that is not the case, and not by a long shot. Cable subscribers may be aware that The Hallmark Channel has created their very own yule log programming, complete a wonderfully blazing fireplace festooned with elaborate decorations, a lovely evergreen adorned with beautiful ornaments - and to top it all off, an adorable collection of cats and dogs, puppies and kittens, each one cuter than the last, and all romping around like a bunch of North Pole elves after Santa's sleigh has left the workshop. Even better, it has a great selection of music playing in the background, so you can leave it on all day, when you're not even watching it, and it provides its own continuous entertainment that you don't have to touch once. Admittedly for cat people, it's a little hard to stop watching it once the kittens really get going, but I'm still happy to highly recommend it, or in the (sort of) immortal words of Clement Moore, "not a creature was stirring, not even a (catnip) mouse." Of course there was wonderful food for dinner, there always is, and even more wonderful desserts, it goes without saying, and by the time we got back to our hotel, we were bloated with so much joy, cheer, peace, and goodwill, it's a wonder that we could fit into the room at all. We were back bright and early in the morning for pancakes, cinnamon buns, date nut bread (YUM!) and all the left-over dessert that anyone could possibly want, and it must be said that we attacked it all with gusto, and I ought to know. Monday was sort of a changeable day, and did not entice us outdoors, so it was a good thing we went to the reservoir when we did, rather than waiting for the next day. We found plenty to occupy ourselves, but did have to keep an eye on the clock, since we were bringing my sister back with us, and had to make sure we stayed on schedule to meet her bus at the station in New Rochelle. By the time we packed up and hit the trail, it was starting to sprinkle, and we dashed out of there southward as fast as we could, hoping that if the raindrops turned into snowflakes, we would leave them behind us to the north, and drive into better weather right out from under its (big puffy red) nose on the way down. They were happy to see us at Denny's in Newburgh, and vice versa, because let's face it, there are some things in life that you just can't get too much of. We were surprised once again at the lack of traffic on the way home, and arrived back in town so early that we had plenty of time to kill before my sister's bus, especially since it came 45 minutes late anyway, thanks not. The cats had all died of starvation in our absence, or so they claimed, but oddly enough, they still managed to be finicky about their dinner choices, so we found it hard to lend any credence to their complaints. Apart from that, there were no complaints all around, and we declared the ho-ho-holiday a rousing success on all counts, with an extra helping of oh by gosh, by golly. Say, who let Father Hanukkah in here? Elle

Cookie Swap

Hello World, HO HO HO! MERRY CHRISTMAS!!! We find ourselves perched on the very precipice of the North Pole's gift to the world, and staring down both barrels of Father Christmas working his proverbial magic on Saturday night, to awaken the believers to untold joys on Sunday morning. The retail experts in their ivory towers will tell you that there is technically still one shopping day left before the 25th, but I've got some bad news for those clowns. Bill and I went to the supermarket on Friday, which was not even Christmas Eve, and the place was an absolute madhouse, you couldn't take 2 steps anywhere in the joint. It looked like one of those soccer riots at the World Cup, except with shopping carts, which was no improvement over your standard riot accessories, believe me. Personally, my advice for anyone on Saturday is to stay hunkered down indoors, make no attempt to leave the house, for any reason, and let the epidemic lunacy carry all before it without you. I have the feeling that even jolly old St. Nicholas himself would utter a great big "Bah Humbug" at the idea of braving the malls on the 24th, and I dare say that even grizzled veterans of soccer riots would blanch at the prospect as well. In fact, about the only person I can think of who would welcome the histrionic gyrations of conspicuous consumption would be Donald Trump - after all, wasn't his campaign slogan "Make America Gyrate Again?" Of all the joys of the season, I have to say that nothing smells like Christmas trees in the living room, heaven knows, and its sentimental familiarity makes it no less welcome for all that. It always makes me wish that we could keep one up all year round, and revel in its heady fragrance from the bitterest blasts of winter to the torrid swelter of summer, and its sparkle of twinkling lights even more so, by jingle. Of course, our cats are now all seasoned campaigners