Seen out and about on "Black Friday": cars with Christmas trees roped down on top of them; motorists queueing up on Route 1 for the Longwood Christmas lights displays; lots of out-of-state tags (other than Delaware and Maryland) at the fuel pumps at Landhope; and lots of out-of-state college sweatshirts at the Y. What is it about young men's metabolism that they can nonchalantly wear their basketball shorts in even the coldest weather?
I didn't do any Black Friday shopping, but I'm told there were quite a few pilgrimages down to the shopping centers on Concord Pike, and I saw lots of pedestrians in downtown Kennett.
The latest holiday contretemps seems to be whether stores should be open for business on Thanksgiving Day itself. One side argues that forcing salespeople to work on a holiday means they can't enjoy dinner with their family. The other side points out that those holiday shifts, with their double- and triple-time pay, are often highly coveted by salespeople. Given that I worked in journalism and my brother was an airline pilot -- both occupations that involve mandatory working on holidays -- my family doesn't sweat celebrating holidays on the actual official date.
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Crashes
OK, now, I'm really tired of people I know getting into car crashes: enough already! My folks have been in two of them in recent weeks, neither one their fault, and fortunately they were not hurt (cars can be repaired). A few weeks ago I wrote about a young friend who spent a few days in the hospital after a crash on Route 322, and she is still hurting. A couple of pals have had deer simply run into their cars while they're driving.
The emergency personnel who handled my parents' accident told them they have been very busy recently with a lot of crashes. And we haven't even had any icy roads yet!
My parents' crash was at Routes 52 and 926 on Thanksgiving morning, when an oncoming motorist tried to make a left turn in front of them. My parents are unhurt, thanks to my mother's quick reflexes and the German engineering and thick sheet metal of their vehicle. My parents reported that the emergency crews were there almost immediately, and they had high praise for the professional and efficient state trooper who handled the accident. They were also grateful for the witness who pulled over right away and gave them his business card if they needed corroborating evidence.
The emergency personnel who handled my parents' accident told them they have been very busy recently with a lot of crashes. And we haven't even had any icy roads yet!
My parents' crash was at Routes 52 and 926 on Thanksgiving morning, when an oncoming motorist tried to make a left turn in front of them. My parents are unhurt, thanks to my mother's quick reflexes and the German engineering and thick sheet metal of their vehicle. My parents reported that the emergency crews were there almost immediately, and they had high praise for the professional and efficient state trooper who handled the accident. They were also grateful for the witness who pulled over right away and gave them his business card if they needed corroborating evidence.
Floga Bistro
Floga Bistro, the Italian restaurant on Route 1 east of Kennett, was one hopping spot on Friday evening. I was with a party of 10, enjoying a 5 p.m. dinner with a dear friend and his family for his birthday, and several groups apparently had the same idea of dining on the early side. The restaurant is a BYO, and we saw several people carrying in full soft-sided coolers. By the time we left at 6:45 the place was in full swing.
My chicken parmigiana with cappellini was delicious; I split my portion with the Birthday Boy's sister and we both had an ample meal. One of the Birthday Boy's sons, sitting next to me, ordered the lobster ravioli with crabmeat and let me have a taste (well, he didn't have much choice in the matter) and it was very good. The dessert tray looked tempting, but we had no room left.
Because of the dinner I missed Kennett's Christmas parade, but over the weekend I heard all about the Lofting-versus-Hicks rivalry in terms of their illuminated farm equipment entries. A lit-up combine escorted by an Olympic equestrian sporting an ear-of-corn costume? The bar has been set very, very high for next year, gentlemen.
My chicken parmigiana with cappellini was delicious; I split my portion with the Birthday Boy's sister and we both had an ample meal. One of the Birthday Boy's sons, sitting next to me, ordered the lobster ravioli with crabmeat and let me have a taste (well, he didn't have much choice in the matter) and it was very good. The dessert tray looked tempting, but we had no room left.
