Calm Down

Hello World,     Happy belated Administrative Professionals Day, to all of those many and unsung clerical super heroes out there in the wide world, who as everyone knows, are the true backbone of the American economy, bless their hearts. When I think back to all of the years upon years that I complained about the Chamber of Commerce luncheons that the hospital would send us to - with their boring speeches, interminable presentation of plaques, and stultifying proclamations - honestly, I never would have believed I would miss them so much, now that I don't have the chance to go anymore, alas. At least I have my memories to console myself with, but it's not the same without the goodie bags and the raffle prizes, heaven knows.     We can't turn our backs on April without an update on spring flowers in the local area, which are literally outdoing themselves in every way, in spite of the outrageous weather, that continues to feel more like a blustery November than the balmy breezes of spring. Across town, the profusion of buttercups has turned the church yard into a veritable carpet of sunny yellow petals that is dazzling to behold. At home, the windflowers and grape hyacinths have exploded all over the yard, while the creeping phlox is putting on a pink and lavender show all of its own. The bleeding heart is going gangbusters, and even the checkered lily has returned after its winter hiatus, and a more welcome sight would be hard to imagine. Our juvenile delinquent squirrels actually spared us some tulips for a change, scattered about the place, and even a few multi-colored parrot tulips lending an exotic touch to the flowerbeds on top of it all. We have no dogwoods, but everywhere you turn, you see them in all their finery, while our magnificent magnolia is not only a pink and white thing of beauty, but smells heavenly besides. This is the time of year that I most miss our neighbors' majestic chestnut that used to be across the street, with its billowing cascades of creamy white blossoms fluttering on every side.  It certainly has punched a huge hole in the neighborhood landscape, leaving big shoes that will never be filled, and that's a plain fact.     In other seasonal news, it's always surprising when the winter sports start their playoffs in April, when everybody knows that the trophies aren't awarded until way off in June anyway, but there you have it. On the cold front, the NHL has already disappointed the local fans in Anaheim, Colorado, Columbus, Los Angeles, Minnesota, New Jersey, Philadelphia, and Toronto, thanks not. Meanwhile, the NBA is doing the same thing in Miami, Minneapolis, Portland, and San Antonio - and not to be an alarmist, but it's only going to get worse from here, as the original 16 playoff hopefuls continue to be whittled down until there's only 2 teams left standing for the final round. For everyone else, well, let's face it, this is why they invented beer in the first place, I'm pretty sure - and not to mention, "Wait until next year!" Speaking of next year, of course, the NFL Draft is going on now, as the teams strategize their picks for most improving their rosters for the upcoming season and beyond. There was a big story in the Sports section about Jets GM Mike Maccagnan, holding a press conference where he spoke for 25 minutes, and yet, "... without actually providing a hint of his draft day intentions that could be dissected by his competition." The reporter went on to elaborate: "He was clam, almost eerily so ..." I will readily admit that I don't know the gentleman from the proverbial hole in the wall, but I feel that I can confidently state that he was not a bit "clam" in any sense of the word, eerily or otherwise, and you can quote me on that.     On the local scene, we threw caution to the wind and went back to Cariedad & Lou's for dinner, where we had been once before, and to be honest, I was not as impressed with their pasta selection as might have been hoped. This time around, I thought a safer bet might be one of their "south of the border" options, so I perused their menu for those geographic choices instead. I wasn't able to find what I was hoping for (a Mexican place that we go to has what they call a breakfast burrito with egg and cheese that I simply adore) and while they do have a variety of burritos, the waiter assured me that they didn't have anything like what I was asking for, unfortunately. I opted for a cheese quesadilla instead, which was perfectly workmanlike and adequate, but certainly did not put me in the frame of mind of cactus, caballeros, and the Rio Grande winding through the dusty desert sands of the southwest, by any means. It came with salsa and a teeny tiny cup of guacamole, but I had to ask the server for sour cream - although it turned out to be there all along. In a surprising novelty that I had never seen before, it seems that it now comes in a plastic tube, instead of a cup, so you have to squeeze it out yourself, sort of like toothpaste. What won't they think of next, I ask you. Personally, I found that it had no flavor at all, either to the improvement or detriment of the quesadilla as a whole - but then again, as we all know, there are no standards anymore, heaven knows, so it does no good to complain. But having the opportunity of taking a page out of Mike Maccagnan's playbook, I was clam, in fact, eerily so, and you can quote me on that. Elle