from yuletides past, and having an evergreen in the living room is not enough to even raise a curious eyebrow from them at this point - and I have the pictures of bored indifference to prove it. But for the rest of us, the tree is a source of endless wonder, and I could just eat it up like a chocolate-covered candy cane. (Now, why has nobody come up with THAT idea before this???) Speaking of holiday food, last week in honor of Hanukkah, I mentioned hamantaschen, the well-known Jewish dessert, that was merely acting as a feeble stand-in for what I was really looking for, which was the legendary pogatch of yore. For years, the Purchasing Director at the hospital took great pains to make this family favorite for all of us, and we did our best to say nice things about it, but it was tough sledding, and that's putting it mildly. In fact, I'm pretty sure that pogatch is a Yiddish word that means "hockey puck," and it certainly lives up to its name, and not in half-measures, but to an epic degree. I realize that it's no fault of the pogatch itself, because that's how it's made, and no amount of trying to turn it into some light and fluffy confection can change the fact that it's simply a heavy and dense thick disc, more reminiscent of a rudimentary weapon than a cookie, no matter how you slice it. Without the Purchasing Director to back me up, I've never met anyone else who's ever heard of the darned thing, much less tasted one, and the only item you can find on the Internet called pogatch is shaped like a crescent roll, and filled with raisins and nuts, certainly not what I remember from the old days at The Employer of Last Resort. So that's a Hanukkah mystery that may never be solved, living on only tenuously in my memory, and we all know how unreliable that can be, oy vey. Like many other people, I'm sure, over the years I have managed to amass quite a collection of Christmas music - starting with my mother's beloved 45's of the Vienna Boys Choir, then vinyl albums from the likes of Andy Williams and Robert Goulet, and on to tape cassettes by The Chipmunks or Bobby Sherman, and finally now CDs with anyone and everyone who's ever recorded a single snowflake, sugar plum, or stocking hung by the chimney with care. It occurred to me that we all know so many Christmas carols, it's positively amazing when you think about it, really - everything from Away in a Manger all the way to Wenceslas, that good old King, and back again - with stops for Jingle Bells and Silent Night along the way, I shouldn't wonder. That's why it was such a surprise to find the very seriously wrong words in a modern remake of O Little Town of Bethlehem (called "The Glory of Christmas") which the choir sang at Lessons & Carols the previous week. While the rest of humanity has long since been singing "where meek souls will receive Him still, the dear Christ enters in" for the past 200 years or so, this new version instead put forth this curious idea: "He makes souls well, receive Him still, the dear Christ enters in." What the frickety-frack is that supposed to mean??? It isn't even like they sacrificed meaning for the sake of rhyme, because it doesn't rhyme anyway, and it wasn't even because the original words were so outdated or confusing that modern people wouldn't understand them anymore. In fact, when it comes to confusing, these new ones were a whole lot worse, and that's not just a lot of herald angels while shepherds washed their socks by night, by heaven. Meanwhile on the local scene, alert readers concerned about my safety (and who wouldn't be, I ask you that) will be glad to hear that in the 2 weeks I've been working at the construction office, we've made significant headway in the tottering piles of papers and debris that greeted me on that fateful first day. Right now after a considerable amount of yeoman service, there are actually horizontal surfaces visible to the naked eye, without so much as a single object on top of them, in any way, shape, manner, form, or description. That credenza is looking far less like a place to scamper when gravity inevitably takes it relentless toll, and more like a useful piece of furniture for storing files, just like in the real world. It may not yet meet the rigorous standards of OSHA's nitpicking minions, but it's a lot better than the shark-infested waters of terror from my early days there, I can tell you that. At this rate, it won't be long before it starts to look like a regular office where ordinary people could actually do work, and not a house of horrors where you take your life in your hands just sitting at the plank propped up on top of two file cabinets that serves as a make-shift desk. Of course, everybody knows that I am a person who applauds improvements of all kinds, and this no different, so I'm looking forward to further developments with optimism and an open mind. But I am planning to find a space to store my pogatch, just in case. Elle

