Category Archives: humor

Halloween for Thanksgiving?

Some people say we should make the spirit of Christmas last all year. I like to make the spirit of Halloween last all year. Last night, I had a couple of Halloween-y experiences I’d like to share.

I gave my schnoodle, Tabby, a bath, because we’re going on a visit for Thanksgiving. Of course, that was more scary for her than for me, but she survived and even forgave me. The point was, I could not just let her run in the muddy backyard to take care of business. I had to put her on the leash and make her stay pretty much on the sidewalk. She’s a good dog and pretty much complied.

I don’t mind walking in the dark. I strolled down the street, looking forward to the Christmas lights we’ll see in the coming weeks. Soon Tabby was ready to head home.

When Steven took down our Halloween decorations, he left out a couple of scarecrows as being appropriate for Thanksgiving. One is rather large. Steve stuck his post into the ground in front of the porch, propping it with some large rocks and letting Scarecrow lean back on the brick pillar. Well, Scarecrow had leaned forward. There are no streetlights right near my house. It’s a little dark. All I saw was an almost person-sized figure lurking near my front porch. Eek!

My alarm was short lived. Then I merely admired the eerie quality of the crazily leaning decoration. As we walked up the driveway (we always go in the back door), I had my second fright when I heard a deep male voice coming from inside my house. Eek!

Had I left the television on? No, I hadn’t turned the television on! The voice sounded calm… and familiar… Oh. It was the answer machine, coincidentally located near the window we were passing under. I’m so silly!

It was actually a pretty enjoyable fright. But I would be glad when Steven got home. After all, you only scare yourself when you’re alone, right?

Later on, after Steven was home and it was getting closer to bedtime, I thought I’d take Tabby out for her last business meeting of the day.

It was cloudy out. I know the moon has been very bright these last few days, and I thought I saw it glowing through the clouds. Wait! It moved! Was that my eyes playing tricks on me? Damn bifocals! No, an amorphous blob of light was moving back and forth. Steven had to see this. I went to the front door and knocked (I mentioned we rarely use the front door, right?). I had to knock twice and Tabby had to bark, but we got Steven’s attention. He came out on the porch and was equally impressed by the ghostly glow.

As we observed it, we saw its movements were fairly regular, and you could almost, sort of see that the light continued groundward. It must have been a beacon, we thought. It was still mysterious, because we don’t know of any beacons in the area. And it added a fillip of interest to my walk, thinking it just might be something else.

So those were my Halloween adventures the night before Thanksgiving. I can’t wait to see what happens at Christmas!

Pre-Thanksgiving Lame

Either I’m tired of writing about our Saturday adventures, or I’m in Friday mode.

Actually, I’m fortunate to be in any mode at all other than a time warp. For me it is Friday, Thursday and Wednesday. With a little bit of post-birthday let-down thrown in (oh, I like writing these lame posts; so self-indulgent).

Friday, obviously, because I have tomorrow off (and the long weekend — woohoo — but more about that later); Thursday, because it is payday; and Wednesday, because of the crossword puzzle in the newspaper. See, there are a couple of fellows at my work who do the crossword puzzle in the Utica OD on break. Sometimes I butt in and help them. The puzzles get more difficult as the week wears on, so some weeks they don’t even need my help before Friday (and, yes, some days I am no help at all anyways). It is rather a joy on Friday to help with a challenging puzzle at lunch and have to continue during the two o’clock break. Such a triumph when we finish it.

I’d like to add a thought about my delightful four day weekend. Some people would tell me to quit gloating, because they have to work. To those people I would explain, with a nod to S.J. Perelman, shut up. (Actually, I rarely tell anybody to shut up, because I don’t like being told that myself. But it is an old S.J. Perelman line: “‘Shut up,’ the policeman explained.”)

I worked all weekends when I had a retail job, and many holidays when I was in the army. And, yes, it kind of sucked hearing the 9 to 5ers gloat on a Friday (or that November Wednesday) (or even Tuesday). But I really didn’t blame them. And I hope nobody blames me.

And while I’m rattling on (lame post, after all), I’m sure there are people who work, and/or have worked, longer, crappier and more hours than me. Sorry, guys. There are people who work way less than me, or even not at all (you know who you are). I can’t control these things!

I guess I say all this to cover my butt. To obviate the need for anybody to jump in and say, “Well I work blah blah so shut up!” (in that squeaky tone of voice people use when imitating a generic annoying person). And maybe I feel a little guilty for being so gleeful about my imminent four day weekend, and I don’t want to. I guess all I can say is, don’t hate me because I’m beautiful. And maybe I’ll get lame again when it’s really Friday. Happy Thanksgiving!

