Post-Halloween ruminations

—1) Yet another Halloween fades into the filmy past without Trick-or-Treaters.
Nothing new.
In the almost 19 years we’ve been here, we’ve had Trick-or-Treaters twice.
-a) The first time was shortly after we moved in: the Cuthbertson children from next door.
The Cuthbertsons were the ones that built the house to our south; although it’s actually a double-wide manufactured home.
Andy and his wife don’t live there now.
They divorced and were replaced by another family with teenagers, many of whom are driving-age and have cars.
A small addition was added: living-quarters for an aging father.
It was added after the Town outlawed his RV connected to the house.
The RV was sold.
Reminds of my mother’s donnybrook with town officials in Erlton over the living-quarters of the Taylor family.
The Taylors moved in with a house-trailer at first, and dug a cellar-hole in front of it.
Bobby Taylor and I used to drive model Army tank-battalions around that cellar-hole.
We’d dig tiny fox-holes in the embankments and fill them with Troops.
Bobby’s father was a fighter-pilot. You knew it was him flying over in his F86, because he’d wag the wings.
No matter to my mother. —Patriotism means nothing versus housing values.
The house-trailer violated the Erlton zoning-code, prompting my mother to lodge noisy protests.
I guess the Taylors eventually moved out, taking along their house-trailer.
Their replacements built a proper single-famblee home on the cellar-hole.
All of this was on Park Drive, deep in the woods. I think that was the property south of Andersons.
Andy drove independent truck, and had his own cab-over tractor.
He used to park trailers overnight in his front yard. (Every once-in-a-while it’d be a Norfolk-Southern Triple-Crown RoadRailer trailer, which at that time had the railroad-wheels attached to the trailer. —They retracted, so the trailer could ride on its highway wheels. Andy had probably picked it up in Rochester, and was “rubbering” it somewhere. Triple-Crown now uses rail bogies, although the original Triple-Crown trailers are still in use.)
Andy also had a self-powered RV, but that burned to the ground.
He was pouring gasoline in the carburetor, and it caught fire.
The RV burned to just the framing before the Fire-Department showed.
-b) Kids came a second time, and were heartily greeted by our dogs, who at that time were Tracy and Sassy.
“That dog’s gonna jump the fence,” said a frightened Jehovah’s Witness once, referring to Sassy, who was jumping up-and-down so she could address the Witnesses directly over the fence, which was five feet high.
“I’m not goin’ to that house,” said a passing Trick-or-Treater the next year out on Route 65.
“They got those dogs!”
—We had to not carve our pumpkins this year. They were at least two weeks old, and starting to rot.
All we could do was turn on the garage-door light. No Jack-o-Lanterns.

—2) Something was going on at Michael Prouty Park in the pavilion when I walked the dog yesterday afternoon (Friday, October 31, 2008).
Probably a Halloween party.
Walking in I was passed by an Alfa Spyder; same car used in “The Graduate.”
Ronald MacDonald was in the passenger seat.
The Alfa was driving out as I walked in, but drove back in as I left.
Ronald MacDonald grinned and waved.
Matrons were in the pavilion ladling cider into paper cups. They had arrived in soccer-mom minivans.

—3) The giant field of soybeans is being harvested; along Route 65 up to Prouty Park.
Last year it was corn. Sometimes it’s wheat.
This year it was soybeans, with the occasional straggler corn plant here-and-there.
All that was left of the plants was yellowed and dried-out soybean pods.
Our dog is hot to chase the crows.
I think this is the land that will be on our ballot as a proposed land purchase by the Town, to add to Michael Prouty Park plus provide space for new town offices, the Fire-Department, the Town Dump, and Highway Department.
The mighty Mezz suggests voting against it, and we sort of agree. We don’t really want a massive salt-barn up the street, and the purchase is dependent on a New York State grant, and the state is in no financial position to fund anything.
Proposed building thereon is still pie-in-the-sky; but if it’s turned down, the land goes on the open market, which means who knows what happens to it then.

—4) A prostate (“prostrate”) biopsy has been scheduled at a hospital, not a proper abandoned minimall clinic.
Not in consequence to the noisy blustering from Massachusetts, but as part of my ongoing “prostrate” screening that has been going on for some time.
This screening began years ago, well before the Bluster-Boy started blustering.
There have been at least five visits to Urology Associates of Rochester, plus a previous biopsy, before rotten-tomato-Boy started foaming.
But since I don’t bow to his vast all-knowing greatness, the Bluster-Boy is incensed.
He’s confusing perceived disrespect with avoidance, as if I hadn’t already given Urology Associates of Rochester the third degree.
I was told my widdle-pattern was common for someone my age — that adult diapers were years away.

—5) On the way back yesterday from Urology Associates of Rochester I hit the Funky-Food-Market.
Can I ever go anywhere without linking another errand?
-a) I needed decaf coffee — I get whole-bean coffee and grind it in the store.
I usually buy my coffee at Weggers: $9.99 a pound.
Funky-Food-Market wanted $11.85 per pound for their fair-trade organical coffee that doesn’t take advantage of the poor coffee farmers. (“Help the indigents improve their lot!”)
Holy mackerel! Whole-Paycheck coffee.
But I wasn’t interested in burning $5 in gas to truck to Weggers — plus I needed rolled oats, which Funky-Food-Market sells in bulk.
So $11.85 per bag; a biodegradable bag, of course.
HAVE FUN, EVERYONE! The old waazoo; $11.85 is throwing my money away, and $9.99 is “open that moldy wallet.”
Of course, even $9.99 is steep (shall we say......). I’ll get noisily directed toward instant — the proper coffee of tub-thumping REPUBLICAN Conservatives; or else coffee-flavored dishwater — the stuff Tunnel Inn serves.
-b) The clerks at the Funky-Food-Market were all dressed in Halloween costumes.
I guess it’s a tradition — I passed a girl in Devil’s horns.
We used to do this at the mighty Mezz, although it was mainly a Marcy initiative. I never did it myself, but once tried to get an Elvis costume.