Snow Angels

Hello World, And so here we find ourselves already at the last Sunday in Advent, believe that or not, which seems to have crept up on us awfully quickly - and that's because Christmas is on a Sunday this time, pushing the 4th Sunday in Advent back a week to the 18th, which is the earliest it can possibly be in any given year. Even after the final Sunday in Advent, there's still one more shopping Saturday, the 24th, for those procrastinators and bargain-hunters out there waiting until the eleventh hour, before the juggernaut that is Christmas pulls into the station on the 25th at last. Speaking of late, that's what I would call Hanukkah this year, which begins at sunset on Saturday the 24th, right next to the jolly old elf himself in the red suit, in a spirit of ecumenical harmony that is rarely the case. As a movable feast (and here we have Dr. Joel Hoffman at The Huffington Post to thank for this clarification) "Hanukkah is the 25th day of the Jewish month of Kislev. The Jewish month of Kislev can currently start as early as November 3 or as late as December 2, which means that the first day of Hanukkah can come as early as November 28 or as late as December 27." Thank you, kind doctor, and I'm sure we're all looking forward to latkes and hamantaschen, along with our egg nog and candy canes, and plenty of holly jolly Hava Nagilla to round things out, by dreidel. Of course, if it's already this late in the yuletide season, alert readers may be wondering, and well may they wonder indeed, whatever became of Lessons & Carols at church, that beloved holiday tradition that warms the very cockles of our hearts, and brings joy to the cheerful and cheerless alike, by Kringle? It was served up, piping hot and fully loaded, last Sunday afternoon, and was a rousing success by all accounts. Since the church doesn't have a Music Director any longer, the entire program has been scaled down and simplified so that we can pull it off by ourselves without professional help, or the need for protracted and complicated rehearsals. For myself, I usually start early in the fall every year, and set my sights on some unsuspecting target in the congregation, who I then proceed to browbeat into singing a duet with me for the event, whether they want to or not, and mostly they are agreeable enough to cooperate. This time, I approached the minister of the Anglican congregation that worships in our building after we leave, since I already knew that he had a very strong singing voice, and I hoped that he would be too polite to refuse. In my (perhaps delusional state of) mind, I imagined that he might say something like, "Oh, I'd love to, I've always wanted a chance to sing 'O Holy Night'." Or, "I'd be happy to help you out, why don't you pick a hymn that you think would be good?" But he wasn't in my mind, obviously, because the very last thing I expected to hear him say was, "Certainly, I'll write a new song for us to do." This threw a kind of a monkey wrench into my plans for the occasion, since it took several weeks to beat this into shape on an a capella basis, then two different people to transcribe it into actual sheet music (including our resident music maven, Bill, who has the strength of ten because his heart is pure) which left us just enough practice time to get it down before the actual service, thank heaven. In the end, everything went off without a hitch, was well received by the enthusiastic audience, and followed by a wonderful pot luck meal that gave new meaning to the idea of warming the cockles of our hearts, believe me. In a classic Hollywood touch, when we left church afterward, there was a picturesque dusting of snow all over everything, making the neighborhood look just like a perfect Currier & Ives Christmas card from days gone by, fa la la la la la la la la. In other local news of a seasonal nature, we went out to round up our Christmas tree last Saturday, at the VFW lot where we always go, and came home with a beauty. It's true that it's not quite as gargantuan as our usual choices [some of which did any and/or all of the following: 1) collapsed the roof rack on the car, B) broke the tree stand, and iii) literally had to be chopped apart in January just to get it out of the house] but it does have a beautiful shape, and that's not just a lot of O Tannenbaum, believe me. In fact, even a cursory stroll through the lot would reveal that all of the trees, in all sizes, seemed to feature the same nearly perfect form, and you could literally walk through the place blindfolded, throw a rock in any direction, and hit a tree with a great shape, without even trying. When we brought it home and stood it up, and it started to settle, it had an amazing symmetry on all sides that was remarkable to behold. And while it certainly was not so big that it would break the tree stand, our