Vintage Friday

I’d been looking forward to Friday all week, since I have the weekend off. I was delighted when I got the email informing me of the Thanksgiving Wine Tasting to be held at Vintage Spirits.

The tasting ran from four to seven. I arrived shortly after 4:30. The Great Cheese Lady who had been at the last tasting was absent (I wasn’t the only one that missed her), but Bronson had some cheese and crackers out, as well as roasted turkey and cranberry sauce. I thought that was a pretty good idea for a Thanksgiving Wine Tasting: you could easily see which wines would be good with dinner. Some would automatically think of white wine with turkey, but a light-bodied red can work, too.

The first wine I tried was Pascal Jolivet Pouilly-Fume. The grape used is sauvignon blanc, so I was pretty sure I would like that one, and I was right. I wrote “yummy” in my wine notebook (I haven’t mentioned yet, although regular readers are aware: this isn’t a real wine blog).

Next was Juvenile Macon Chardonnay. It was only lightly oaked, so I liked that one, too. I feel like a real oenophile when I drink Chardonnay, because I say, “Is it aged in oak or stainless steel?” just as if I know what I’m talking about. But I guess aged in oak is OK with me as long as it’s not too oaky (there’s a pun there somewhere).

The other two whites, Pfaffenheim Gewerztraminer and Skyleaf Riesling, were sweeter than I like. I do think Gewerztraminer is a good wine for anybody to drink, though. When you can’t say the name, you know you’ve had too much.

Bronson was also sampling two Woodbridge sparkling wines (some of us call them champagne, but there’s usually somebody around to tell us that’s a misnomer: real champagne is from a certain area of France). I learned that Brut is always drier than Extra Dry. Both Woodbridges were pretty tasty, although I found I liked the less dry Extra Dry just a little bit more.

By the time I moved on to the reds, still busily taking notes, another patron asked me if I was writing a term paper.

“No, a blog post,” I said.

I tried three reds: Pinot Noirs by Barefoot and Illahe, and a Blue Coast Vineyards Syrah. I liked all three, but I decided the Illahe was my favorite wine of the evening.

I also tried the Fulton Harvest Pumpkin Pie cream liqueur. That was quite rich. I asked for another taste of the Illahe, just to cleanse my palate.

The wine tasting was a great way to start my weekend. I picked up a couple of bottles, to continue my enjoyment (um, I didn’t drink them both, or even all of one, on Friday). Vintage Spirits is located at 246 Mohawk St. in Herkimer. You can call them at 866-6800 and ask them to put you on their email list, in order to be informed about future wine tastings. Perhaps I’ll see you there.

Blog, Blog, Blog

It’s back by popular demand (mine): Lame Post Friday!

I guess many of my posts lately have been fairly random. Too much overtime to allow for real Mohawk Valley adventures. But, as I often point out, I’m trying to post every day, so I reserve the right to be a little self indulgent.

Blogging is a pretty self-indulgent medium anyways. Nobody asks us to blog (actually, I encouraged one sister to start a blog, but she hasn’t yet). We just think if we put our words out there, somebody will like to read it. Sometimes we’re right. And I think some of us are inspired by stories of people who started with a blog and ended with a book deal. Hey, it could happen to us (I buy lottery tickets, too).

I’m sure there are purists out there who disapprove of blogging. After all, we’re not paying our dues. We’re not professionals. We didn’t get a dozen or a thousand rejection slips before we published our blog. And I believe there are some slimy blogs out there. Bloggers who tout their opinions as fact or offer as irrefutable fact something they just now made up. Or stole from another slimy blog. When commentators disparagingly refer to the blogosphere going crazy about this or that, I believe that is what they are referring to.

Of course, there are other kinds of blogs that do not call for disparagement. Some people blog about trips abroad or new babies or loved ones dealing with terrible health crises. Some people blog about their passion or hobby or area of expertise. Some people blog about their personal events or thoughts, because they think it’s fun or they want to share.

In fact, the more I think about it, the more I think: don’t be so hard on blogs! So what if blogs are sometimes a little self indulgent? If some of us want to put our words out there, let us. Read us or don’t. Oh, hell, I guess I don’t even care if you want to criticize me or make fun of me. My family and friends have been doing it for years.

Well, that was an interesting stream of consciousness, or train of thought, or whatever if was. To me, anyways. I feel kind of happy that Lame Post Friday is back.

Pre-Holiday Rant

Plans are being made. Watches are being synchronized. Soon Black Friday will be upon us.

A co-worker just referred to it as Good Friday. There’s a Freudian slip for you, depending on your point of view.

