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Tag Archives: memory

Market, Motors and Memory

I went to the Clinton Farmer’s Market today.  What a crowd scene!  I brought my Tablet to take some pictures, but the only real photo op was a display of some vintage cars. The cars reminded me of a previous experience,  so this may turn into a Throw Back Thursday post.

My companions at the market included my sister Cheryl and great-nephew Sheppie.  We were the three who walked across the street to see the cars.  I love classic cars.

I would love to tool down the road in this!

A fellow there showed us the engines of a couple of the cars and explained some of the mechanics involved.  These were Franklin cars, which were apparently the best made at the time.

Cheryl and Sheppie.

The cars reminded me of a time I dressed in 1920’s garb and posed near an old automobile.

This is not exactly like the car in my memory.

I was unable to show my pictures of the other car at the time, but I can show them to my readers now.

Hmmm… not really like it at all.

Here is the car I remembered.   It was parked in front of one of the Rutger Mansions in Utica, NY, for a fundraiser for the Landmarks Society of Greater Utica.  But that isn’t the picture I really wanted to show.

I rarely ignore a chance to flash a little leg.

Yes, this is me, impersonating a society lush from the 1920’s.

My husband Steven and friends Kim and Wayne.

This picture was actually taken a year later than the previous one, but it us the same car.

I guess this also can count as a Non-Sequitur Thursday post,  since I veered from farmers market to memories.  Who says I can’t multitask?

 

We’ll Call It a Win

I hope everybody is having a Merry Christmas Eve Eve.  That is what a friend of my sister’s declared December 23 many years ago.  They said, “Today is Christmas Eve Eve.”  They even got a little silly and started saying that yesterday had been Christmas Eve Eve Eve.  I don’t remember how many Eves they got to before they got bored with it, but they had no use for my suggestion that the day after Christmas must be Christmas Vee.

I lead with a memory to avoid straight out declaring that this is Wuss-out Wednesday, but I think we all knew it was coming.   Christmas preparations, what a tiring endeavor!  I had thought to write a blog post while at work today and save us all the pain of Wuss-out Wednesday, but I had no ideas.  Then I started thinking about a murder mystery I had committed to write and found out I actually had lots of ideas.  Once I got on break, I started writing on that.  Oh, what fun!  I love writing murder mysteries!

Just to be clear:  it’s not a novel and it’s not a real play.  It is interactive dinner theatre.  At one time I wrote a good many of them. They were very well received by certain North Country audiences in the 1990s.  But people who go on about past glories are tiresome (except when it’s “tales of the glories of Christmases long, long ago,” like in the song).

After work, I had barely an hour and a half before Steven got off work and it was time to whisk off to Rome and my parents’ house.  I thought briefly about making my blog post then, but I had several chores to finish.  With that in mind, I put on some coffee, jumped in the shower and once I was clean, dry and dressed, I got to work.  I packed, I wrapped, I loaded the car, I checked my to-do list for what I had forgotten, I took care of the stuff I had forgotten, I remembered some stuff that was not on the list, I took care of that.

And I got it all done!  All Steven had to do when he got home was change his clothes, put coffee in travel mugs and let me drive us to Rome.   I was awesome!  At least, I have not yet remembered anything else I forgot, so we’ll call it a win.

And now I have written an unusual 400 some words on my silly blog post for the day.  If only I could come up with a title, I would be reasonably content with my lot in life.  Hmmm… nothing is coming, although I am getting a few more ideas for that murder mystery.

 

Sidetracked Saturday?

Good afternoon and welcome to another Scattered Saturday post (at least, I think my WordPress says it’s already Sunday, but whatever).  I worked this morning, as I believe I mentioned yesterday.  My first stop after work was the post office, to mail a package.  As I addressed the padded envelope and got the item inside, a young lady at the table questioned the city on the address of the package she was mailing.

“Croton-on-Hudson?”

“Near the City?” I said knowledgeably.  “They get fancy near the City.”

“I’m just from a small town,” she said with a laugh.

“I feel like a hick from the sticks when I go to Albany,” I admitted.  That, by the way, is a true story.  I lived in Norwood, NY, at the time, another teeny-tiny but charming village.  Some members of my family went to a hospital in Albany (Albany Medical Center?  Is there more than one hospital in Albany?) (just to sound really hicks-from-the-sticksy) (I bet you thought I was going to say “hickey”) (you know who you are).