ancient battle-scarred stand (which, in fairness, has unfailingly supported enormous trees way beyond its capacity over decades) finally gave up the ghost, and could not reliably keep this one standing upright, no matter how we tried to squeeze one last year out of it. So we had no choice but to brave the crazed ho-ho-ho-hordes of shoppers at Home Depot, and pick up an emergency replacement one at the last possible minute. We were lucky that we had only one item (which was not a Christmas tree) and found a self-checkout inside, so we could get on our way in jig time, with visions of sugar plums in our heads and Jack Frost nipping at our nose. Actually, in our heads was the tune of "Garryowen," the signature melody of the fabled 7th Cavalry under General Custer, in recognition of our tree stand's unfortunate "last stand," by George. And while we're on the topic of unfortunate things, it's been dispiriting times for linguistic sticklers lately, I don't mind saying, and I ought to know. First this cropped up on social media, and you can feel free to go right ahead and check this out with our friends at www.adirondackwilderness.org and see for yourself. "The land classification debate in the Adirondacks often strays away from natural resources toward a discussion of what is best for local economies. The underlying tenant of the argument ..... " I can tell by the ill-mannered snickering of our old friends the dinosaurs in The Peanut Gallery that they think I sound like a broken record by now (and isn't THAT an analogy that's lost on young people nowadays!) when I say for the umpteenth time that the spell-checker is not going to help you on that one, if you opt to use the wildly inappropriate word "tenant" in place of the correct word "tenet" in your commentary, alas. And I really don't even want to think about them having any underlying tenants there, which sounds more like the last resting place of ill-fated schnooks who got on the wrong side of Mafia hit men, and did not live to tell the tale, bada-bing. Meanwhile in the TV Section Best Bets, they were singing the praises of the Louisville Cardinals' outstanding Lamar Jackson, leading the pack of Heisman Trophy candidates, who they described, apparently without irony, as a "duel threat quarterback." I don't know who he's planning to have this duel with, but frankly, I don't care much for the other guy's chances. Then there was the sports announcer who pointed out that one of the key players of the team was not performing well in the game, and had been "regulated" to the sidelines. Let's face it, we can't even blame that on the modern pitfall that is auto-correct, changing "relegated" into "regulated," since the comment was verbal and not printed. Just when you start to wonder, to paraphrase the inimitable Casey Stengel, "Can't anybody around here speak this language?" along comes a newspaper article concerning an up-and-coming young starlet, who they assured me was "taking the reigns" of her career, which would ostensibly make her more suitably seated on a throne than on a saddle, I dare say. But in the spirit of Christmas, I suppose we should let these lapses slide, and since it's already the last Sunday in Advent, I figure it must be time to break out the hamantaschen. Oy vey! Elle

All In A Day's Work

Hello World, Happy December! And it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, I don't mind saying, as they put it in the classic song, "glistening once again, with candy canes and silver lanes aglow." We have a completely different spin on it this time around, because we have new neighbors on our immediate left, and although we've met them, we don't really know them, and had no idea what to expect on the holiday front from them. All of our previous neighbors on that side were particularly low-key on the decoration scale, and at most, would hang a wreath on the front door and leave it at that. Not these new people, that's for sure, and not by a long shot, I can tell you that. They took the giant granite slabs that march relentlessly up to the house (former neighbors installed these hideous eyesores, eerily reminiscent of Machu Picchu without the charm, but we always assumed were some sort of aircraft landing system, to guide the alien spaceship back, and return them to their home planet) and covered them with scads of multi-colored lights of all descriptions, plus enough snowmen, reindeer, angels, stars, candy canes, and elves, to make The Grinch positively sputter with apoplexy, I shouldn't wonder. It certainly adds a whole new sparkle to the neighborhood, and after all, not that it's a bad thing. I call it "Christmas at Machu Picchu." Speaking of holiday cheer, anyone active on social media over the last few weeks may have seen pictures from Thanksgiving at the cabin, full of happy smiling faces on people having fun. So alert readers already know that we have Bill