Author Archives: mohawkvalleygirl

After Dinner Memory

For today’s Non-Sequitur Thursday post, I shall recount for you a memory which is not one I have shared many times in conversation. In fact, I don’t think I have ever shared it, although it is neither traumatic nor even particularly significant. Oh good job, Cindy, way to sell it. This is what I get for posting after dinner at Applebee’s during which I consumed a Perfect Margarita. Never mind. Just keep typing.

When I was in kindergarten, the teacher told us that when you get a cut, the skin grows back. This was news to me. I knew you got a scab and eventually the scab went away, but I had never really inquired into the biological aspect (especially since I believe I did not know the words “inquired,” “biological” or “aspect”).

Later that day or perhaps the next day (this was a long time ago; I can’t be exact about these things), the teacher cut her finger.

“Oh dear, I cut my finger,” she said. “That’s OK, it’ll grow back.”

I remember thinking that it was the stupidest thing to say. I knew she had only said it because we had just learned about skin growing back. I mean, who says a thing like that? Who even worries about the skin growing back? We all knew: you get a scab and the scab goes away eventually. When you cut yourself you are upset because (1) it hurts and (2) your mother might put that stuff on it that stings. Your other concern is that you might get a band-aid, which of course was considered cool, but that was rarely the first consideration.

My esteem for my teacher was not too seriously damaged (no, I didn’t know what “esteem” was at that time), because in general she was a pretty OK grown up. And yet, that is one of the few things I remember about the woman (I don’t even remember her name): that one time she said what I thought was a really dumb thing.

And speaking as a person who has said some really stupid things myself, I gotta worry about what others remember about me.

Another Fine Blog Post

Oh, I’m a bad blogger. I say it in a Lou Costello voice. At least, I don’t recall Costello ever saying that in any of the movies, but cartoon versions of him always found an opportunity to say, “Oh, I’m a bad boy.” I was never a huge Abbot and Costello fan to begin with. I prefer Laurel and Hardy (This is another fine mess you’ve gotten me into!).

As you may have guessed, this is another Wuss-out Wednesday. I had thought to have a Mid-Week Middle-aged Musing, but it got no further than the first two sentences: Discombobulate is a good word. I declare discombobulate to be the word of the day.

I wrote those two sentences while at work today, thinking I should not wuss out for at least one Wednesday. But I could not think of anything to add. I thought, “That’s OK. Steven and I are doing laundry tonight. I’ll write at the laundromat.” That did not work out as well as I had hoped. I had a dreadful sinus headache. I could not write a blog post. I could not work on my novel. I did manage to finish a poem I had started, about a couple of co-workers. I can’t share that here, though, because it names names.

I’m afraid today is veering beyond Wuss-out Wednesday and into Blogger’s Sick Day. The thing I feel bad about now is the title. I thought of it when I made the parenthetical comment referencing Laurel and Hardy. I thought better words would surely be forthcoming after that. It turns out not so much. I guess that’s what I get for composing at the keyboard.

Rocking the Tired Tuesday Run

Note to self: When you run on a Tuesday, so you can write about the run and not have another Tired Tuesday post, write the blog post as soon as you are done running. If you wait you may become too tired.

Well, never mind how tired I think I am. I ran and I am going to write a blog post about it. I ran Saturday but not Sunday. I had thought to run Monday but took my dog, Tabby, for a long walk instead. I know I won’t run Wednesday, because we are doing laundry (may write a blog post about that). So I thought walk Monday, run Tuesday (for anyone concerned about my getting enough exercise, Steven, Tabby and I all took a nice walk on Sunday) (for anyone concerned Tabby misses her walk when I run, she always walks my cool-down with me. A shorter walk, perhaps, but she seems OK with it).

Be all that as it may, today was an unseasonably warm day: in the 60s. I reminded myself all day that I intended to run, just to get in the proper mindset. I changed into running clothes right away when I got home. Bicycle shorts and a t-shirt. Woo hoo! That is my favorite running outfit. I took off.

I ran up to German Street and turned right, so the sun was behind me. My shadow in front of me looked tall and slender. Look at those long legs! In reality, my legs are short, even for someone of my meager height. They are fairly shapely for all that, if I do say so (and why not say so? I have low enough self esteem; let me give myself a compliment once in a while). As I continue into middle-age, my legs are perhaps a trifle less shapely than when I was in my 20s, but running will no doubt help. You go, girl, I told myself.

