Category Archives: personal

Books and Music on a Saturday

I was on Facebook this morning (hey, it’s my day off!) and I saw a post from Basloe Library in Herkimer reminding us that Guitar Group meets today. Come hear some acoustic guitar music, they invited. I love acoustic guitars! I asked what time. 11 a.m.to 2 p.m.

I had wanted to go look for some books of plays, seeking something to replace Dirty Work at the Crossroads for Ilion Little Theatres’ fall production. I had thought to go after work Monday, when Steven could join me. However, acoustic guitar music is a great bribe for going today. Also, I might as well start reading plays as soon as possible, right?

Shortly before 11, therefore, I was at the library, wandering the shelves. I tend to have better luck doing that than looking at the supposed card catalog. I call it supposed, because there are neither cards nor a catalog. It is a computer and we all know, sometimes computers mystify me (OK, it’s not that hard to mystify me). I used to rock those little cards in the drawers! But enough strolling down memory late; I was strolling amongst the shelves.

I quickly found three books of plays and one book about an old Hollywood scandal. I do love an old Hollywood scandal. I went to check them out and asked where the guitar players were.

“I can just go listen, right?” I asked.

“Oh, sure, just listen, learn to play, sing along, they don’t kick anybody out.”

“If I tried to sing, they might kick me out,” I told them, but the folks behind the counter did not think that would really happen.

I found the room and sat at a table in the corner. A man was warming up, sounding really good. A few others arrived and they were all chatting and setting up. They were obviously regulars.

They played a lot of different tunes, mostly older stuff. I confess to singing along with “Five Foot Two, Eyes of Blue.” Nobody kicked me out, but I sang quietly just in case. One man played the harmonica. I really enjoyed that. I laughed out loud when they sang the song about Rye Whiskey, particularly the verse about if the ocean was whiskey and I was a duck.

“You didn’t actually bring any whiskey, did you?” I asked. Nobody had. One man brought up the inadvisability of drinking whiskey and driving. He had a good point. I was just kidding anyways. I haven’t had whiskey in years.

I only stayed about an hour, but as I left I thanked them and told them I had enjoyed listening.

“Come again!” they invited.

“I will!” I promised. I intend to. It’s a nice way to spend a little time on a Saturday in the Mohawk Valley.

Frank J. Basloe Library is located at 245 N. Main St., Herkimer, NY, phone number 315-866-1733. They are open Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday 10 a.m. to 7 p.m., Thursday and Friday 10 a.m. to 5 p.m., Saturday 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. (closed Saturdays during July and August), closed Sundays. For information visit their website at www.midyork.org/herkimer, or you can like them on Facebook. Tell them Mohawk Valley Girl sent you.

The Post I Had Been Going to Write

Yesterday I previewed the title “Dirty Break for Dirty Works.” It’s quite possible that some reader somewhere was looking forward to such a post. It is possible that some reader or even readers was looking forward to this blog becoming All Dirty Works All The Time, as I had previously threatened (I confess to feeling some anticipation for that myself). It is also possible that I just like using the phrase Dirty Work in as many sentences as possible.

Welcome to Lame Post Friday.

I had meant to write a real post today, since yesterday’s was pretty sad (although I hope somebody somewhere derived some entertainment from it) (that’s really not so far-fetched; some people are highly entertained by saying, “What a dumb post!”) (but surely none of my readers are so snotty and superior).

The post I had been going to write concerned the postponement of Dirty Work at the Crossroads, the play being directed by my delightful husband, Steven, for Ilion Little Theatre. We are now hoping to do the show in the spring, in which case I will have the opportunity to use “Dirty Work” in many future headlines.

I was going to make a whole big story of the saga, but as I sit here, pen in hand (I’m writing this on a break at work as usual), that is really all I want to say about it. So here is my blog post about what I am not going to write a blog post about. Sufficiently lame for a Friday, I trust.

That is as much as I wrote at work today. I see now I have indulged in some inaccuracy, or is it irony, in my headline. This is not, in fact, the post I had meant to write. On the other hand, it is a post about the post I had meant to write. Is that half-baked philosophy or circular reasoning? Or a lame, not to say random observation?

In my defense, I gave blood today. It makes me woozy. I have no brains left to improve upon what I have written. Happy Friday, though, and for anybody who happens to need a pint of O Positive, if you get mine, you’re welcome.

Pre-Lame Post

Lame Post Friday is not till tomorrow. Yet here I sit with NOTHING to write about.