to thank for the following, which is the description of his snazzy new pea coat from Amazon: ============================================== - Made in USA or imported - Chest button design, contracted and the atmosphere, make the whole more administrative levels feels - Unique collar design, highlight urban elite's directness, tall and straight collar type classics - Back adopt streamline design, fashion and easy, all show man elegant charm ================================================ I love the first part, taking the trouble to explain that it's either made here or abroad, as if that narrows anything down at all. And of course, Bill needs no help to all show man elegant charm or highlight urban elite's directness, but I told him I was afraid he was not quite equal to the task of making the whole more administrative levels feels. But he's nothing if not game, and has been wearing it ever since, contracted and the atmosphere be hanged. In other news, of course, the world bid farewell to Fidel Castro at long last, finally shuffling off this mortal coil at 90, probably scaring the wits out of everybody at The Pearly Gates, or wherever it is that godless Communists wind up after they kick that proverbial bucket. It certainly marks the end of an era, there's no way around that, and good or bad depends on which side of the ideological fence a person happens to be on. If you watched television at all, you couldn't help but notice that for mobs of Cuban defectors, it was one continuous pull-out-all-the-stops party, like they all just won the Powerball lottery, or something even better. More diplomatically, messages came in from heads of government around the world, praising the former revolutionary leader as everything from "a brilliant strategist" to "a visionary." My personal favorite hits a little closer to the mark, I think, which I copied verbatim off the screen when I saw it in our hotel room in Kingston. According to the ticker at CNN, "Vladimir Putin hails Castro as 'a symbol of an era in recent world history'." Now seriously, what does that even mean??? It's like one of those horoscope sentences you see in the newspaper, where all of the words are in English, but once they put them all together, the resulting comment makes no sense at all. Go back and read that again, and you'll see what I mean. It would be like saying, "I'm honoring poison ivy as representing an example of biology in the contemporary environment." It's true that Putin didn't say anything bad about Castro, but he certainly didn't say anything good, or more specifically, anything at all, and I certainly wouldn't refer to it as "hailing" the deceased under any definition of the term whatsoever. It's a good thing that Fidel wasn't wearing Bill's new pea coat at the time, or Putin probably would have said, "Castro, contracted and the atmosphere, make the whole more administrative levels feels, and I am unanimous in that." What's new on the local scene amounts to an early Christmas present that was as welcome as it was unexpected, and that is, a new temporary job for yours truly, and you can believe me when I say, not a moment too soon. In an interesting turn of events, it's with the contractors from the real estate management office where I was working in Yonkers, so I had a good long while to get to know them during my time there. In fact, I was so impressed with their work that we hired them to patch some of our derelict ceilings at church, before they came crashing down on some unsuspecting parishioners, probably while snoozing during the Pastor's sermon, alas. The real estate office and I had come to a parting of the ways in July, and I'm not casting any aspersions, but I think it would be fair to say that both sides were ready to call it quits at that point. It turns out the relocated construction office is around the corner from the real estate office (so that was convenient for me, in the sense that I already knew how to get there) and since they knew I was between assignments from the temp agency, they asked if I would pitch in on a per-diem basis to help get things organized, and wrangle the runaway stacks of papers into some semblance of order. Anyone who knows me can tell you that organization is my middle name, so I was glad to help out - if only to feel needed again and stop being a drain on the economy around here. I mean, I like having spare time as much as the next fellow, but I admit that I was looking forward to being a productive member of society once again - and that's not just a lot of making the whole more administrative levels feels, believe me. In any case, the construction office is tiny, cramped, and encumbered with so many tottering piles of detritus that you very quickly realize that gravity is not your friend, and you carefully scope out any safe high places to clamber up to, when it all begins its implacable plummet earthward. (That