It is a large hospital, so we asked somebody how to get to the area we wanted. The directions included the words, “turn left at the bank.”  We thanked the person politely and walked in the direction indicated, waiting till we were a few steps away  before looking at each other in confusion and saying, “Did they say turn at the bank?”  hoping that at least one of us had heard the right directions.  A few feet down the hallway, we saw the bank.

A bank in the hospital!  Who thinks of these things?  And that, dear readers, is how to feel like a hick from the sticks.

After that digression (which gave me my title, do you like it?), I continued on to the grocery store to purchase refreshments for a minor gathering on my deck this evening.

Oh dear, if any of my local friends are reading this and think I am having a fabulous party without you, I’m not.  It’s a strictly informal, small gathering, and if anybody reading this tonight wants to, well, just come on over.  Surprise me.

 

Sitting on the Deck Seeing Bats

I am sitting on my deck, waiting for the thunderstorm we have been promised ALL WEEK  by those lying sacks that predict the weather (sorry, Bill Kardas).  Of course I am hoping it does not come right now that I’m sitting out here.  On the other hand, that was one selling point FOR sitting out here: I thought it might cause it to rain.

That almost obligates me to sidetrack into a memory.  Many years ago,  I made the observation that when I wore my raincoat, it never rained.  However, if I left my raincoat home, it rained.  I daresay others have observed this phenomenon.  A friend would say, “What an ego.  She thinks she controls the weather.”  For heavens’ sake, I didn’t say, “I don’t want it to rain, therefore I will wear my raincoat.”  Dammit, I loved my raincoat! I WANTED to wear it in the rain!

Well, all that is neither here nor there, but that is quite appropriate for Non-Sequitur Thursday.

We have just returned from a delicious dinner at Jamo’s in Herkimer, NY.  It is a fairly new restaurant, and this was our second visit. I attempted to write a blog post about it after our first visit but bogged down on my endeavors to describe the decor.  This time I tried to pay more attention but am not sure how successful I was.

It is open, it is airy.  The walls are blue and the ceilings are high.  We sat at the lovely black marble bar on chairs that are spindly but comfortable.  There are pictures of the City on the wall.  The word I want to use to describe the whole is “urban.”  Steven thinks that is accurate.

All that said, I do not feel particularly inclined to finish my post about Jamo’s today. I want to relax on my deck and enjoy what is left of the evening (must get to bed to be ready for work tomorrow).  Once again, for Non-Sequitur Thursday, I think that is not bad.

Hope to see you all on Lame Post Friday.

 

The Heat Is Already Wet

Well, this is embarrassing, although I suppose I should be used to it by now.  I ended yesterday’s post with a silly prediction that I would be explaining once again why I could not write a decent post.  I was kidding!  I meant to write a good post!  I really did!

However, it is a well-known fact that shit happens.  And sometimes doesn’t happen.  In this case what did not happen was my brain functioning.  I’m going to blame it on the continuing heat and humidity, which I had not expected.  At least, I had not expected it to be so bad.  I thought yesterday was supposed to be the worst day.  I thought we were supposed to get thunderstorms at some point which would cool things off.  Another cruel hoax by the weather people!

I really can’t spend another post complaining about being uncomfortable, so I will share one of Steven’s and my movie memories.  One of our favorite hot weather movies is Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window.  In this movie, it is very important to the plot that the city is in the middle of a terrible heat wave.  In the middle of one night it rains.  The next day, the wonderful Thelma Ritter (one of our all-time MOST favorite actresses) says, “You’d think the rain would have cooled things off.  All it did was make the heat wet.”

Steven and I often use that line, or variations of it, when it rains.  Unfortunately, it has not rained yet, and the heat is already wet.

In the meantime, it is, indeed Wuss-out Wednesday, and I have rehearsal for Roxy is less than an hour (I did mention the play I’m in,  didn’t I?  I’ll no doubt write even more about it as time goes on).  What will I come up with for Non-Sequitur Thursday?  Time will tell.  As always, I hope you’ll stay tuned.

 

Almost Perfect

I preface this post by saying that I have just had a lovely day. I had a fun visit with some of my family, ate a wonderful dinner, and now I am home relaxing with my husband and dog. It is the bra off, sweats on portion of the day. The only thing lacking in my day is to hit Publish on my blog post. Then my life will be perfect.

That is something I am fond of saying, “And then my life will be perfect.” I seem to think I coined the phrase one morning in the army. I was still an IET soldier (Initial Entry Trainee), when they made you do all kinds of ridiculous things. On this morning we had to be in Class B uniforms, standing outside in the cold for an interminable length of time. Class B meant skirt, pantyhose and pumps (although I could and later did wear comfy flat tie shoes with the skirt) (there are pants for female Class B as well; I don’t remember if they specifically told us to wear the skirts or if I just could not be bothered to keep my shirt, belt and fly straight on the pants).