Magical Mystery Tour

Hello World,     Happy Earth Day! Sunday would be the day to honor all things here on terra firma – and while we’re at it, over the bounding main and into the wild blue yonder besides. And once again, need I remind everyone that it behooves us to treat the planet with the utmost care, since it is apparently the only place in the universe with chocolate. (And not to mention, beer as well, it goes without saying.) In keeping with the “green” theme of the moment, I am reminded that the Easter Bunny brought me some lovely seasonal flowers for the recent holiday, and they were not only a delight for the senses, but a thing of beauty indeed. There was a pot of hyacinths, with its heavenly fragrance, in three different colors of pink, purple, and white. There were also 2 lovely campanula (or bell flower) which is not something that I’m familiar with, but it seems that they come in combinations of lavender and purple, and look just like tiny sweet and dainty hydrangeas, so what’s not to like? We’re looking forward to them gracing our garden for many Earth Days to come, and while I don't mind saying that I'm happy to provide the chocolate, when it comes to beer, frankly, they're on their own.     Last weekend, we were glad to welcome a visitor to our shores from the West Coast, and in a surprising show of hospitality, even the weather cooperated for a change. Alert readers may recall a pair of sisters from the San Francisco bay area, who came to New York a couple of years ago, and we took them out in the harbor for a spin on the venerable Circle Line, which we all found very interesting. This time around, only one of the young ladies made the trip, and although she had many other plans and activities during her stay in The Big Apple, she still was kind enough to squeeze us in for a bit on Saturday. It all began innocently enough when we met at the legendary Grand Central Terminal, where she had never been before, so that is always a very special destination for tourists, and she was suitably impressed. Of course, there’s a veritable panoply of food choices in the station’s Dining Concourse, and she was happy to make a meal out of wild mushroom soup at Hale & Hearty Soup, and a genuine New York bagel from Zaro’s Bread Basket, with plenty of cream cheese. Bill threw caution to the wind and grabbed a veggie hot dog with the works from Frankie’s Dogs on the Go, while I had one of Zaro’s famous Triple Grilled Cheese on a toasted challah roll, which did not disappoint, I can tell you that. Thus fortified, we were prepared to hit the streets and go where the day would lead us.     After already experiencing The Circle Line excursion on the previous visit, she was more in a museum frame of mind than otherwise, so we took a pass on the nautical adventures, and opted for more educational pursuits on dry land. Well, that is to say that it probably would have been more of an educational pursuit, but instead of taking the standard tourist perambulation through the fabled Metropolitan Museum of Art, we signed up for a somewhat “off the beaten track” museum tour from our new friends at Museum Hack - and which you can believe me when I tell you is not your grandparents’ museum tour, and not by any means. (Please feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site at www.museumhack.com and see for yourself.) Our tour guides were two personable young fellows, Kevin and Evan, with boundless energy, and the dogged persistence it would take to wrangle 14 strangers through the endless galleries of the Met without losing any, whether accidentally or deliberately. (Mind you, about 10 of the other people in our group were part of a tourist outing from Pennsylvania, who had already traipsed the length and breadth of two other museums in the morning, so by the time they got to this one, their energy and enthusiasm had noticeably waned as the day wore on.) Their focus at Museum Hack is more on the oddities and curiosities of the collections, rather than the major art treasures that the Met is so well known for, so this would not be the tour for someone who had never been there before, and would probably want a more traditional and well-rounded view of the place. (Museum Hack also offers a wide variety of other interactive tours, including birthday parties, reunions, bachelorette parties, team building exercises, and more.) Our oddball tour gave us an opportunity to see the first ever object that the fledgling museum acquired way back in 1870, and such a squatty and disreputable Egyptian sarcophagus, that the curators now hide it away in a dim corner of a forsaken gallery where nobody even goes anymore. We went pelting through the various displays, upstairs and downstairs, while they peppered us with fascinating historical trivia and anecdotes about the artwork, artists, and popular culture of the time, so that even the weary Pennsylvanian tourists couldn’t help laughing along with the rest of us. There were even games and prizes along the way, and in a surprising twist for everyone (even our unflappable guides) we made history, in a performance art sort of way. Another offbeat tour group approached us in the American Art wing, and said they were on a scavenger hunt, and they needed 4 of us to join 4 of them in acting out “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” in front of the classic painting of Washington Crossing the Delaware, while someone else in their group recorded a video of it for the scavenger hunt judges. It was hilarious. Fortunately, our affable guides were kind enough to take requests, which was why we were with George at the Delaware in the first place, and we also got the chance to see the notorious Madame X, as well as brief glimpses of Arms & Armor, and musical instruments as well. Whew!     Two hours seemed to fly by, and before you know it, we were back outside on the sidewalk, with just our memories and souvenirs to go with our aching feet and happy hearts. We popped our visitor into a cab because she had a concert to go to afterward, while we headed back to Grand Central Terminal for a nice hot pretzel before catching our train home. It turned out to be a longer day than we expected, since what with one thing and another, we didn’t actually get home until after 7:30, and except for the train, had been on our feet since about 10:30 in the morning. But it was a fun and unusual day all around, with glorious weather, and for anyone looking for something different to do in the city so nice, they named it twice, I would highly recommend it. You can tell them George Washington sent you. Madame X