credenza has my name on it, and I pity the fool who tries to horn in on it, by golly.) When I first started working there, I had to write the date on something, and since it was all too easy to lose track of the time when I was unemployed, I had no idea what day it was. I noticed there was one of those handy calendar desk pads under the keyboard, so I figured I would check that first. Mind you, this is not my first time at the rodeo, as they say, and I also didn't just fall off the turnip truck, whatever that means, so I did realize that many people continue to use these calendar desk pads after their actual expiration, just as a blotter to keep on their desk, regardless of being out of date. So I was prepared for the idea that it probably wasn't a calendar for this December, and I might have to skip ahead a month or two before getting to the right page for the current month. Even taking that into account, I admit that I was somewhat taken aback when I noticed the month on the desk pad was July, but the real punch line to the story is that it was July 2012 - did I laugh! Anyway, as the saying goes, "I calls 'em as I sees 'em," so this is my report from - Christmas at Machu Picchu

Perfect Strangers

Hello World, Happy Advent! The Sunday after Thanksgiving was the first Sunday in Advent, celebrated by Christians the world over, and there's certainly no mystery about it, heaven knows. It's not like Easter or Passover, based on some incomprehensible combination of factors, like the first full moon after the ancient Egyptian Opet Festival, in a month without an "R," or some other such nonsense. In comparison, Advent is as simple as can be, you simply count four Sundays backwards from Christmas (which is always on December 25th) and there you are. At least that's where you're supposed to be, but sometimes things around here can get a little off-track, and it doesn't surprise me when we end up having "Advent Monday" instead. But even I wasn't expecting the proverbial wheels to come off to the extent that we didn't actually light the candles on the wreath until "Advent Tuesday," which is in no way an improvement over the original arrangement, believe me. But in the spirit of "better late than never," at least we got the first candle under our belts, as it were, and hopefully the rest of them will fall into place on subsequent Sundays like they're supposed to, and not spill over into the rest of the week, like a bunch of overdue library books out on a spree. Say, who let those Egyptians in here? Of course, last Thursday was Thanksgiving, and while The Holiday Police may cling staunchly to the Norman Rockwell version of the occasion, nowadays in the vagaries and realities of modern times, it must be conceded that there is no wrong way to celebrate. Due to schedule conflicts with relatives, Bill and I joined the ranks of unwanted orphans or foreign humanity that nobody wants to see for the holiday, and rather than crying in our cranberry sauce, we picked ourselves up and went to the movies like the rest of them, by gobble. (Parenthetically, the cinema staff was delighted to see us, and served us up a wonderful meal of personal pan pizzas with movie candy for dessert, and we didn't miss Norman Rockwell a bit.) There's no lack of holiday blockbusters out now, and we opted to see "Dr. Strange" in glorious 3-D, and well worth it, I don't mind saying. It's another offering from the Marvel Studios universe, like "The Avengers," and features the multi-faceted Benedict Cumberbatch (saddled with a somewhat distracting New York accent) in the title role. Although truth be told, in films like this, the actors almost always play second fiddle to the computer-generated special effects, so they could basically have the cleaning lady from the studio in the part, and it wouldn't make much difference. But you can believe me when I say that you should absolutely drop everything and run, not walk, to the nearest theater where it is playing, if only for the sake of those special effects, which are nothing short of astounding, even for jaded moviegoers who have presumably seen it all before. You haven't seen all this before, and it is worth the trip, I can assure you - and even Bill, who is a very tough critic, especially of gigantic, loud, and overpowering movies just for the sake of spectacle. The time seems to fly by, and the story never lags, with one eye-popping sequence after another, and more twists and turns around every corner. [Spoiler alert for anyone who hasn't seen it yet] My favorite part was the climactic battle scene at the end, which was played out entirely in reverse, so instead of everything being killed, or exploded, or destroyed, it was all built back up again and restored to its original state, as if a fairy godmother had taken charge of things, rather than the evil mastermind in question. A personal highlight for me was the