Because of the dinner I missed Kennett's Christmas parade, but over the weekend I heard all about the Lofting-versus-Hicks rivalry in terms of their illuminated farm equipment entries. A lit-up combine escorted by an Olympic equestrian sporting an ear-of-corn costume? The bar has been set very, very high for next year, gentlemen.
Over the edge
A certain Unionville woman (whom you all know) is utterly mortified as we speak.
She drove over to see the Cheshire Hunt "move off" from the Kennels on Saturday morning, chatted with her pals among the riders, spectators, and photographers and decided to return home as the Hunt crossed Route 82 and headed off to their day. A tiny little embankment was the only thing separating her 4WD Honda CRV from the northbound lane of Route 82, so she decided to skip the "Unionville traffic jam," take a shortcut and head down the slope.
Alas, her perception of the vehicle's ground clearance did not match its actual ground clearance, and she found herself most definitely stuck, unable to move forward or back.
Meanwhile, basically every single person in the world she knew (whether they'd been at the Hunt Meet or not) was driving by on Route 82, pointing, roaring with laughter, and -- worst of all -- taking photos of the scene.
"Bet you wish you had a wig you could put on!" commented one cheerful bystander, clearly enjoying herself.
Fortunately a guy from the Po-Mar-Lin Fire Company -- they were there to direct traffic -- saw her plight and radioed in to his coworkers the humiliating but entirely accurate description "Lady Stuck on Embankment." Several of his colleagues motored over immediately in their Gator, assessed the situation and concluded that the best thing would be to for them to try to push the car back up the slope.
Four burly guys in their bunker gear pushed and -- presto! -- the car was back on level ground.
"You might want to use the driveway to get back on the road," one helpful fellow advised the relieved woman, whose face was as red as her fleece jacket.
Of course, the news was all over on Facebook immediately, with calls for the incriminating photos to be posted on the front door of the post office, Primitive Hall and the Whip.
If you'll excuse me, I now have a great deal of cookie baking to do for my rescuers. I'm told the weekly Po-Mar-Lin Fire Company meeting is on Monday evening at 7 p.m.
She drove over to see the Cheshire Hunt "move off" from the Kennels on Saturday morning, chatted with her pals among the riders, spectators, and photographers and decided to return home as the Hunt crossed Route 82 and headed off to their day. A tiny little embankment was the only thing separating her 4WD Honda CRV from the northbound lane of Route 82, so she decided to skip the "Unionville traffic jam," take a shortcut and head down the slope.
Alas, her perception of the vehicle's ground clearance did not match its actual ground clearance, and she found herself most definitely stuck, unable to move forward or back.
Meanwhile, basically every single person in the world she knew (whether they'd been at the Hunt Meet or not) was driving by on Route 82, pointing, roaring with laughter, and -- worst of all -- taking photos of the scene.
"Bet you wish you had a wig you could put on!" commented one cheerful bystander, clearly enjoying herself.
Fortunately a guy from the Po-Mar-Lin Fire Company -- they were there to direct traffic -- saw her plight and radioed in to his coworkers the humiliating but entirely accurate description "Lady Stuck on Embankment." Several of his colleagues motored over immediately in their Gator, assessed the situation and concluded that the best thing would be to for them to try to push the car back up the slope.
Four burly guys in their bunker gear pushed and -- presto! -- the car was back on level ground.
"You might want to use the driveway to get back on the road," one helpful fellow advised the relieved woman, whose face was as red as her fleece jacket.
Of course, the news was all over on Facebook immediately, with calls for the incriminating photos to be posted on the front door of the post office, Primitive Hall and the Whip.
If you'll excuse me, I now have a great deal of cookie baking to do for my rescuers. I'm told the weekly Po-Mar-Lin Fire Company meeting is on Monday evening at 7 p.m.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
The Hunt
The cancellation of this year's traditional Thanksgiving Hunt of Mr. Stewart's Cheshire Foxhounds was met with much dismay, but I can fully understand why the decision was made: we'd had two days of steady rain, the ground was very soft and there was a greatly increased risk of damage to property, horses and riders. It was the first time in the Hunt's 100-year history that the Thanksgiving Meet wasn't held. The response on social media was utter disappointment from equestrians and non-equestrians alike; I didn't realize so many people made going to watch the Thanksgiving Meet part of their holiday tradition.