Where was I? Ah yes, standing out in an unusually cold day (Monterrey, California was usually a pretty straight 70 degrees), with my toes becoming numb. Cadre was ignoring us but not dismissing us to class, and we were muttering to each other under our breath. I did not want to sound like a big fat whiner (I know, that’s what I pretty much am, but sometimes I don’t want to sound that way), so I said, “If I could take off my shoes and rub my feet for thirty seconds, my life would be perfect.”

Now I know, my life will never be PERFECT. But, really, doesn’t that sound much better than, “My toes are so cold I think I will cry”? So I know I will not have a perfect Sunday. Yet, I hope to avoid my usual Wrist to Forehead Sunday. For one reason, I feel somehow not right having a Wrist to Forehead Sunday on Easter. However, we all know I am rarely up to writing a real post on a Sunday. Also on the Wrist to Forehead side of the scale, holiday or not, I have to work tomorrow. I fight, fight, fight the urge to jump on the Monday Sucks, Everything Sucks bandwagon, but, well, let’s just say, Sunday is not always the thrill I am hoping for.

Back to the Life is Almost Perfect side of the scale, I see I am over 400 words. A more than respectable post! I shall soon hit Publish! Everything will be delightful (that is another favorite expression of mine).

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.

Lovely Lame Friday

I started writing a real post earlier today, about an authentic Mohawk Valley adventure I had on Thursday. Then for some reason I got hung up and started working on my novel instead. On the brighter side, I enjoyed writing what I wrote. On the duller side, I am pressed for time and am now reduced to making an extra lame Friday Lame Post.

The reason I am pressed for time is that another Mohawk Valley adventure beckons. In the interests of Preview of Coming Attractions, I will just mention that yesterday’s adventure was a CD Release Party for The Rick Short Band and today’s is the Ilion Little Theatre production of Wait Until Dark. Local music and theatre! I am the most fortunate blogger on the internet!

I was about to say “the luckiest,” and to help pad out my post, I’ll tell you why. A long time ago this really cool old lady told me to not say “good luck,” because luck comes from the devil. Instead, we should wish each other “good fortune.” I have to say, “most fortunate” does not sound as… well as good as “luckiest.” But what are you going to do? In Mrs. Virgilito’s memory, I say “fortunate.”

I may have misspelled her name, but since I don’t have permission to use her name, and she is in heaven now anyways, I’ll let it stand.

I hope you’re all having as lovely a Friday as I’m having.

This, Too, Shall Pass

I would like to just say a word about passwords. Only I don’t like to use those words in my blog.

You need passwords everywhere these days, at work, at home, on your computer, on your cell phone. There’s the PIN for your bank card, and if you only have one of those, congratulations. I HATE PASSWORDS!

You must not use the same password for different places. You must not use the same password you had used before. You must have a secure password: caps and not, numbers and symbols. Don’t use your pet’s name or your spouse’s name or your anniversary date or your birthday. How can I remember all these “strong” passwords at all, let along remembering which password goes to which place?

The answer, and this is what makes it a Monday Middle-aged Musing, is: I CAN’T! My middle-aged brain is not that supple. So I make up these super strong, secure passwords, and write them down on a piece of paper next to my computer, in a most unsecure fashion (the computer is underlining “unsecure.” I KNOW the word is “insecure,” but my insecurities could fill a whole other blog post).

I know, somebody else would do something clever like write down the password but leave off one letter. Or mix up where the capital letters go. Or maybe even write it in Arabic (I know the Arabic alphabet, but that, again, is a whole other blog post).

I offer this rant as my Monday post, because, as you may have guessed, I did not write a post while at work today. I trusted to my brain (why in the world I even thought I still had one remains a mystery) to come up with something. First I checked my email. I currently have two emails, since I am in the process of switching from Hotmail to gmail (I could give you a whole other rant about Outlook, but I don’t really want to get the computer honchos mad at me). I just barely remembered the respective passwords and in doing so realized I did NOT remember my WordPress password. I’ll tell you what: I was not in too bad a mood to start with but it just about became Wrist to Forehead Monday!

Be all that as it may, I see that my word count is over 300. Quite enough from someone who is only here to kvetch (then again, I always say, go with your strengths). I must go now to seek out a Mohawk Valley adventure to write about tomorrow.