Author Archives: mohawkvalleygirl

Return to the Unknown Park

Wednesday I was determined to go running. We had no rehearsal, so I was not worried about getting too tired. In fact, it would be a good think if I tired myself out. I could definitely sleep when I went to bed early, as I intended to do.

My Sunday run was 44 minutes. I know I have previously avoided saying how long I run for fear of invoking scorn and laughter. Then again, how many people do I think read this blog? Specifically, how many marathon runners? Well, as I said earlier, point and laugh if you must. I’m sure people who see me actually running do.

Where was I? Ah yes, Wednesday. The temperature was not bad, but the wind was brisk. I could see it had rained earlier but hoped that was over. I got into my running gear and set out. I had a vague idea of running up to Herkimer County Community College (HCCC) the back way. Challenging but not too daunting. I didn’t know that I would go for 44 minutes. I thought even 20 or 30 minutes would suit my purposes. I would see how it went.

I managed to cross German Street without mishap, no mean feat in 4 p.m. Herkimer traffic. My body was not happy with me. For one thing, the brisk wind got colder. I put my headband over my ears, but there was nothing I could do for my hands. I was pretty sure already that I would not make it for forty minutes. I doubted my ability to make it up to the college. Perhaps the hill by Valley Health?

Then I remembered the Unknown Park. Some months ago I recall doing a post titled Run Through an Unknown Park. I still don’t know the name of the park, which is silly of me, because I read an article in the paper about it when HCCC students had a clean up day there (that’s not a run-on sentence; diagram it) (have you ever noticed that I us a lot of semi-colons? I love semi-colons. I think I’ll do a Friday Lame Post about semi-colons)(but I digress).

I knew the Unknown Park had some uphill stretches. It was someplace different to run. There might even be some sports games being played. It’s always nice to look at something active as you run by. I think other people’s energy travels through the air and helps me. A fanciful image, perhaps, but I’ll take anything that keeps me going. The entrance to the park is also on the same side of German Street that I was on. So I had my plan.

As I started across the entrance to be on the left side facing traffic, a car was approaching the gate to exit. I had not seen her due to the hill and curve and the fact that I don’t always pay enough attention when I’m running. I waved an “I’m sorry,” although I think I got across without obstructing her. She gave me the “That’s OK” wave, so that was OK.

I started up the hill. Not too steep but steep enough to bug me. Oh, I have not been getting enough sleep. It was fun to run on a gravelly dirt road for a change. No sports games were going on. There wasn’t even anyone letting their dog run in the big fields, as there sometimes is. I wondered if my dog would like to go there and run.

I saw a steep grassy bank on the other side of one field. Nothing I’d care to run up, even if I had gotten enough sleep. I saw some tire tracks dug into it. The tracks went partway up then stopped. I wondered what mishap had occurred and hoped that someone had been taping it for future inclusion in World’s Dumbest. World’s Dumbest Daredevils or Thrillseekers or even Motorheads. I watch them all.

As I continued running the wind picked up and got more bitter. The park is a lovely, woodsy setting, but it’s always cooler near the trees. I contemplated how welcome the coolness would be this summer but was not enjoying it on Wednesday. Was that a raindrop? Oh dear. As I headed toward home it did start raining but did not amount to much. It had stopped by the time Tabby and I took our cool down walk.

My run did have the desired effect of helping me sleep. I didn’t even make it through the evening’s episode of World’s Dumbest. It was World’s Dumbest Criminals 5, an episode I had already seen. I think it was a pretty good run or do I flatter myself? At least I don’t think I qualify for World’s Dumbest Runner. Maybe World’s Dumbest Blogger, but let’s not go there.

Rummaging Around Ilion

I headed to Ilion, NY to continue my Saturday adventure (I add NY for the benefit of my readers far and wide) (if any). I knew there was a rummage sale at the Episcopal Church, and I intended to hit as the Thrift Store and a consignment shop(pe) or two.