I’ve been thinking lately that I want to do more posts about bad movies. They are fun to write, and people seem to like them. Then I thought, will people think I do nothing but watch bad movies? Then I thought, what do I care what people think? Then I stopped arguing with myself and tried to finish writing this post.

I seem to watch a lot of television. In my defense, I usually crochet or knit while I watch, so I get projects done. Sometimes I write in the TV Journal, which is fun to do and fun to read later. I’d like to think that it is my legacy to future generations, but I rather doubt that future generations will bother to decipher my handwriting.

I often run into people who sniff, “I don’t have time to watch television.” Some of these people can still tell you the last couple of people to get voted off Survivor and which husband Kim Kardashian is on (I don’t know these things myself; what does that tell you, if anything?). Or maybe they truly do not watch television, but spend hours working on their fantasy football team or playing Farmville. To each his own, as the old lady said when she kissed the cow.

My point being, don’t sniff at how I spend my leisure time; we are none of us as productive as we could be. Oh, all right, I suppose some people are. I’m sure many, many people are at least more productive than I am. Don’t brag about it to me, though, or I will lampoon you in this blog as a thoroughly obnoxious person (ooh, scary threat).

Where was I? Nowhere, really. The real reason I’m at a loss today is that I have not been doing much this week. I actually have a topic I would like to write about, but I think that needs to wait till tomorrow at least. So I guess that’s a preview of coming attractions. Here’s a teaser: I’ll tell you my tentative title: “Dirty Break for Dirty Works.” Intrigued? Stay tuned!

A Popular Spot

Tuesday Steven and I had planned to have dinner out with a visiting friend. We thought we would take her to PK’s Pub here in Herkimer, since she had never been there before. When circumstances kept her from joining us, we saw no reason not to enjoy a dinner out ourselves. For one thing, I had already put on my nice skirt and pantyhose.

As usual, we had to search for a parking space.

“On a Tuesday night,” I marveled. “This must be the most popular spot in town!”

I knew they had found us a table on busy nights before, so I wasn’t too worried. Pete, behind the bar, invited us to sit wherever we liked. I picked the tall table in the bar area. I do love a tall table.

“And I can hang my coat on the back of the chair without it being half on the floor,” I showed Steven. It was my long teal raincoat. I had gotten a little dressed up for the occasion.

After much debate Steven ordered hats and broccoli while I got ravioli. Italian dressing on my salad, ranch on Steven’s. Both dinners came with roll and butter and what yummy butter! Steven wanted to eat the rest of it with a spoon but refrained from such behavior.

“You can bring the leftovers in to feed the woodchucks,” Pete said.

“I think I’ll eat it all myself,” I said. I intended to. The food at PK’s is delicious.

I should perhaps explain about the woodchucks. Pete works at the same place I do. He works near a door to the outside that is often open. He likes to feed some woodchucks that live nearby. When work takes me near Pete’s area, I always look for his pets. I like to see a little nature while at work.

Steven and I were not able to finish our meals so asked for boxes.

“But don’t tell Pete,” I warned the waitress. “Because I’m not bringing them in to feed the woodchucks.”

“I think he heard you,” Steven said.

I told Pete I would bring in something else for his pets.

“They like chocolate chip cookies,” he suggested.

It was a very enjoyable dinner. I hope our friend is able to visit us soon, so we will have an unassailable excuse to return.

PK’s is located at 221 King St., Herkimer, NY. Phone 315-866-3494. They are open Monday though Thursday 11 a.m. to 9 p.m., Friday 11 a.m. to 10 p.m., Saturday 4:30 to 10 p.m.

Note to self: buy chocolate chip cookies for the woodchucks. Then again, maybe I should bring them carrot sticks and not contribute to the woodchuck obesity problem.

63 Degrees in the Sun

Since I have been suffering from one of my periodic bouts of lightheadedness, I have been unable to partake of any Mohawk Valley adventures this weekend. Saturday was fine, since I could write about my run. But Sunday? Oh dear, what to do? What to do? Finally I thought I would take my dog Tabby for a walk and write a post about that.

The first thing that struck me was the difference between indoor and outdoor temperatures. I had been lounging on the couch reading a romance novel (hey, it’s Sunday and I’m lightheaded; I’m allowed). I felt cold! I had on pants and a sweatshirt, and I put the hood up. When I looked at our thermostat, I noted that it was more than 10 degrees cooler outside: 63 as opposed to 75. Still, I took off the sweatshirt. I found my crazy old lady hat and grabbed my prescription sunglasses. It wasn’t particularly sunny out at the moment, but I figured, wait five minutes.