I'm told that some folks, including some of the offline Amish neighbors, didn't get the word and showed up on Thursday morning anyway.
I stopped by the slightly delayed hunt meet, held Saturday morning at the Kennels, and there was still a good crowd. Just before the foxhunters "moved off," Michael Ledyard, one of the Masters, greeted the spectators and welcomed them to "the first Thanksgiving Hunt ever held on a Saturday." He thanked everyone for coming and gave a special shout-out to the landowners who allow the Hunt on their properties.
I enjoyed hearing the comments from people from outside of Unionville who were visiting the area for the holiday. "Do they know how elegant they look in their red coats?" asked one woman, eyeing one hunter. "They must!"
The kids loved watching the excited hounds being released from their kennel at the beginning of the hunt. With one crack of the huntsman's whip, the Cheshire Beauties instantly focused on their job and were ready for action: seeking a fox!
I'm told that some folks, including some of the offline Amish neighbors, didn't get the word and showed up on Thursday morning anyway.
I stopped by the slightly delayed hunt meet, held Saturday morning at the Kennels, and there was still a good crowd. Just before the foxhunters "moved off," Michael Ledyard, one of the Masters, greeted the spectators and welcomed them to "the first Thanksgiving Hunt ever held on a Saturday." He thanked everyone for coming and gave a special shout-out to the landowners who allow the Hunt on their properties.
I enjoyed hearing the comments from people from outside of Unionville who were visiting the area for the holiday. "Do they know how elegant they look in their red coats?" asked one woman, eyeing one hunter. "They must!"
The kids loved watching the excited hounds being released from their kennel at the beginning of the hunt. With one crack of the huntsman's whip, the Cheshire Beauties instantly focused on their job and were ready for action: seeking a fox!
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Un-Glamour Shots
I see that the Kennett Paper has started running mug shots in its police blotter column each week. They're definitely grim-looking.
Then again, I remember the day I got my mug shot taken. It was back when I was a reporter, and one police department I covered had just purchased some software that allowed them to broadcast detailed alerts for wanted persons over the then-newfangled Internet. The cops wanted to try it out, and I was "volunteered" as the model. I was told to stand in front of a cinder-block wall and not to smile.
In a lifetime of hanging around photographers, I've had my photo taken a lot, and this was possibly the least flattering shot ever. The lighting was awful and I'd swear it was retouched to add wrinkles, jowls and blotches that I never see in the mirror each morning. Even the chic little 1950s silk scarf I was wearing looked totally inappropriate.
I forget what crimes they accused me of committing on the fake rap sheet that accompanied the dreadful photo, but if they're still on my permanent record I have zero chance of gaining political office.
Then again, I remember the day I got my mug shot taken. It was back when I was a reporter, and one police department I covered had just purchased some software that allowed them to broadcast detailed alerts for wanted persons over the then-newfangled Internet. The cops wanted to try it out, and I was "volunteered" as the model. I was told to stand in front of a cinder-block wall and not to smile.
In a lifetime of hanging around photographers, I've had my photo taken a lot, and this was possibly the least flattering shot ever. The lighting was awful and I'd swear it was retouched to add wrinkles, jowls and blotches that I never see in the mirror each morning. Even the chic little 1950s silk scarf I was wearing looked totally inappropriate.
I forget what crimes they accused me of committing on the fake rap sheet that accompanied the dreadful photo, but if they're still on my permanent record I have zero chance of gaining political office.
Sunday, November 24, 2013
Thanksgiving around the world
We had our Thanksgiving celebration a few days early, and I hope your family has as terrific a time as we did. After a classic dinner (the turkey was delicious despite some early issues with the cook-convection oven interface) with some always-festive Veuve Clicquot, we watched football. Because of the repeated complaints that the penalty-laden Dallas game was "awful" ("overpaid" and "incompetent" were other adjectives used), I suggested brightly that instead we should all watch "Pride and Prejudice" (the Colin Firth version). My motion was soundly denied; predictably, the vote was on strictly gender lines.