In case anybody missed Monday’s post (how often do I expect people to read, after all?), I was on a mission to find props and costumes for Harvey, the play I am in with Ilion Little Theatre. The play is to be presented in The Stables, Remington Avenue, Ilion, May 4, 5, 6, 10, 11 and 12. Curtain time is 8 p.m. except for Sunday May 6 at 2 (it seems like a good policy to give the information every time).

As I turned up Second Avenue (or is that one Street? I get confused; anyways, it’s perpendicular to Otsego Street), I noticed a sign for another Rummage and Bake Sale at another church and said, “Goody.” The sale at the Episcopal Church had a lot of stuff, and they seemed determined to get rid of it. To that end, it was four bags for a dollar. As you went in they collected your dollar, handed you four bags and turned you loose.

I found a fancy bottle such as Steven likes to use to decorate our buffet. A nice lady wrapped it in some paper for me. I indiscriminately grabbed several evening bags for my collection, although none would work for my character in the play. I ended up giving them back two of the bags, but I definitely found a dollar’s worth of stuff.

As I parked in the parking lot of the church where I thought I saw the other sale, I saw there was no sign out front. Darn! (Not nice to use a strong cuss word in a church parking lot.) They must have packed up early. What time was it? No matter.

Then as I drove the rest of the way down Second, I realized my silly mistake. I had the right time but the wrong church. Lots of churches in that little section of Ilion. One might get confused. I am a little embarrassed to admit, I can’t remember the name of either church. Steven and I even drove by the second one on the way home from rehearsal last night but could not make out the sign.

That sale was the most picked over. I overheard a lady saying you had to get to these things as soon as they open.

“But when you come late, if you do find something, it’s a great deal,” I said.

She agreed, but obviously felt her early bird ways were better. To each his own, as the old lady said when she kissed the cow.

I was out of rummage sales, so it was on to consignment shops and the Thrift Store, or Salvation Armani, as I’ve recently heard the latter called. Sounds like a good topic for another post (oh, I do love stretching my Saturday adventures to several posts). Stay tuned!

Excuses, Excuses

Now I’ve done it, now I have done it. This is another fine mess I’ve gotten myself into! Now look what I did! (Substitute “you” for “I” and the first two are quotes from movies and the third is just something I like to say.) (Oh, and “me” for “myself,” but you probably figured that out already.)

I went the whole day without writing my blog post, then I got home from work and did not go running so as to have something to write about. I had an idea earlier that I would just write off the cuff about why I haven’t written anything, but you know, it isn’t Lame Post Friday. Then again, I don’t think I posted lamely last Friday, so maybe it will be OK.

In my defense, I spent my breaks at work studying my lines for Harvey, which is to be presented by Ilion Little Theatre, The Stables, Ilion, NY. Production dates are May 4, 5, 6, 10, 11 and 12. Times are 8 p.m. except for Sunday, May 6, which is 2 p.m. So you see, it is close. What, me nervous? YES!

I haven’t had a big part in a play in a LONG time. And I didn’t have all that many big parts when I used to get big parts. Um, I think two. Two big parts. Back in the 1990s. Then one small part last year. What the hell was I thinking?

Picture me with my wrist to my forehead. Now stop playing that miniature violin and keep your sarcastic remarks to yourself. I love being in a play. I love having a big part. But I’m still working overtime, still training for the Boilermaker, still trying to write this silly blog every day, still trying to take care of my husband and dog, oh yeah and myself… something’s got to give. Today it is Mohawk Valley Girl.

So I have just written some 300 words on how I do not have time to write a blog post today. That’s kind of silly, but then I always say, go with your strengths. We’ll try this again tomorrow. As always, thank you for playing.

Mission to Middleville

Saturday I was on a mission to find costumes and props for the play I’m in (which, once again, is Harvey with Ilion Little Theatre). I had found a couple of rummage sales in the newspapers, and I thought to hit the Thrift Store and some consignment shops (or it is shoppes?).