I was a little surprised when I learned that the Black in Black Friday referred to profit — in the black instead of in the red. I always thought it was a phrase coined by downtrodden retail workers, pulverized by an unreasonably large rush of customers, few of whom exhibit that goodwill to men we’ve heard about. I often want to say to people, “If it makes you so unhappy, why are you celebrating it?” But I never would, because I don’t want to hear the self-pitying tirade about how they HAVE TO, not very subtly implying that I am an idiot for even asking, as well as a philistine (not that they know that word) for even obliquely (or that one) suggesting that they NOT celebrate (I’m certainly not suggesting that; what I am suggesting is — but that’s a whole other blog post).

That phenomenon goes on all season. I was ranting about Black Friday (I had a couple of other Christmas rants in mind, but I just thought why have one blog post when I can sleaze three or four out of the season?).

I’ve been to the mall on Black Friday. In my defense, I was there to work, not shop. I found it scary, which given my Halloween obsession should have been a selling point. The scariness began well before I reached the mall. There could not have been a single car left in a single driveway in the Mohawk Valley! I had allowed extra time to look for a parking space, but by the time I was sitting through the third red light outside Consumer Square, I wondered if I had allowed enough.

I hate parking lots in the best of times. I like to drive in and park right away. That way I spend as little time driving in the parking lot as possible. And I like to get a little extra exercise by walking further to the door. There was no spending little time in this parking lot. Not only were there no spaces, there was almost no space between the spaces because people had added extra spaces where none belonged. I eased down a row, praying nobody would be trying to ease in the other direction, because one of us would have had to back up and I didn’t want it to be me. What a day for my brake light to go on for the first time!

Of course, you don’t inevitably run out of brake fluid on Black Friday. It only happened to me once, and my Dad nicely helped me out of that fix. But you can see why the day might have bad connotations for me.

This rant started when a co-worker mentioned a good price on towels. “Ooh, where’s that?” I asked. She told me where and when, and I said, “Never mind.” Another co-worker wondered how much Black Friday merchandise makes it under the tree — I mean, isn’t that the POINT? — and how much winds up in the purchaser’s closet. I said, “I’ll pay more and keep my sanity.”

Oh well, to each his own, as the old lady said when she kissed the cow. Some people enjoy the crush. Perhaps their competitive instincts are aroused. Or they just truly love a bargain. I know for some it is a family tradition. I say to them, enjoy! If it’s fun for you, power to ya! If it’s not, for heavens’ sake, STAY HOME!

Back on My Feet Again

I do tend to go on about things (like for example the DARE 5K). I think almost every post since last Thursday I have mentioned my bad cold. Due to the cold, I have not been running or walking in a number of days (that’s a silly expression: “a number of days.” After all, one is a number.) (Some say the loneliest number) (But I digress). I was determined to take my schnoodle Tabby for a walk on Tuesday.

We set out down German Street in the direction of Caroline. I thought we might pass a couple of Mohawk Valley landmarks I could put in the blog. First we walked by Trinity Lutheran Church. They had a craft fair and soup luncheon last Saturday, which I missed as I was in the throes of the Overtime Blues.

I saw a cute little poodle I’ve tried to pet on occasion. She was a block and more ahead of us, walking with her lady, and we did not catch up. Just as well, she’s a nervous poodle. I also saw a pug I think I know, peeping out of the front door of his house. If it was the pug I think it was, he’s hard to pet too, but not because he’s scared of me. He’s just too wiggly.

Tabby and I boldly crossed Caroline, which I don’t always attempt at that time of day. It was no problem, though, and we walked on. We passed the Bellinger Rose Bed and Breakfast. I’ve never set foot in the place much less stayed there, so I can’t give it a real plug. However, it’s a beautiful building to walk by. Maybe one day they’ll do a Historical Society Fundraiser there, as the Balloon Farm Bed and Breakfast in Frankfort did once (alas, in my pre-blog days).

I had thought to walk down by the high school. For one thing, they have a handily located trash can, and Tabby had done her business (incidentally, I don’t know what kind of dog food and treats, Steven has been buying lately, but Tabby’s poops were tri-colored. It was amazing). Unfortunately, some parent meeting was going on. Lots of traffic, and I did not like to intrude. I did scan their electronic sign as I passed for upcoming events. We went to a fun play there once (again, during pre-blog days. Sorry, Herkimer Footlighters).

Tabby was getting a little tired of walking by now and started pulling me toward home. We headed in that direction, making good time except for just a couple pauses while Tabby explored a promising smell. She may get tired of walking, but she almost never gets tired of sniffing.