The temperature at first felt a little cool. I may have been more comfortable in a sweatshirt or perhaps just a long-sleeved shirt. Never mind, it was mid-afternoon. Shade was not plentiful and the sky was not completely overcast.

Sure enough, I hadn’t gone a block when I put the sunglasses on. Ah, that was better. Tabby pulled me toward Herkimer’s Historic Four Corners, one of her favorite spots to walk by. I let her stop and sniff a light post, thinking I really did not need the jacket.

She nicely did her business a mere block and a half from a trash can I know of. Sometimes she is a convenient kind of dog. I had another poop bag in my pocket, in case of the rare occurrence that she poops again. Fellow dog owners will appreciate my concern.

We walked down Main Street. I noticed Sam’s Deli, a new business we have not yet patronized, carries Steven’s favored brand of cigarettes. Oh, I know, it would be a good idea for his health and our finances if he quit. You tell him; I’m not that kind of a wife.

I felt bad as usual as we passed other closed businesses as well as buildings that haven’t housed businesses in recent memory. I admired the old buildings, though, and keep thinking I will bring my camera downtown one day and take some pictures.

Tabby wanted to walk through the little park by Basloe Library. A young man was sitting on a bench, having a loud conversation with a laptop computer. Or maybe it was one of those cell phone ear attachments and he just happened to also have a laptop computer. I did not nosily look too closely or try to listen.

After the park, Tabby pulled me down Prospect, then left onto Park Avenue and back to Main Street. More closed businesses and a few open ones. Tabby looked speculatively into Pete’s Tavern, but I reminded her she was not 21. I looked longingly at Crazy Otto’s Diner, but reminded myself I had already had breakfast. We did not go into Hummel’s Office Plus for once, and Belly Up Pub is not yet open.

By now the breeze had died down and the sun was quite warm. I was wearing dark clothes, so that didn’t help. I was happy to get back home and into the 75 degree temperature that is inexplicably cooler than 63 degrees in the sun.

Saturday Running Commentary

I believe I said last week that Running Commentary Saturday would be my new weekly feature. It was this reflection that got me into my running clothes and out the door this morning, because I did NOT feel like running. For one thing, I still felt clean from last night’s shower. Who wants to get all sweaty and dirty? Oh, I know, some people do.

It was nice and cool, and a little cloudy as I set out. It had rained in the night (which was a good thing for me since I had not watered my container garden). I pondered where to run. I hadn’t run for four days due to heat, being busy and not feeling well. Four days is bad. Five would be worse. I was glad I had talked myself into it.

My legs didn’t feel too awfully unhappy for me. I turned down German Street, not in the direction of the hill up to Herkimer County Community College. I’m still rebuilding myself. I thought I’d take another day off from hills.

I saw a man and cute little dog a couple of blocks ahead of me. I like to stop running briefly to pet a dog. The dogs usually like it too. Would I catch up? I always have to laugh at myself when I see how long it takes me to catch up to a pedestrian. Who do I think I’m kidding when I say I’m running? It’s a middle-aged shuffle and some days it is slower than others. In this case, the dog stopped and sniffed enough so I was able to catch up.

“Can I pet your dog?”

“Sure, he’s friendly.” He was actually sniffing a bush at the time and paid me not the slightest bit of attention. I petted him quick, wished the man a good day and ran on.

Lots of porches for me to envy. I thought I might have an afternoon cup of coffee or tea on mine later. Few people sitting out. I saw one man leaning on the railing of an upstairs porch, watching the world. We exchanged greetings. I ran on.

Other than the dog, it was an uneventful run. I didn’t feel “Oh yeah, I can rock this,” but I didn’t feel too terrible, either. My goal is to NOT go four days without running next week, which may be problematic. I have rehearsals almost every day for Dirty Work at the Crossroads, the play which Ilion Little Theatre is doing. In fact, this blog may become All Dirty Work All The Time. I rather like that. It has a ring to it which All Harvey All The Time and All Boilermaker All The Time lacked.

Lame Is As Lame Does

I had started to write this week’s Friday Lame Post, heavy on the half-baked philosophy and full of literary erudition (well, full of something), all about “Ode to a Grecian Urn,” but I feel philosophically unable to finish it today. Perhaps another Friday. Or it may do for a Middle-aged Musings Monday. That is for the future.