I headed first to Middleville, NY, thinking I’d go further afield then closer to home (I feel I should put NY; after all, I’m on the internet, people all over the world could read this) (or do I flatter myself?). Steven and I have been to rummage sales at the Methodist Church there, so I felt confident I could find it on my own (hmmmm, what do you think is going to happen?).

Out Route 28 I drove. I don’t go that way very often, so it gave me something new to look at. Hey, anything that adds interest for me. As I passed Heidelberg Bakery, I thought I’d have to stop and eat at the cafe sometime. When I wasn’t on a mission to rummage sales that close at noon.

I noted several school buses at Mudville but did not see where they were from. I wondered if some sort of baseball tournament was going on and thought that would be fun to watch. (Ooh, maybe I should do a blog post about Mudville sometime.)

There were the Herkimer Diamond Mines with the campground across the street. I watched for pedestrians as the sign advised me to do, but I did not see any. I guess it’s a little early in the season for camping, but not being a camper myself, of course I don’t know.

Naturally, once I got to Middleville I could not remember exactly where the church is. It only took me one false turn to find it. I was happy to note a handily placed Stewart’s in case I needed to stop and ask directions, but luckily did not have to resort to that. I say luckily, because I have had the experience of stopping into a convenience store and asking only to have the clerk apologetically tell me he or she does not live in the area.

Two ladies were working the sale, and I was the only customer at the time. They cordially invited me to buy as much as I wanted; they were hoping to get rid of it. That’s the beauty of going on the last day of a rummage sale.

I did not find anything for the play, but I found some good junk for me and Steven, including some VHS tapes that I think somebody recorded movies from television on. I thought they had intriguing titles, mostly to do with murder. I figured what the heck, I’m buying them cheap, the money goes to a church and if we don’t like them we can always re-donate them somewhere else. And it was fewer items for the ladies to take care of at the end of the day.

I headed back toward Herkimer feeling I had made a good start on my mission. I guess I don’t know why I felt that way, since I hadn’t found anything for the play, but the day was young. My adventure continued.

Olive a Good Sammich

Today I did something I rarely do: checked previous posts to see if I am repeating myself too egregiously (I know darn well I repeat myself; I only do so many things). I see that I did mention making egg and olive once. That time did not turn out so well. So I feel free to write about my experience of this afternoon.

It is Sunday. I spent most of the day Saturday running around having Mohawk Valley adventures of the shopping kind, but I don’t feel up to writing about that. Truth is, I don’t feel up to writing much. I felt tired to begin with, then I went on a long run and took an allergy pill afterwards. Allergy pills may put me to sleep or dope me up. Today they made me very tired and sapped out any vestige of ambition I may have had (and after my run I confess I did not have much). But I am so close to my goal of posting every day for a year, I really really want to write something.

I had put some eggs on to boil to make egg and olive for my sandwich tomorrow (I usually say “sammich” but I sometimes write “sandwich”), and went to the computer to Just Write Something. The eggs finished boiling while I was checking my email and facebook notifications. I was going to let them wait, but then I said, “Hey! I’ll make my egg and olive and blog about that!” That’s what you might call a win/win situation. Or is it multi-tasking? Killing two birds with one stone? Anyways, I thought it was a good idea.

I remembered I like to cook with wine, so I poured myself a small glass. First I put ice in the glass, to dilute it a little. I don’t want to get squiffy, I just want to cook with wine. It’s an odd phenomenon, but I find that sometimes a sip of wine counteracts the vagueness engendered by the sinus medication. Perhaps it’s placebo effect. Or I just don’t notice the allergy pill reaction any more. I’m inclined to think the former, though, because I usually take one sip, put the glass down and forget about it. That is what I did this time.

I peeled the eggs. I was about to throw out the shells when I remembered a conversation with a guy at work in which he said it was a good idea to put egg shells on the plants in your garden. I have not planted my garden yet, but I took the egg shells out and threw them onto the dirt where the garden is going to be. My dog Tabby followed me out. When I went back into the house, she went to stick her nose in the egg shells. She’s been sticking her nose in the garden dirt ever since the snow melted. I called her to come back in the house. Note to self: get fence to put around garden.