After The Nor'easter Bunny

Hello World,     YIKES! As I think we're all pretty much aware by now, any time you have a month that starts on a Sunday, within a couple of weeks you'll be staring down both barrels of a Friday the 13th, like it or don't, and right now that's just about where we find ourselves, thanks not. Hopefully everyone out there in the wide world had their lucky rabbit's foot at the ready (although as they always say, it obviously wasn't that lucky for the rabbit, after all) or whatever other good luck charm you might have on hand, to ward off evil spirits adding their mischief to an already unlucky day, and once again, thanks so very much not. And not to be an alarmist, but I feel it's only fair to point out that we already have another month starting on a Sunday to look forward to, this time in July, although fortunately that will be the last one for this year. On the other hand, in the immortal words of "Born Under a Bad Sign," Albert King's old blues classic "If I didn't have bad luck, I wouldn't any luck at all." Rim shot, please!     Well, you know that the days are really flying by, when not only has the Easter Bunny long since come and gone, but even the Greek Orthodox Easter Bunny has hopped in and out, and skipped off into the Aegean sunset besides. At least in the local area, it seems to have finally stopped snowing (thank heaven!) at long last, but the weather is still so chilly and unpredictable, you really don't know what to expect next. However it must be said that it hasn't slowed down the spring flowers, putting on a show all over town, from the tiniest garden specimens and flowering shrubs, all the way up to the welcome sight of blooming ornamental trees in every imaginable shade of the rainbow. One of the true joys of springtime in the Northeast is the riotous explosion of color bursting forth from bare ground, often right through the snow that hasn't even melted yet. After a difficult winter, it's the eternal optimism of spring flowers that gives us hope to believe in better days ahead. Of course, I should also mention that they're already playing college football games on television now, of all things, for anyone who can't wait for the football season to start again in the fall - although frankly, like back-to-school supplies in June, and Christmas decorations in September, this "seasonal creep" is not a concept that I can whole-heartedly get behind. In traffic court, this is what we call "a moving violation."     In other sports news, baseball got underway in earnest just a handful of weeks ago, and it's always interesting to see the early standings, so wildly unrepresentative of what the actual season will shape up like. In Boston, the Red Sox lost their opener, but then went on to reel off 8 wins in a row after that, getting an early jump on running away with the AL East, while the Astros leaped out to an 8-2 start in the West. On the junior side of things, the surprising Metsies opened up 7-1 in the NL East, with the Pittsburgh Pirates and Arizona Diamondbacks going 7-2 in their respective divisions. One unexpected aspect of the young season has been the variety of bench-clearing brawls so far, in a sport not ordinarily known for its fisticuffs, and not even among teams necessarily famous for their bitter rivalries, decades upon decades in the making. These tussles have also been marked by plenty of ejections, fines, and suspensions, so it's not like the umpires have been turning a blind eye to the situation, or taking a "boys-will-be-boys" attitude about it. Personally, it seems awfully early in the season for stuff like that, and while there's a whole lot of games still left to play, hopefully they're got all of this out of their system early in the year. Play ball!     Speaking of getting things out of their system, I was at church on Sunday after the prayers wrapped up, and it came time to pass the peace, as they do nowadays. I found myself behind the pastor, who was greeting one of our dear elderly church basement ladies, who is not only a stalwart of the congregation, but with diaconal training under her belt, is legitimately recognized as a deaconess of the faith. In the middle of shaking hands, they decided that a kiss of peace would be more appropriate, so they reached for each other over the pew in between them, and clinched together in what should have been a heart-warming display of Christian harmony. Unfortunately for me, or anyone else in these 2 pews, it utterly stymied our most valiant efforts to move past them, and their kiss of peace soon became more of a blockade of peace than anyone would have thought possible. Normally, this is where I would be saying something like, "Of course, everyone knows that I'm much too polite to ..... " but that turned out to be not the case at all, under the circumstances. Immobilized as I was, behind the smooching pair, I have to admit that I let loose a rather ill-mannered cough, and snapped, "Get a room!" They laughed. Let's face it, in traffic court, this is what we call "a non-moving violation." Elle