I seem to remember having kind of an existential crisis trying to write this week’s Monday Musings. It was supposed to be easy and it was not. Likewise with Lame Post Friday. I’m supposed to sit here rattling off a few random observations and some half-baked philosophy, then get on with my weekend. I can’t have two existential crises in one week. At least, I suppose I can, but I can’t very well blog about them both. So please, dear reader, ignore this paragraph, continue reading and pretend I am having an easy time of it.

Actually, as I type, I begin to think, “I can rock this.” And there is some writerly half-baked philosophy: Once you start putting words down, it is really not so difficult as it seemed when you were staring at the blank screen (or page, as the case may be). That is scarcely an original thing to say, but bear with me. I may come up with something better.

I randomly observed the most adorable little dog sticking his head out of the window of a car in front of me as I drove home today. I hoped he would not get excited and jump out, but if he did, I was prepared to throw on my emergency flashers, put the truck in park and run to the rescue. Then I saw he was sitting on a little boy’s lap, so I figured the kid would keep track of him. Good thing. That little dog could have outrun me with no problem. I probably would have been no help at all and just antagonized the motorists behind me.

I got pretty antagonized myself as I hit every light red, sitting through a couple of them twice because there was so much traffic. The other day I gave a co-worker a ride, hit most of the lights green, and observed to her how some days hitting the lights red bothers you more than others. Today it bothered me and then some. It would be nice if I could come up with some half-baked philosophy about this, wouldn’t it? Something to put it in perspective, maybe keep myself from getting so agitated next time. I’m thinking, but nothing’s coming. I guess I’ll fall back on my stand-by philosophy, “You’ll have that.”

I spent a good portion of my time at work trying to think of a lame headline. I don’t think that is a particularly good one, but it will have to do. I’m over 400 words now, so I think I can start my weekend. I’ll try to have some Mohawk Valley adventures to share, and maybe next week we can talk about “Ode to a Grecian Urn.”

Where’s That Wisdom?

Middle-aged Musings Monday is supposed to be easy. My idea was to have another day where I could write any old thing and kind of let myself off the hook. Ease into the week, I believe I said in the premier Middle-aged Musings post. After all, sometimes it is enough effort to get through Monday at all, let alone entertain and inform. Ahem, I hoped to still entertain.

Can I just say, IT’S NOT WORKING!!! I have no musings, middle-aged or otherwise. And I have the worst case of Writer’s Blank I have suffered in a long time. I am also suffering from the related malady, Cross Out Or Erase Everything As Soon As I Write It. And I am composing at the computer, so no wide X’s I can just read around later and say, “Oh, that isn’t so bad.” When I erase it, it’s gone.

I had thought I could go running and blog about that (I won’t say “write about it,” because I cannot so dignify my meanderings today). I figured it would combine running commentary with middle-aged musings. I even had a title, “Musings on the Move.” I may have used that title before. I believe I have observed more than once: I am not above repeating myself.

I did run. The weather was nice and cool, although the sun came out near the end of the run and that was a little hot. It was no problem, really, since I did not run very far and I certainly did not run very fast. I thought if I wrote a blog post about it I could call it “Go Play in Traffic,” because there were a lot of cars on the road. I did not cross any busy streets.

I tried to muse as I ran, but I didn’t come up with anything. You know, I thought I was getting pretty old. Shouldn’t that wisdom thing have kicked in by now? There’s a musing for you, although I didn’t think of that while I was running; I thought of it just now as I was reflecting on how I couldn’t think of anything.

I see that I am over 300 words for today. A respectable post if only I would have thought of something intelligent to say. It seems I am always craving my readers’ indulgence as I write yet another stupid post. Oh well, they say no life is wasted because you can always stand as a bad example to others. If nothing else, you can look at this and say, “Huh. At least I didn’t write THAT!” Happy Monday.

I Stink and Am Merry

The Little Falls Garlic Festival boasts the motto, “Eat, Stink and Be Merry.” I like it, but I also think it is a little silly, because I like the smell of garlic. I suppose they refer to garlic breath. I guess that’s different.

I missed the Garlic Festival last year so was pleased when my sister Diane and her daughter Camille drove over from Liverpool specifically to attend. It’s not a far drive from Herkimer to Little Falls. It was not even too difficult finding a parking space.

We paid our admission and got our hands stamped in case we left and desired re-entry. I said it was like we were going to a bar or a club, a thing I have not done in ages.