Back in the kitchen, I sliced the olives. I put them in a bowl with the eggs, mayonnaise and a little mustard. The mustard jar says it is Sweet Hot Dipping Mustard. I find it more sweet than hot, so I put a little horse radish in my egg and olive, to add a little zing. Then some Pampered Chef All Purpose Dill Mix, and some Lemon and Pepper seasoning. Mix, mix, trying to chop the egg whites with the fork. Ought I to have chopped them with a knife? Too late now.

A taste. Not bad. What to add? Then I remembered, chives! I have three patches of chives in my lawn which now come up every year with no effort on my part. I love chives! I ran out and got some. Chopped them small and threw them in. Another taste. I think it will do.

I put my mixture in the refrigerator for the flavors to blend. I’m sure this will be a delightful addition to my lunch tomorrow, in a whole wheat pita. In the meantime, I picked up the glass of wine I had forgotten about earlier, and I’m considering cooking dinner. I think I’m on a roll.

Running When You Gotta Go

I heard it was supposed to get cold and rain on Saturday, so I set out early, well, early-ish to run. Since it was prior to 8 a.m., I thought I could get away with running a little ways up Route 28. I intended to drive that way later, in search of Mohawk Valley adventures, so I thought I could set my mileage thingy and see how far I had gone.

Right away I could tell it was still a good temperature for running. Aaah! Less than two blocks into the run, I had to go to the bathroom. “No way,” I told myself. “You just peed! This is habit bladder!” Then I pondered further and realized, I had forgotten to go. Let’s see, brushed teeth, decided to get dressed and then pee, got dressed, started running. Damn! How could I forget something that basic?

Now what? I hadn’t gone that far; I could turn around and go back. It might upset the dog. When she sees me after I leave to run, she expects to walk a cool down with me. Anyways, once I start running, I want to run, I don’t want to stop. Oh, I could wait. I intended to run 40 minutes. Could I wait 40 minutes? “Fight habit bladder, fight habit bladder,” I urged myself. After all, I obviously hadn’t really had to go before I left or I wouldn’t have forgotten. I just like to go before I leave the house. A habit my mother taught me.

I thought briefly of running in a different direction, like maybe to McDonald’s and using their bathroom. Then I thought, I’m running out Route 28. Isn’t that out of town? Doesn’t it get rural and woodsy? Maybe I could find a friendly tree. I don’t run out that way very often, so I couldn’t say for sure I would find such a tree, but I thought the odds seemed good. Then I thought, I could also run the other way on 28 and come to Hannaford. They opened at seven and have a perfectly nice bathroom. It would mess up my mileage checking plan, but still.

Friendly tree or respectable grocery store? Friendly tree or respectable grocery store? I pondered as I ran. Waiting a full 40 minutes seemed an increasingly less viable option. Then I considered, I’ll probably blog about this (as you see). I think it is not quite legal to pee behind a tree, however friendly, within village limits. Might not be the sort of thing to put out on the internet for all to see (um, I mean to read about; I did not intend to take a picture or anything).

Then I got to the H.A.R.C building at the end of German Street and I saw it! A porta potty, apparently for whoever was doing all the work on the building and grounds. They don’t lock those things, do they? I sprinted towards it and hoped for the best. Success! It was open and not too dirty. There was plenty of toilet paper (I even managed to blow my nose, which usually needs it). Oh, I was happy.

As I continued my run out Route 28, I was extremely grateful for the porta potty. There were trees, but they did not look very friendly and they certainly did not look discreet. There were more houses that way than I remembered. In short, there was no handy place for a tinkle.

I did not run very far out the highway, though, because traffic was heavier than I like. It wasn’t horrible, but enough cars were zooming by me that I was not comfortable. When I drove out that way later I found I had gone more than a mile but less than a mile and a half. I had still run for my forty minutes, though, by dint of following other streets.