Bewitched

Hello World,     Happy April! Hopping right to it, things started off with a bang with Easter on the first day of the month, and a nice enough day it was, too. In fact, I was out earlier in the day taking pictures of our burgeoning crop of spring flowers, like our jaunty purple crocus, and even a couple of jonquils, early daffodils, wind flowers, and anemones. Hard on their heels could be found many robust shoots of hyacinths, phlox, and early tulips besides. Even the hardy forsythia, bravely fighting its way from the neighbors' yard through our rock wall in deep shade, was beginning to show its sunny yellow face to the wide world, in spite of it all. And yet, inexplicably, Mother Nature followed all that up with yet another snowstorm on the very next day, and it goes without saying, thanks so very much not.     Of course, April is famous (or perhaps "notorious" would be the better term, under the circumstances) for income tax day, thanks not, which this year is on April 17, since April 15th falls on the weekend. Now, when it comes to shouldering our fair share of the country's tax burden, Bill and I have been going to the same financial experts for as long as we've been married (and Bill even before that) which is to say, from the time when the dinosaurs roamed the vast unformed land masses in the primordial ooze, and you could pay your taxes in rocks. Back in the day, our accountant would tally up the numbers on an adding machine (Bill seems to remember this as an abacus, but I'm pretty sure they had already made the switch by the time I started going there) and then jot everything down on a legal pad. Several weeks later, a packet would show up at the doorstep, delivered via Pony Express, that would have the hand-written tax forms (plus a mimeograph copy for ourselves - youngsters, you can ask your grandparents about that) which we would dutifully sign and send off to the "revenooers" in our nation's capital, like good citizens, and then wait for the government to get around to sending us back our refund. (In rocks, naturally.)     Fast forward to the present day, when our accountant has finally retired and good for him - in fact, we saw him last week and he looked like a million bucks, not the grizzled and harried wreck of a man when he was still working. His well-deserved retirement didn't come as a surprise, since he had previously sent us a letter, to assure us that the new younger accountant would absolutely take care of us in the same careful and proficient manner as always, and we would barely notice any difference whatsoever. Not so fast! At our appointment, the plucky young lady asked us for all of our financial information, which she quickly popped into various fields on her computer's tax software, where it basically added itself up with no calculator necessary, and the next thing you know, here she was printing out the actual completed tax return, which she then handed to us to sign, while the electronic version would be filed on our behalf through the miracle of the Internet. So, bim-bam-boom, in a matter of moments, the whole process was finished and wrapped up tight, with nothing left to do, or wait for weeks or months in the future, like in the old days. Honestly, we didn't know what to think, but kept looking around and shaking our heads, wondering, "What mad sorcery is this???!!!" It only occurred to me much later that they must have been doing exactly this same thing at those walk-in tax preparation services out on the street, like H&R Block and Jackson-Hewitt all along - where, let's face it, they couldn't let customers walk out onto the sidewalk and expect to wait weeks for their tax forms to show up at home - but we never realized it before, because we always went to the same old accountant, and blithely accepted the leisurely (one might perhaps say, "molasses-like") pace of the process as a given. But apparently it's a brand new world out there, by golly, and you really don't know what to expect next nowadays.     In other local news, we were recently scouting about for a different place where we might try to get a weeknight meal, and decided to take a chance on Caridad & Louie's Restaurant on North Avenue, in the heart of the bustling downtown. This is scarcely a shot in the dark, as they are eager to identify themselves as "The First Latin & Italian Cuisine Since 1990" and have been a fixture in the Queen City for decades. We didn't know anyone who had been there, so we really didn't know what to expect, but we figured after 28 years, they must be doing something right. Admittedly, it would be a very difficult place to describe, or worse, categorize. Half of the building looks like a deli, with counters and cases full of prepared foods, and crammed with people picking up take-out orders. The other half is a sit-down restaurant, where you can choose anything off of their wide-ranging and seemingly never-ending menu, from soup to nuts and everything in between. (Including some mysterious option known as "mofongos," one of which was described as "Mashed Plantain with Fried Pork Chuncks," which I personally think should have been "chuncked" off of the menu before it was printed.) Honestly, we could have been there all night, just reading the menu, and you could certainly go there with a crowd and find something for just about anyone. In the end, I took what I considered the safe option with cheese ravioli and garlic bread, and had no complaints. On the other hand, it did not make me start humming "Santa Lucia" and dreaming of the Trevi fountain, but more like the kind of generic pasta meal you might get at a diner, rather than an authentic Italian restaurant. But the portions are generous, and the service is prompt and courteous, so I wouldn't want to quibble over how Italian they might or might not be. In retrospect, having one of their south-of-the-border specialties might have been the more appropriate choice, and their selection of tacos, quesadillas, burritos, fajitas, and nachos would give all of our amigos plenty to choose from. Or heck, if I went back, I could even give their mysterious mofongos a try. Just not the one with fried pork chuncks, thank you so very much not. Elle