Only I wasn’t going very fast. My best runs are certainly not the ones I take after working a full day. At least it wasn’t a 10 hour day, although I used to run after those, too. Back in the days when I was getting the sweet overtime (NOT complaining; I’m happy to still have a job. Also, it’s easier to work for eight hours than for ten) (just saying).

So I shuffled along, trying not to feel too self-conscious. I mean, I really felt that I must look pathetic. Then again, somebody pathetic who just keeps going is to be admired. And there is every chance she will look less pathetic as time goes on.

I cheered myself up by looking at people’s fall decorations. Lots of scarecrows, mostly with friendly smiles. One had a pumpkin head and an especially toothy grin. I do love fall. There are still colored leaves on some trees. I saw one large yellow tree that was still full. Later I saw three smaller bright yellow trees with two completely bare trees in front of them. I like the look of bare trees too. I am quite the tree lover.

As I kept running (I realize that is a generous term for what I was doing), it did not get any easier, but it did not get substantially harder either. I ran for 25 minutes, matching my previous few runs. As Tabby walked my cool-down with me, I felt happy that I had run. For a middle-aged shuffle on a Tired Tuesday, it was not too bad of a run. I did not feel at the time that I was rocking it, but I realize in retrospect that I was.

Tasty and Different Wines

Regular readers know I am something of an oenophile (I pronounce it oh-nee-oh-file, to give you an idea of my level of wine knowledge and snobbishness) (just to be extra clear: not high). I am always delighted to increase my knowledge and discover new wines when Vintage Spirits holds a wine tasting. Bronson, who usually does the pouring, is very knowledgeable, and he has good taste in wine.

The first wine I tasted was a Tangley Oaks Chardonnay from 2012. This is an unoaked (my computer seems to think unoaked is not a word; must not be an oenophile) California wine, which makes it an unusual California Chardonnay. I was pleased to hear this for two reasons: that Chardonnay is aged in oak or stainless and it makes a difference in the taste is one of my few bits of wine-making knowledge. Also, I like unoaked Chardonnay. I liked this one. I noted that it was tasty, light and bright.

I moved on to Laurent Miguel Chardonnay-Viognier 2013. It is 65% Chardonnay, 35% Viognier. I pronounced it yummy (my highest praise) and different. This is where I would like to educate my palate a little more, because I would like to be able to articulate how it was different. Bronson said the viognier gives the wine an apricot taste. I have not eaten an apricot in years (and the ones I ate then were dehydrated) so I had to take his word on that. Still, I enjoyed the differentness (I guess that’s not a word, but it says what I mean better than “difference”) (or should I say more betterly?).

Next I tasted CK Mondavi Blond Five 2013, another California wine. The five are Chardonnay, Moscato, Pinot Grigio, Sauvignon Blanc and Viognier. It was sweeter that I usually like but tasty. I enjoyed that a lot of different flavors are present. Once again, I must educate my palate to describe it more clearly. For now I can only say, it tasted like a lot was going on.

The last white was Rosemont Estate Traminer-Riesling 2013. This Australian wine is 83% Gewurztraminer, 17% Riesling. It has a definite crispness to it. I pronounced it tasty and a little different as well. Once again a little sweet for my tastes, but I liked it.

The first red on the list was Lost Vineyard Rosso, an Italian wine. Sangiovese is the grape used. It is made in Italy and imported by a Rochester company, in case like me you’re a sucker for a New York State connection. I found it tasty but plain. Another taster pronounced it too light. Bronson agreed that it did not have a whole lot of depth. Steven liked it, as did other tasters who prefer a light wine.

I felt there was a little more to the Melini Chianti Riserva DOCG 2010. It also had the coolest shaped bottle. I pronounced this one tasty as well. Bronson warned me that the Estancia Reserve GSM 2012 was a little sweeter (he knows I like dry), but I liked it. It’s made from three grapes, Grenache, Syrah and Mourvedre.

The last wine had a cool-looking bare tree on the label. It was Old Soul Zinfandel 2012, made from old vines. Bronson told us that vines must be 25 years old to be considered old vines (that was my new bit of wine knowledge for the day). Some California vines date back to the 1860s. During the gold rush, Italian immigrants brought vines of “Primitivo,” which became Zinfandel. I thought the wine smelled sweet but did not taste overly sweet. Still, it was my least favorite wine of the day (although I did like that tree on the label). Tasters who preferred a sweet wine liked it best.