We strolled around the booths, trying free samples of garlic and dips made with garlic. I never realized how many garlic farmers this area has. I also had not realized how many varieties of garlic there are.

“I just go to the grocery store and buy garlic,” I said.

“Don’t buy that junk!” a vendor said. “That’s shipped over from China! Buy enough here to last till next year.”

I didn’t quite do that, but I purchased a lovely braid of garlic which is currently hanging in my kitchen. When it is gone, I shall make every effort to replenish my supplies through a local vendor.

Our fun was cut short by a storm. We had been a little afraid it would be but had made up our minds to enjoy the festival while we could. It had started to sprinkle and the wind had started whipping as Diane purchased her garlic. I was relieved that the bill she was using to pay and the bills the young man had gotten out for her change did not fly away in the breeze.

The deluge hit at Diane completed her purchase. She and Camille had carried umbrellas and I had my crazy old lady hat, but nothing did us much good. Our backs were soaked well before we reached the car.

I was laughing. “Shawshank Redemption!” I said, throwing my arms wide and looking up, like Tim Robbins does in the movie. Camille was less amused, but her discontent stemmed from the fact that the storm had hit before she had been allowed to buy anything.

My main regret was that we had not been able to hear much of Common Threads, the band Steven and I had enjoyed so much at the last event we attended at Canal Place. They had started playing at two, and the deluge hit not long after that.

It was still a fun time. The Little Falls Garlic Festival is a great event. I highly recommend you watch for it next year. I certainly will.

Red-Headed Run

Not to be confused with red-headed stepchild, which is actually an expression I have never used. I say bastard stepchild in those situations, but that’s neither here nor there (I like that expression).

So I mentioned yesterday in passing that I dyed my hair. The box calls it auburn, but I think most people use the term red. Yes, I used a box. No doubt it would have been a good idea to go to a professional, but this was more in my budget. I’ve had good luck with boxes before, back in the ’90s, when I dyed for entertainment and didn’t have much grey. For the past few years I have embraced the grey, but then I thought, “Oh, what the hell.”

That is not what I meant to write about. I meant to do my usual Saturday Morning Running Commentary (I just suddenly decided to capitalize it, like it’s a Thing like Middle-aged Musings Monday or Lame Post Friday). The title Red-Headed Run came to me while I was running, so here we are.

I’ve mentioned in previous running commentaries how I think other people are looking at me and thinking this or that about “that old lady running.” Well, here I was with no grey hair. Surely I looked less old. No doubt I flatter myself. Probably nobody was looking at me this morning and thinking, “What a great hair color!” I’m not so sure anybody noticed me running with the grey hair either, but at least it makes for something to think about while running.

In fact, I started my run early enough that the streets were pretty bare. I did see a group of young people walking toward me on the opposite side of the street. They looked like 20-somethings, but I can never accurately guess ages. I wondered what they were doing out so early. Then as we crossed paths I heard one of the girls say, “Some people have slept already,” and I got it. They were not out early, they were out late. Ah, youth.

The run was actually a pretty good one. Regular readers know I started running again last weekend after a two week hiatus. Then, typical me, I didn’t run on Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday. In my defense, it was quite hot and humid, and I had auditions for Dirty Work at the Crossroads to worry about (I got cast). I have a number of things I ought to be getting done this morning, but I decided running (and writing a blog post about it) would be a priority.

The weather was not too hot. Some humidity, but not enough to effect my breathing. I was over half-way through the time I had set out to run for before I even looked at my watch. It was then that I realized: this run didn’t feel bad. My legs were not complaining at all. My back twinged a couple of times, but nothing too bad. I know running can hurt your back. However, being overweight can hurt your back, too, and running helps keep my weight down. I say, pick your pain and this was really more of a twinge than a pain.

I ran the sidewalks of Herkimer and admired other people’s houses. I saw a few screened in porches to envy, a few flower gardens to imitate next year. I saw one dog, but did not cross the street to pet him. For one thing, his owner was trying to get him to sit and the dog was not cooperating. I did not want to encourage canine insubordination.

I ended up running longer than I had run on Monday, and I must say I felt pretty good about it. As I walked my cool down with Tabby, I felt really good that I had gotten my run done. Whatever else I did not accomplish with the day, at least I had done that. Then I thought, I feel pretty good physically, too. Isn’t that awesome? After all the perseverance runs I write about, I finally write one without a single complaint (unless you count the twinge in the back) (and I don’t). Must be the red hair.