I felt pretty happy about my run: beat the rain, beat the cold. It was important to me to get the run in, because I only ran once since Sunday. I had intended to run on Friday, but came home from work with the most debilitating headache. You know, the kind of headache where, when you realize your head has finally stopped hurting, you want to weep with gratitude. Maybe some people can run with such a headache. I cannot.

On the Boilermaker route, there are porta potties. There are usually lines for them. 14,000 runners, I guess there would be. I shall plan to get to the starting line early enough to wait in line for a pre-run tinkle. Just another thing to think about as I train.

A Shriek on the Screen

Here is another post on a Horror Classic which turned out to be less cheesy than anticipated. To recapitulate for readers who just tuned in: 50 Horror Classics is a DVD set I gave my husband Steven, and we have been enjoying some pretty cheesy old movies. So naturally I’ve been blogging about them. Yesterday I did a post on one that was less cheesy than others. Likewise the one I’m going to talk about today.

A Shriek in the Night (1933) stars Ginger Rogers, who famously did everything Fred Astaire did only backwards and in high heels (just had to throw that in). This is apparently one of her first movies, and, alas, she does not dance.

The movie starts right out with a shriek. I was a little worried the movie was over already. I mean, hello, there’s the shriek, now what? But there are more shrieks as we go along. Not too many, though. After all, it’s not a ’70s slasher flick.

A man has jumped or been thrown from a penthouse balcony (hmmm… which do you suppose it is?). When we meet Ginger Rogers, she is being questioned by a cop, because she is secretary to the dead guy. Such an attractive live-in secretary raises some officers’ eyebrows, but she assures them there is a dumb, utterly respectable maid to chaperone. The maid, the cop decides, may be respectable but is certainly dumb. She was my favorite character. She added some comic relief and a few shrieks, but they came later. My other favorite character was a hapless cop who couldn’t seem to do anything right.

We soon discover that Ginger is really an intrepid girl reporter. I was glad to hear that. I love intrepid girl reporters, like Fay Wray in The Mystery of the Wax Museum (see post back in, I think January). Ginger is perhaps not as intrepid as Fay and she doesn’t crack as wise, but she helps unravel the mystery. Ginger butts heads with a brash boy reporter, who seems to want to both scoop and marry her. The plot thickens with another shriek and another murder.

It seems the victims all receive a card with a snake and the words, “You will hear it.” What they will hear is the hissing of the steam pipe. I bet the writers rubbed their palms together when they came up with that one. Imagine watching a scary movie where the steam pipe hisses before the murderer strikes, then going home and hearing your steam heat whistle. Do people still heat their houses with whistley steam pipes? I’ve never heard it, with or without a murder.

The movie is fairly scary and suspenseful. And the solution to the mystery holds up. At least, I didn’t wake up in the middle of the night saying, “Wait a minute!” Well, maybe one thing. I’m not clear on how Ginger Rogers escaped the deadly peril she inevitably found herself in. Oh, I saw the cops and boyfriend rush in, but the bad guy had already lit the incinerator. Where was she that she didn’t burn up or die of smoke inhalation?

Oh dear, now I’ve gone and revealed the climax. At least I didn’t say who the bad guy was or how Ginger ended up in the incinerator. And I’m sure nobody really thought the main girl would succumb to the deadly peril, so you can’t really ding me on revealing that she was rescued.

It was a fun watch. It held my interest, which some of the cheesier movies in the collection have not. I’ll let you know how I enjoy the next one. After all, the weekend’s coming.

Batty Movie

Spoiler Alert: I may give away too many plot points, so if you thought you might like to see The Bat from 1959 and you like to be surprised, you might want to skip this post till after you see the movie (that’s probably a run-on sentence).

I’ve had so much fun writing about cheesy horror movies that I asked Steven could we watch some more last weekend. He graciously agreed. I was a little disappointed in the cheese quality of our selections. I mean, they weren’t bad (although I do enjoy the irony of being disappointed that a movie is good). However, looking back at the truck sized plot holes in our first movie, I thought it was worth a post.