Vintage Spirits is located at 246 Mohawk St., Herkimer, NY. Phone number is 315-866-6800. They are open Monday through Saturday 10 a.m. to 9 p.m., Sunday 12 to 6 p.m. For more information you can visit their website at www.vintagespiritsny.com or you can Like their Facebook page. You can also get on a email list to receive notifications of future tastings. Perhaps I’ll see you there.

Let Me Know When You Perfect Time Travel

Today in lieu of my usual Wrist to Forehead Sunday, I offer a little half-baked philosophy which has been on my mind today.

A Facebook meme posed the question: if you could say something to your 20-year-old self, what would it be?

This is the kind of hypothetical question that gets on my nerves. YOU CAN’T SAY ANYTHING TO YOUR 20-YEAR-OLD SELF! That person no longer exists and we do not have access to time travel. The asker will say, “Yes, but what if you could?” YOU CAN’T! What is the point in talking about it?

That is not a rhetorical question; I seriously want to know what one can learn from such a question. You can’t go back and not make the same mistakes (see previous paragraph that we don’t have time travel). It is unlikely one will face the same problems one faced when one was 20 (one could argue that point, I suppose, but I think one would be full of beans if one did).

Perhaps the point is to articulate what one has learned since one was 20. One can thus feel wiser and not just older (now there’s a feeling I would like to experience). More likely, some folks just find it fun to talk about such things.

I personally do not like that sort of discussion. It is a short step from looking back to regretting past mistakes. I HATE regret. It is an almost completely useless emotion. I strive always to move on from here.

One final thought: If time travel ever becomes feasible and one can in fact say something to one’s 20-year-old self, I suggest you do not bother. I would submit that very few 20-year-olds ever listen to older and wiser advice. I know I never did.

I Did Run!

Did anybody expect Saturday Running Commentary to continue for two weeks? Personally I had my doubts. In fact, I got up this morning at the lamentable hour of 3:30 with no immediate plans to run. After all, I had all day. This isn’t summer, when I have to get my run in before the heat of the day. I had some coffee with my husband, read Friday’s papers, played a little solitaire, ate a piece of peanut butter toast. Nice morning.

About 5:30 I decided to get in the shower. Steven had to work at 6:30, so he would still be here to put lotion on my back (a very convenient aspect of having a husband). As I went upstairs, I realized I was feeling down. Nothing horrible, but a little… depressed. What a dumb state of affairs for my day off. If I went running, I thought, I would feel better. I should go running.

I would go running! I confess, the thought of “should go running” occurred to me as a regret that I hadn’t, not an encouragement to. After all, I had eaten peanut butter toast. Had it digested enough? No matter! Where were some running clothes?

I found a semi-dirty pair of long johns and a long-sleeved t-shirt. The long johns were just these thin polyester jobs. I don’t think they’re really made to be warm; I think they are just another layer to put on. I usually wear them as a comfortable alternative to pantyhose. They work as leggings.

Before I got to the end of the driveway I turned around and ran back into the house for my hat, my black knitted toque. It was under 40 degrees, according to my thermostat. I only wished I had gloves, too. Off I went.

I ran to Valley Health, to run the hill it stands on. Regular readers may recall that that is my starter hill. It’s kind of steep, not too long. An effort, but doable. I did it.

I was glad I had worn my reflective vest, because it has a zipper pocket. I had a tissue in the pocket, and I needed it. It didn’t feel too cold once I got moving, but it was cold enough to make my nose run. Sorry if you find it disgusting of me to mention it.

A few lights were on in houses I ran by. A number of vehicles drove by. Not everybody sleeps in on a Saturday. Many porch lights were on. For people who never made it home last night? What racy things were they up to? I prefer to think about people up to racy things than getting into accidents or prosaically forgetting to turn the porch light off.

A scarecrow backlit by a porch light leaned at an eerie angle. I felt pleased to think of Halloween lasting a little longer, although I suppose the eeriness was unintentional. I felt happier and happier with myself that I was out there running. Yeah, I’m bad!

I finished the run and cool-down walk with Tabby before Steven had to leave for work, although he was not there for my shower (one makes these compromises). I had run the same length of time I had on Monday and last Saturday, 25 minutes. Taking Tuesday through Friday off was perhaps not the best thing to do. In my defense, I voted on Tuesday, I spent a lot of time Wednesday walking up and down my yard dismantling my container garden, and it rained on Thursday.