I always like walking in Herkimer, and I like writing blog posts about my walks. I always try to find something new and different to mention to my readers. I’m almost never disappointed. I hope my readers like it too.

Arsenic Part Two

First a disclaimer. As I write this, I have taken a rather powerful decongestant. My nose and sinuses feel as if they’ve been sand blasted. My limbs feel a bit macaroni-ish (shouldn’t effect my typing), and my brain is foggy (effects about to be seen).

My plan was to continue my rave about Ilion Little Theatre’s Arsenic and Old Lace with mention of the cast members I haven’t mentioned yet. Hmm, look at that cast list. May turn into a three parter. We’ll see how the word count goes.

For those of you just tuning in, I attended Ilion Little Theatre’s production of Arsenic and Old Lace Friday, and in spite of a bad cold, I loved it. Also in spite of a bad cold, I wrote a blog post about it, but because of the bad cold, I did not say all I intended to. Did I mention I have a bad cold? Makes me a little punchy. Anyways, on with the rave.

As the two murderous old ladies, Eva Jaunzems and Sara Militello are wonderful. Both are new to Ilion Little Theatre, and Sara is new to any stage anywhere. They are funny separately and together.

Dave Dellecese as Mortimer is marvelous. The part calls for some extreme reactions, and Dave rises to the occasion without ever going too far over the top. As his sweetheart, Megan McCoy Dellecese (so cute when real life sweeties play sweeties on stage) is, well, sweet.

George Lyon as Teddy livens up the stage, charging up San Juan Hill, blowing his bugle and generally Roosevelting it up. Norm Turner and Charlene Girmonde as the beat cops help set up the action and come to the rescue at the end.

I identify with Elisa Welch’s Officer O’Hara, the frustrated playwright, when she leaves Mortimer bound and gagged while she recounts her opus. I have never physically restrained my husband to read my my blog posts, but I understand the motivation.

Jim Mills plays both the Rev. Dr. Harper and Lieutenant Rooney, so he’s in at the beginning and end. He manages to make both characters distinct and enjoyable.

Art Wilks points out in the program what a small part he has. I don’t know why he even brings it up considering his cameo as a dead husband in Clue the Musical. But Art is always welcome on the Little Theatre stage.

Another cameo type role is played by director George Malavasic, proving once again that George will do whatever it takes to get his play on the stage. He got some good laughs as a would be tenant who does not realize his own luck.

A smaller part, and very fun, is Rick Vroman in the prologue. I saw Rick’s picture with the rest of the cast in the lobby and was delighted to think he was expanding his theatrical horizons. Rick played a very small role in And Then There Were None, as a guy that doesn’t get killed. Here he is onstage for about twenty memorable seconds, in a part I believe is not in the original script.

The smallest part of all is played by Julianne Allen, proving the adage there are no small parts only petite actresses. She plays the body in the window seat, a part I had wanted to play, but alas I did not audition. In the theatre as in life, you snooze you lose.

The other two cast members, Raphael DiLorenzo and Ron Creighton, are mentioned in yesterday’s post. If you missed it, I think you can click on it from here quite easily. Now I see my word count is approaching 600, a lengthy post for me. I will reiterate: go to http://www.ilionlittletheatre.org for more information on one of my favorite places in the Mohawk Valley.

Arsenic and a Bad Cold

I’ve been promising a real Mohawk Valley adventure, and here it is. An authentic gem, unique to the Mohawk Valley: Ilion Little Theatre, where Steven and I went last night to attend a production of Arsenic and Old Lace.

My only regret is that this post will be published on the afternoon of closing night, so any local readers whose theatre appetite is whetted by my words may have to scramble or miss out. Then again, I know a couple of my local readers (you know who you are) are actually in the show. There may not even be any other local readers. How many readers do you suppose I have, anyways? I sometimes make these self-deprecating jokes about having few or no readers. It could be true.

Be that as it may, on to the play (hey, that rhymes).

Many people are familiar with the movie Arsenic and Old Lace starring Cary Grant, which as based on the play. I have never seen the movie from beginning to end, but I understand there are some similarities and some differences. One difference is that in the movie the guy that’s supposed to look like Boris Karloff is actually played by Boris Karloff. So the “you look like Frankenstein” jokes maybe worked better in the movie. However, Raphael DiLorenzo, who plays the part in the play, looks sufficiently threatening that the jokes are not off-base, and he is hilariously offended by the comparison. Ron Creighton, who plays the role Peter Lorre played in the movie, the Karloff character’s henchman, is also very funny. The two play off each other comically to the delight of the audience.