The Bat stars Vincent Price and Agnes Moorehead. Now, Price has done some majorly cheesy movies, but I think the lowest Moorehead ever stooped was television (and who didn’t love Endora?). Although I may be wrong about that. I’ll have to look in Video Hound for a list of her movies. They used to make a lot more movies than they do these days, so the potential for cheese was greater.

But getting on to the movie. Moorehead plays a crime writer who has rented a mansion which may or may not be haunted. Right away you know you’re in for some excitement, because what fictional crime writer doesn’t encounter an actual murder? None that I know of.

Agnes’ lady maid and constant companion (I know it’s more proper to refer to her as Moorehead, but I feel it is friendlier to call her Agnes). Where was I? Oh yes, the companion right away warns Agnes about this mysterious killer known as The Bat. The Bat apparently rips people’s throats out with a claw. I did not know that was how a bat could kill somebody. I thought movie bats sucked people’s blood, but I guess that’s just vampire movies.

Anyways, this is plot hole number one, which I did not realize till much later when I started pondering What Really Happened (and that’s what makes a good movie plot hole: it’s not till much later on when you go, “Wait a minute!”). Here we have the murderer mentioned early on (as you should have in a murder mystery), but with no motive ascribed. Later on, when we get to the murders this movie is concerned with, there is a very definite motive, namely a million dollars (or is it two?) embezzled from the bank (actually the thief says he “embezzled” the money, but I think it was stolen and he was stepping way up in class). So when the Bat supposedly started killing, his motive for the later killings (the ones we see) hadn’t even happened yet.

But this actually might not be a plot hole. I don’t quite understand what went on. It’s quite possible that The Bat did not do all the killings, or even that The Bat wasn’t The Bat, or that there was no Bat, or maybe the Bat even randomly killed some people earlier in case he needed to establish a cover story. There are actual bats, by the way. The lady maid is threatened by one slipped through the transom, and Vincent Price, who is a doctor, is seen messing around with some in a scientific fashion.

We also encounter some typical old movie female behavior. There’s a mysterious stranger in the house the police can’t find him. We’re in the bedroom with the door locked and the transom kind of sort of blocked. Let’s try to get some sleep! Oh and the perennial, I just heard a noise! I’ll go investigate, you wait here. Never mind that my friend in the other room has a gun and I only have a flashlight (why didn’t that bitch give me the gun? is a question never asked).

The movie is pretty absorbing. It is definitely suspenseful and even scary in parts. It isn’t till afterwards that you realize that it does not make a whole lot of sense.

Looking back over this write up, I don’t think I’ve really done justice to how much the movie really doesn’t make sense. On the brighter side, it hasn’t been nearly the spoiler I alerted you about in the first paragraph. So go ahead and watch the movie. Tell me what you think.

And if anybody really does not want to watch the movie and really would like a plot summary, let me know that too. It’ll give me a subject for a whole nother blog post (oh, I know “whole nother” is not proper English. I can be cheesy too, can’t I?).

About That Play

I’ve mentioned several times now how I’m too busy for Mohawk Valley adventures because of the play I’m in with Ilion Little Theatre (ILT). I thought I’d spend today’s post talking a little bit about the play, Harvey, by Mary Chase.

Many people are familiar with the 1950 movie version with Jimmy Stewart. At least, when I say, “You know, the one where the guy sees the big white rabbit,” people say, “Oh yeah.” Perhaps they are only humoring me. Before auditions I told everybody I wanted to play the rabbit. Instead I got a part with more lines.

I play Veda Simmons, sister of Elwood P. Dowd, the guy that sees the rabbit. I am a society matron, trying to get my daughter Myrtle Mae “started with a nice group of young people” (meaning we want her to meet a man). When Myrtle and I are entertaining a society lady of some importance (she has a grandson about Myrtle’s age) and are mortified by the arrival of Elwood and his friend, I decide to have him committed to Chumley’s Rest Home. Trouble ensues.