Jail Break

Hello World,     Well, here we have all come, limping and wheezing at long last, to the end of a rather challenging month, and I don't mind saying, very much glad of it. In fact, to say that March has long since worn out its welcome around here, would be an understatement of epic proportions - as evidenced by this unlikely story in a recent newspaper: =========================== A sheriff's office in eastern Pennsylvania is sick of winter's endless snow and cold, and has issued an arrest warrant for America's top weather predicting groundhog, Punxsutawney Phil. In early February, Phil said we'd have six more weeks of winter. Well, that deadline has passed, and the Monroe County Sheriff's Office has told the varmint that time's up. Last week, the office announced that it's "seeking the apprehension of Punxsutawney Phil for deception. On February 2, 2018, Phil promised that there would be 6 more weeks of winter. That promise expired on March 16th. We are now on the 2nd day of spring, and we are in the middle of yet another snowstorm." ============================     Much as I am a fan of these prognosticating critters, frankly, I have to say that I side with the Sheriff's office on this one. Into the calaboose for you, Phil!     Of course, last Sunday was what we always refer to around here as the highlight of the church year for cats, when the fresh palms come out to play, oh happy day. It doesn't seem to matter how many years this has happened before in their lives, there's something about new palms in the cat world that never grows old. For the more serious among us, Palm Sunday ushers in Holy Week, including Maundy Thursday and Good Friday, and coincidentally this time around, also Passover on Friday night for good measure. Meanwhile, because Easter Sunday falls on April 1st this year, the suits at MLB headquarters decided to cut Spring Training short, and move up Opening Day to the earliest it's ever been in March, so that no games would be scheduled for Easter, while still fitting in the rest of the games before the end of the season. For whatever reason, it must have worked, because both the Mets and Yankees won their first game, which is always a positive way to start off a new campaign, I dare say - especially since both teams have brand new managers, and I'm sure they were glad to get that first win under their belts from the start. Like fresh palms for cats, no doubt winning on Opening Day never gets old, by Casey.     Speaking of religious observances, it was back at the tail end of February that I mentioned Purim wrapping up a busy month full of occasions, from Groundhog Day to Presidents Day, and everything in between - but I had to admit that I had no understanding of what Purim was all about. In fact, if pressed, I would have to say that I actually had a better grip on the background of the Mexican festival of Cinco de Mayo than even the first thing about Purim, which our Jewish brethren and sisthren have been celebrating for probably the last 2,000 years or so, I shouldn't wonder. Fortunately, our friends at The Journal News are here leaping to the rescue of confused Christians everywhere, with a handy synopsis of all things Purim, under the heading of "It All Started With a Party." Actually, it seems to have started innocently enough, as these things often do, when the King of Persia around 300 BC married a Jewish woman who called herself Esther, a relative of one of the king's advisers. This particular adviser apparently got on the wrong side of the Grand Vizier, who then spitefully concocted a somewhat convoluted plan to eliminate all of the Jews from the Persian kingdom, once and for all. What follows after that (summarized by the newspaper as "intrigue, deception, executions, aliases, decrees, war, royalty, villains and heroes") seems to be an incomprehensible hodge-podge with pretty much everything from mistaken identities, foreign ministers, feasts, spies, nightmares, double-crosses, cyborg storm-troopers, alien abductions, and not to mention, just about anything up to and including the kitchen sink on top of it all. Frankly, I lost the thread of the narrative early on in the proceedings, and never picked it up again, but I can tell you that the plucky Esther managed to save the day somewhere along the way, and the fortuitous happy ending has been celebrated ever since. And I'm sure, like winning on Opening Day, that sort of thing never grows old either. Garcon, more kreplach and hamentashen, if you please!     In other food news, I was coming home from work last week behind a truck from our friends at Croton Farms, and apart from their name, the only other thing painted on the truck was this curious notice: 24 HOUR ANSWERING SERVICE. Now admittedly, I don't pretend to understand much about the intricacies of modern farming, but I couldn't help but wonder if there was such a crying need for this option that you would go to all the trouble of painting it on your trucks, so that everybody in the wide world would be aware of it. I mean, is it really true that multitudes of people call your farm in the middle of the night and say things like, "Hello, can I speak to your rutabagas, please?" The mind reels. Like Purim, and Punxsutawney Phil in jail, there are some things that just don't make any sense - and that's not just the rutabagas talking, believe me. Elle