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