I was also introduced to The Young Relative's new favorite app, an especially cold-hearted one called Plague. In this gruesome game you create and name a plague ("Zombie"), define its symptoms (abscesses, pneumonia, anemia, paranoia are just a few of the choices), set its mutation and resistance levels, decide on a starting place and then let 'er rip. Day by day the infection rate mounts as planes and boats carry it from country to country. Relevant headlines pop up occasionally about nations that are investing in medical research ("Oh no! Indonesia is already working on a cure!") or less fortunate ones that have had to declare a public emergency ("YES! Cold resistance! I got to Greenland!").
"Who comes up with this stuff?!" exclaimed my mother in disbelief.
At one point, just as the virus had reached the UK, I received a text from my friend George, who lives on the south coast of England. "Tell him to stay indoors," cautioned my brother.
Despite the goriness, though, I have to say that it provides some pretty good lessons in geography, medicine, pharmacogenomics, and epidemiology. I certainly didn't know the words "zoonosis" and "bioaerosol" in the sixth grade.
I was also introduced to The Young Relative's new favorite app, an especially cold-hearted one called Plague. In this gruesome game you create and name a plague ("Zombie"), define its symptoms (abscesses, pneumonia, anemia, paranoia are just a few of the choices), set its mutation and resistance levels, decide on a starting place and then let 'er rip. Day by day the infection rate mounts as planes and boats carry it from country to country. Relevant headlines pop up occasionally about nations that are investing in medical research ("Oh no! Indonesia is already working on a cure!") or less fortunate ones that have had to declare a public emergency ("YES! Cold resistance! I got to Greenland!").
"Who comes up with this stuff?!" exclaimed my mother in disbelief.
At one point, just as the virus had reached the UK, I received a text from my friend George, who lives on the south coast of England. "Tell him to stay indoors," cautioned my brother.
Despite the goriness, though, I have to say that it provides some pretty good lessons in geography, medicine, pharmacogenomics, and epidemiology. I certainly didn't know the words "zoonosis" and "bioaerosol" in the sixth grade.
Best Society
A faithful Newlin Township reader wrote a kind note to me about last week's "Newlyweds" item, thanking me for following the traditional etiquette of offering "best wishes" to the bride and "congratulations" to the groom. Her note attracted some comment when I posted it on Tilda's Facebook page. One reader wondered what she should say to a newly married gay couple (we agreed that a hearty "mazel tov" was highly suitable for all occasions and wouldn't tie up the receiving line).
Continuing the etiquette thread, another reader noted with frustration that people don't seem to RSVP to invitations anymore, which makes it really difficult to be a well-prepared hostess in terms of food, drink, seating and such. I've heard this from many hostesses. One woman I know is married to a prominent businessman and they socialize and entertain a great deal. She told me once that her practice is to respond to invitations, accept or decline, as soon as she receives them. It's kind of like the "touch each piece of paper only once" advice that organizers swear by.
Continuing the etiquette thread, another reader noted with frustration that people don't seem to RSVP to invitations anymore, which makes it really difficult to be a well-prepared hostess in terms of food, drink, seating and such. I've heard this from many hostesses. One woman I know is married to a prominent businessman and they socialize and entertain a great deal. She told me once that her practice is to respond to invitations, accept or decline, as soon as she receives them. It's kind of like the "touch each piece of paper only once" advice that organizers swear by.
What's your sign?
What's with all those new real-estate signs? Berkshire Hathaway (Warren Buffett is the chairman) bought Fox & Roach, which has become part of "Berkshire Hathaway HomeServices." Seemingly overnight all those blue-and-white Fox & Roach "For Sale" signs have been replaced by maroon ones. This must've been a boon for sign-makers, printers of stationery and business cards, and press-release writers.
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