At the rest home we encounter a pair of troubled love birds, the conniving Dr. Chumley and his charming wife, and a possible a love interest for Myrtle (although I think he is a white slaver). Things get a little complicated, especially when I bring in our lawyer Judge Gaffney to sue. A wise cab driver straightens us all out in the end.

OK, that’s not the whole plot, but I think I have mentioned all the characters at least in passing. I didn’t want to leave anybody out, in case some of the cast members read this. I also don’t like to give too much away, because I hope some of my readers will like to come see the play.

Harvey will be presented Friday, Saturday and Sunday, May 4, 5 and 6, and Thursday, Friday and Saturday, May 10, 11 and 12. All performances are at 8 p.m. except Sunday’s, which is at 2 p.m. ILT is located in the Stables, behind Remington Arms, Ilion, NY. For more information visit their website at http://www.ilionlittletheatre.org.

Not an Ice Cream Run

As the Boilermaker looms ever closer, I’m feeling the pressure to run, run run. I also have rehearsals for Harvey (the play I am in with Ilion Little Theatre) (feel I must say it every time) as well as other responsibilities (hello, working to pay the bills), so today I thought I would compromise with a shorter run. Sunday when I added my weekly 10 percent, I was up to 40 minutes (laugh and point if you must), so I thought a 20 or 30 minute run would at least get me out there.

I put in a load of laundry before I started out. Then I thought a 30 minute run would be perfect. Followed by a 10 minute cool down walk around the block with Tabby, I’d be getting home just as the laundry was finished. How efficient am I? I could hear the ice cream truck as I came out the back door. No ice cream for me, I thought. I’m not just training for the Boilermaker; I’m trying to drop that last ten pounds.

So off I went, ice cream truck tune playing in my head. At least it gave me a good pace. The sun was brighter than I had realized, making the temperature warmer than I had expected. Yesterday was downright hot, and I did not run. I thought today would be better.

I heard the ice cream truck behind me. No way! Was it following me? Well I couldn’t get ice cream anyways, I told myself; I didn’t have any money. Still, I thought, I bet that ice cream truck would follow me home, especially if I promised to buy a half dozen treats, which I could stick in the freezer and surprise Steven with. If they lasted that long. I didn’t see the truck. Another block down I didn’t hear it either. Phew!

Down this street, up that street. Is this the way I went Saturday? Go the other way. I thought I saw a bag of yard waste with a head. I mean, it didn’t look like a real head. Like a bucket or something with something on top to look like hair. When I got closer, I saw it was a kind of a lumpy person sitting on the ground near the curb. He had a bucket shaped head with one of those hairdos that are shaved all around but mop-like on top. I am being completely unspecific about what street I saw this person on, because I think that is kind of an unflattering description. To mitigate, I couldn’t really see him all that well; my running glasses are several prescriptions ago.

I ran down Folts Street, which the Folts Home is not located on. Carney’s Corners is. They make great subs. Hmmm… I could go in, order a sub for delivery, run home and pay for it when it arrived. What a great idea! I turned the other way before I could talk myself into it.

I decided to head toward Myers park, which I used to always run through just before heading home. I had to cross Main Street. Traffic. Ugh. I jogged in place till I had my chance then sprinted. I’d like to say I crossed the street at a dead run, but two thirds of the way across I saw the curb and thought my stride was not the proper length. I had a brief vision of myself sprawling on the sidewalk, toe bruised, shin bleeding, pride in complete tatters. I avoided that disaster and headed towards the park.

Was that the damn ice cream truck heading in the same direction? Was it stalking me? Probably not. I believe the person who owns or runs it lives near where I live. I’ve seen the truck parked at a house a couple streets away. Again, I will not get specific. I’m sure there are those that stalk the ice cream truck.

I ran though the park as the truck drove on. Then around the perimeter of the park, to gain my full run time, then home without further incident or temptation. I did not have ice cream. I do not intend to have ice cream. Today anyways.