surprise appearance of the hunky Thor in the epilogue at the end, so Marvel Studios obviously has some more magic up its sleeve in the near future. As for right now, hurry up and catch it while it's still in theaters, and tell them Norman Rockwell sent you. On Black Friday, while the rest of John Q. Public was busy snapping up huge bargains at the big box stores, we were celebrating a belated Thanksgiving at the log cabin in the wilderness with both of my sisters, and all of the trimmings, it goes without saying. It's true that Tom Turkey did not put in an appearance, but there was plenty of baked ziti, which has developed such renown over the river and through the woods that, like the turkey, it should have its own name by now. I vote for Zelda Ziti. In any event, Zelda Ziti was up to her usual standards, and speaking of standards, there was no lack of mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, cornbread, candied yams, corn pudding, and cranberry sauce, I can assure you. Our hostess, who is a well-known stickler for the multi-color meal, also tried to foist some broccoli on us, but we're all veteran Pilgrims from way back, and we were having no part of that. Dessert options included pumpkin pie, coconut custard pie, and a silky chocolate mousse pie that was sheer decadence on a plate, and I ought to know. Sufficiently weighted down, we were in no danger of blowing away, and in fact, even in high winds, could not have been blown very far. Luckily the big screen TV was nearby, and even though it was Friday and not Thursday, the airwaves were downright chockfull of college football games to keep us all entertained and transfixed with their electrifying antics and ... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ... Where was I? During the day, we also managed to squeeze in a trip to the Forsyth Nature Center in Kingston, and their collection of goats, llamas, peacocks, rams, roosters, alpacas, cows, ducks, pheasants, pigs, bunnies, and giant turtles is nothing if not a sight to behold. There are machines where you can buy treats for the animals, but many other people there had already brought their own, and the critters were happy to chow down on lettuce leaves, carrots, spinach, apples, and other healthy snacks. Based on their rather robust appetites, I have the feeling that Zelda Ziti would go over pretty well there. Across the parking lot is a fantastic playground full of castles and forts, sailing ships and trucks, with all manner of climbing ropes, wavy slides, bouncy bridges, and swings to captivate the imaginations of children of all ages, and especially their parents, I dare say. I said to Bill that they would never have been able to get me out of there when I was a youngster, that's for sure. The weather was a bit brisk, but still nice enough, and we were glad for a chance to get out and enjoy it, and go some place different as a change of pace. Now at least we have an idea of what to do with that darned broccoli. While we were out, we made a bee-line to our hotel, so we could check in, put our luggage in the room, and avert any unwelcome surprises that might have been in store. Sure enough, just touching the doorknob in the hallway, without even opening the door, it was plain as day that the room was way too cold for anything but polar bears and penguins to inhabit, and we hurried inside to turn up the heat, and glad of it. Back at the cabin, we whiled away the time with show-and-tell, computer maintenance, more desserts, and even more big screen TV, which certainly made us very thankful, as befits the holiday weekend. Finally we called it a night, and enjoyed a quiet stay at the hotel, where the temperature was blissfully comfortable, and the polar bears and penguins were left to find their own accommodations. It was with some chagrin in the morning that we realized we had left the cooler at the cabin, rather than bringing it with us to the hotel, in spite of the fact that we had previously made a special trip to procure the drinks that were in the cooler, specifically so that we would have them at the hotel, thanks not. We were soon back at the cabin tucking into French toast and fruit, plus more dessert, and I don't mind saying, still no takers on that broccoli. The intermittent showers gave us no incentive to take a hike around the reservoir as we often do, so the local deer had no alternative but to make fun of some other tourists in our place, alas. We had to get my sister from Long Island to the bus station for her ride home, so we soon bid our fond farewells, and hit the road south. We were lucky to miss the worst of the holiday traffic both ways, and the weather was also unremarkable, coming and going. Even better was dinner at Denny's on the way home, and while I can't say that I spotted Norman Rockwell anywhere in evidence, at least they didn't try to palm off any broccoli on us. Elle