I had written this much on my first break at work (remember the Overtime Blues?). When I got on my second break, my cold symptoms had kicked back in, causing my brain to flee from my body to parts unknown. I thought, “I can’t mention only two members of the cast; they were all wonderful!” But I looked down the cast list and I just couldn’t do it. Oh dear.

In my defense, I’d like to mention that I felt AWFUL yesterday. I came home from work and slept for an hour an a half, got up, showered, and stoked myself with coffee, because I was DETERMINED not to miss this play. I was really glad I went, because it is laugh out loud funny, a real quality production. However, it did not get over till after 11 p.m. I got up at 3:30 a.m. to work. I’m afraid this is as much as I’m going to be able to write today.

Still, I can publish this much on closing night. At least I’ve given my beloved Ilion Little Theatre this much of a plug. And what’s to stop me from writing a continuation of this post tomorrow and mentioning every last cast member. It can’t entice anybody to see the show, but it might be worth a read. For more information on Ilion Little Theatre, visit their website at http://www.ilionlittletheatre.org. You can also like them on Facebook.

Lame Post Friday After All

Thursday I was determined to do something, anything Mohawk Valleyish for my blog. I believe my readers (both of them) do not mind my silly meanderings and lame posts. I even changed my headline to “my life in the Mohawk Valley” as the blog becomes more and more a personal journal. And yet. And yet.

I have declared myself Mohawk Valley Girl. Let’s hear about the Mohawk Valley!

Unfortunately, I’m coming down with a Mohawk Valley cold. The only place I wanted to go after work was home and to bed. I went to Hannaford first to get some fresh lemon to put in my tea. Very good when you have a cold.

It would be nice to report that the lemon came from a local farm. I imagine lemons don’t grow well in the climate. I passed the display of Heidelberg Bread. That’s local, made right here in Herkimer, but in fact I believe I have a loaf of Heidelberg Bread in the freezer. And anyways, I don’t eat too much bread. I’m on the South Beach Diet.

I picked up a few other things I needed, none local (sorry, Mohawk Valley), and hurried home. When I made my tea and reached for the honey, I remembered it was from a local producer: Finster’s of Frankfort, NY. I put the tea in my mug from Dyn’s Cider Mill of Richfield Springs. I felt it was the least I could do.

I went to bed early in hopes of a rapid recovery. It was not until this morning I realized: the salt potatoes I had purchased are a treat unique to Central New York. They were just talking about them on Your Hometown on YNN recently. It was a segment on a Salt Museum near Syracuse I intend to visit one day (preview of coming attractions). Not quite the Mohawk Valley, but close enough.

I am planning, recovered or not, a real Mohawk Valley adventure tonight. In the meantime, I guess this was Lame Post Friday after all.

The Overtime Blues

Yesterday I ended my post with promise of exciting things to come. Well, keep waiting. Today is my Lame Post of the Week.

I know, I designated Friday as the day for lame posts (and I admit that many of my posts not so designated, may be so considered, but let’s not go there). That was when Friday meant something to me. Before I came down with the Overtime Blues.

The Overtime Blues, as blues go, is not bad disease to have. Overtime pay is sweet. And I like my job well enough that it is not all that burdensome to be there. And my hubby is usually working weekends as well. So you see.

But I am TIRED! I don’t seem to get used to getting up at 3:30 a.m. I usually accomplish it by telling myself, “It’s supposed to suck. Get up anyways.” Then I apply coffee.

This weekend I am additionally suffering from the Missing Wine Tasting Blues. Certain female relatives of mine are touring the Finger Lakes on Saturday. I told one sister I probably couldn’t make it, and they all seem to have accepted it with an unflattering good grace. That might have something to do with the fact that I mentioned how loud and obnoxious things tend to get on these wine tasting trips (we’ve gone on a few). I admit that I am sometimes the loudest and most obnoxious. But I guess nobody likes to hear somebody else call them that. So I hope the girls in my family aren’t mad at me. That would make for a jolly Thanksgiving.

I wrote the preceding paragraph while at work earlier. My blues were at their worst, and I was picturing everybody on the wine tasting trip saying, “Oh thank God Cindy isn’t here! It’s much more fun without Cindy!” In fact, I don’t believe they are thinking about me at all. The last I knew they were all on Facebook arguing over with of them was the main troublemaker (each pointing at another but secretly craving the title). So I’m getting over my Missing the Wine Tasting Blues.

Instead, my Overtime Blues seem to be giving way to the Getting My Husband’s Cold Blues. So my lame post ends with me tottering down to the kitchen to make some herbal tea with lemon and honey. I hope to recover sufficiently for a Mohawk Valley adventure tomorrow.