—6) My recent comment about Bach’s D-Minor Toccata got made into a “Bottom-Line” mention in the mighty Mezz. (The comment was my Bach’s D-Minor Toccata blood-drive post).
Not the first time this has happened.
Kevin Frisch, Managing-Editor at the Messenger, is a Ne’er-do-Well.

“Here” is our house in West Bloomfield, NY; built in 1989, and moved into in January of 1990.

An “RV” is a large Recreational-Vehicle.

“Erlton” is the suburb in south Jersey our family lived in until I was 13. It’s north of Haddonfield, an old town that has been extant since before the Revolutionary War. Erlton was founded in the ‘30s; named after the developer, whose name was Earl. Erlton is 15-20 miles from Philadelphia, PA.

F86.

My mother was a God-fearing patriot, except when it came to money.

“Park Drive” was a long street on the eastern edge of Erlton, aimed at a county park to the southwest. We lived on Jefferson Ave., which merged into Park Drive.

A “cab-over tractor” is a truck that pulls a semi-trailer, the truck supporting the front of the trailer. It’s what you usually see. “Cab-over” means the truck-cab is over the motor, instead of the motor out front.

“Rubbering” means driving over highways.

A “rail bogy” is a complete railroad-truck that can support something (e.g. the front of a RoadRailer van). Slid in place, the road-trailers can ride the railroad.

A “self-powered RV” is an RV with a motor and drive-system, so that it can drive itself. Many RVs are trailers (without a motor).

The “carburetor” was the usual fuel-delivery system for a gasoline engine before fuel-injection — what you see now, since it’s more precise. If a motor with a carburetor won’t start (but cranks), the fuel mixture can be enrichened by pouring in gasoline.

“Michael Prouty Park” is a nearby Town park, named after young Michael Prouty, who used to play in the area, and died. The land was donated to the Town by the Prouty family. The park is mainly athletic fields, but has an open picnic pavilion.

Alfa-Romeo.

“The Graduate” movie, 1967.

“Ronald MacDonald” is the MacDonalds clown representative.

My blowhard macho brother-in-Boston puts down front-wheel-drive minivans (as first made by Chrysler Corporation), as “soccer-mom minivans.”

The “mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired almost three years ago. Best job I ever had.

My blowhard macho brother-in-Boston noisily insists the prostate-gland should be spelled, and pronounced, as “prostrate.”

RE: “Not a proper abandoned minimall clinic.......” —My macho, blowhard brother-from-Boston admitted his colonoscopy was performed in a storefront clinic in an abandoned minimall, and is therefore superior to mine, which was performed in a hospital.

The “Bluster-Boy” (“rotten-tomato-Boy”) is my all-knowing, blowhard brother-from-Boston, MA, the macho ad-hominem king, who noisily badmouths everything I do or say. His idea of brotherly-love is to lob rotten-tomatoes at me, since I don’t acclaim his greatness.

“Widdle-pattern” is essentially how often I have to urinate.

My age is 64 — on the verge of using adult diapers, per the almighty Bluster-King.

“The funky-food-market” is Lori’s Natural Foods, south of Rochester in Henrietta — a source for salt-free cereal, sauce, etc.

“Weggers” is Wegmans, a large supermarket-chain based in Rochester we often buy groceries at.

“Whole-Paycheck” is my sister-in-Floridy’s take on “Whole Foods.”

RE: “HAVE FUN, EVERYONE! The old waazoo; $11.85 is throwing my money away, and $9.99 is ‘open that moldy wallet.’” —My siblings (especially my brother-in-Boston) badmouth me for blowing too much on purchases, or being too cheap. It’s always one or the other — never right. (This also goes on our family’s web-site.)

My siblings are all tub-thumping REPUBLICAN Conservatives; and since I’m not, I’m inferior.

“Tunnel Inn” in Gallitzin, PA, is the Bed&Breakfast we stay at when we visit Horseshoe Curve. (Horseshoe Curve, west of Altoona, Pennsylvania, is by far the BEST railfan spot I have ever been to. Horseshoe Curve is a national historic site. It was a trick used by the Pennsylvania Railroad to get over the Allegheny mountains without steep grades. Horseshoe Curve was opened in 1854, and is still in use. [I am a railfan, and have been since I was a child.])

“Marcy” is my number-one ne’er-do-well — she was the first I was e-mailing stuff to. Marcy and I worked in adjacent cubicles at the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired. A picture of her is in this blog at Conclave of Ne’er-Do-Wells. Marcy married Bryan Mahoney (ex-reporter from the Messenger newspaper), and together they live near Boston. (Both Marcy and Mahoney keep blogs — Marcy’s is Playtime at Hazmat.)

The “Bottom-Line” is a small section at the bottom of the front-page of the Messenger Newspaper, devoted to tiny items that don’t deserve larger coverage.

The “Ne’er-do-Wells” are an e-mail list of everyone I e-mail my stuff to.