But what a lovely feeling to have run and made my blog post before 8 a.m. on a Saturday. Bring on the rest of the day!

A Few Lame Thoughts

Ah, Lame Post Friday. My day of random observations and half-baked philosophy. My day when I’m too happy that it’s Friday to write a so-called real blog post. That is today.

I randomly observed snow falling at least three times this afternoon. This leads me to some half-baked philosophy about the change of seasons. Spring to summer to fall to winter to spring, etc. Is the lesson here that a different season will follow or that eventually spring will come again? Ooh, this is a philosophical question. Does life truly change or is it an endless cycle in which certain things happen over and over? Birth, life, death…

I can’t really expound upon these questions with any real erudition, because, I admit it, I’m not really all that smart. At least, I believe I do have some semblance of intelligence, but I don’t have any real, true, insightful answers to life’s deep questions. Does anybody? That was another philosophical question, put your hands down (you know who you are).

I don’t know if anybody has guessed from the above paragraphs, but I’m tired. It seems I am always tired after work these days. Not enough exercise? Too much fattening food? Middle-age doing its dirty work? These are not philosophical questions, but nobody need feel obligated to answer.

I have conflicting plans for Mohawk Valley adventures this weekend, but I hope to have some good things to write about. If not, you know me, I’ll always think of something. Happy Friday, everyone.

Herkimer Ghosts

I love ghost stories any time of year, but I find they are easiest to come by at Halloween. Last week on Oct. 30, Steven and I heard not one but four ghost stories, one each at Herkimer NY’s Historic Four Corners.

The event, sponsored by Herkimer Now, began at 6:30.m. We put Tabby on the leash and walked from our house. It had been raining earlier in the day and was still misting a little as we set out. Tabby seemed OK with it (she usually doesn’t like to be rained on), so we persevered. We could see a small crowd gathered around the courthouse steps as we approached. A lady dressed in an old-fashioned dress with a hoop skirt and a shawl stood on the steps.

I thought she looked familiar. When she greeted Tabby as Super Dog, I remembered her from the first Superhero Sprint. It was Tina Cirelli, a member of Herkimer Now. I also remembered her from the Main Street Walks that Herkimer Now sponsored last year.

Kathy Penree welcomed everyone and introduced the first storyteller, the ghost of Grace Brown. I think most people in the area have heard of Grace Brown. She was murdered by her boyfriend, Chester Gilette, who was tried in the courtroom on whose steps the ghost now stood. At least, she assured us she was a ghost. I must say she looked pretty good for someone who had been conked on the head, drowned and been dead for over a hundred years.

Herkimer Now had said on their Facebook page that the stories were not meant to be historically accurate but were for entertainment purposes. The Ghost of Grace Brown was certainly entertaining. I always pictured Grace Brown as a quieter, more self-effacing person. That would have made a boring story. This was fun, and she pretty much got the facts of the case right.

Next we all walked across the street to the 1834 Jail where Jim Greiner told us the story of a serial killer from the 1920s. Jim Greiner, as you may remember, wrote a book about Roxalana Druse, who killed her husband and was subsequently hanged at the very jail we stood in front of. I’ve heard Jim speak before and taken tours of the jail led by him. He is a dynamic speaker.

I confess I missed part of the story, because Tabby was pulling quite insistently on her leash. I thought she might have to poop, so we moved a discreet distance away. As we went I recognized the police officer who was standing nearby as one of my new friends from Coffee and Conversation with a Cop. We said a quiet hello.

I was sorry to have missed any part of Jim’s story. Perhaps I’ll get another chance to hear him tell it, or maybe he’ll write a book about it then give a talk about the book at the Herkimer County Historical Society. but I digress.

Next we went to the Herkimer Reformed Church, which is surrounded by an intriguing-looking graveyard. Kaylynn Iglesias from Ilion told the story of the Weeping Widow of Herkimer, which she said she had first heard as a little girl. We’ve seen Kaylynn in a few plays at Ilion Little Theatre. She is a talented actress and an excellent storyteller. By the end of the story many of us were making plans to walk by the cemetery Halloween night and listen for the ghost.

Anthony Brindisi, mayor of Herkimer, awaited us in front of the Historical Society for the final tale of the evening. He told us how the Suiter Building, as it is called, was built by Dr. A. Walter Suiter, who acted as medical examiner for some of Herkimer’s prominent murder trials.

The mayor led us down Court Street where we could see the back of the building. Some archaeologists had been digging back there, he told us, but they had mysteriously disappeared. He was going on to say nobody knew why they had left and he hoped they came back, when a few of the kids in the crowd exclaimed that they saw somebody.

“What? Who?” the mayor asked.

“That guy!”

Then we all heard a very scary noise. I never saw anybody (or any THING!), but others did. I think one lady got a picture. I hope she posts it on Herkimer Now’s Facebook page.

Steven and I were so happy we had walked down for the program. It was great fun. I sought out Kathy Penree and told her I would love to be one of the storytellers next year. Steven could do it with me. Maybe we could be Roxalana Druse and her murdered husband.

Herkimer Now, who sponsored the event, is an organization whose aim is to revitalize Herkimer, beginning with Main Street. In addition to the storytelling, they sponsored trick or treating on Main Street and a party at the VFW on Halloween night. They also have plans for Christmas. To keep informed on future events, visit their website, www.herkimernow.org, and Like their Facebook page.

A Word to the Wuss

I should have seen it coming that if I had a Tired Tuesday, I would only be up to a Wuss-out Wednesday the next day. Well, sorry folks. I’m down. Down, down, down in the dumps.

I spent most of the day down in the dumps. I don’t mean to be tiresome, but I just can’t always be the cheerful Mohawk Valley Girl. Some people can write when they are down. I say power to them. All I could do on breaks at work was to work on puzzles in a puzzle book. That did not improve my mood to any marked degree, because I’ve done all the puzzles I like. All that is left is puzzles that I don’t like or are too hard for me or both.

Now I am being exceptionally tiresome. What a kvetch.

In my defense, after work I did come home and do a few useful things. I worked on dismantling my container garden. Astute readers (do I have any other kind?) may remember that on Monday I felt guilty for running and not working on that or on raking the lawn. My delightful husband Steven raked the lawn on Tuesday. I wanted to contribute.

After a short Facebook break, I typed into the upstairs computer what I have written so far on my articles to submit to Mohawk Valley Living magazine. Um, I did not write them today. I did not add to them either. After exhausting myself literarily (my computer is underlining that word, but my dictionary says it is correct) if not literally, I chopped vegetables and began making a salad for my lunch tomorrow. When it was almost time for Steven to be home, I put Tabby on the leash and walked out to meet him. I could probably have written my blog post on that walk. Oh well, missed a bet.

I perceive that I am over 300 words. Perhaps they are not good words, but they are words nonetheless. Ooh, that raises a question suitable for some half-baked philosophy on Lame Post Friday: Isn’t it the ARRANGEMENT of the words that is not good and the words themselves neutral? Followed by a listing of words that I say are good words. I’ll let the reader fill in the bad words for him or herself. I bet some of you already are.

The Ballot of Steve and Cindy

Yes, I voted today. Would you believe the reason I didn’t write my blog post earlier today was that I was busy pondering my decisions on how to cast my ballot? Well, it’s not, but in fact I have not yet written my blog post for today. Full disclosure: I have one almost entirely written, but I want it to be good and anyways it’s too long to type in on a Tired Tuesday such as today.

Be that as it may, here is my voting tale.

Steven and I had several errands to run, so I suggested I get home, change my shoes and we go. Of course it didn’t work that way. For one reason, there was a pot of hot coffee when I arrived home. Naturally I had a cup. It is a rare example of total alignment of the universe that I LOVE the way my husband makes coffee. Surprisingly, it was not why I married him, but I sure do enjoy it now that I’m here.

It didn’t take long to be on our way. When we got to our polling place, a lady standing outside told us where the door to go in was. We already knew but thought it was nice of her to be helpful, so we thanked her as if it was new information. We had to walk by several doors with signs informing us that this was NOT the door. That always amuses me. I was exaggeratedly relieved when we found the correct door, clearly labeled.

Of course we went to the wrong table and the wrong book on the right table before they found where we were supposed to sign for our ballots. One of the poll workers remembers Steve from the play Harvey at Ilion Little Theatre, in which Steven played Dr. Chumley.

“Hi, Doc!” he said. He told another worker that Steven participates at plays in Ilion. I told him Steven might be in another play next year. I do hope Steven will audition for one.

At last we had cast our ballots, thus fulfilling our democratic duty. Steven asked for a sticker, but alas, they were out. We left to run our errands with a little frisson of virtue. Drug store, bank, grocery store, I liked voting best.