“There once was a large cabin cruiser…
Whose skipper was known as a boozer.
As the bottles were piled, the lake was defiled
And a gar pike wound up as the loser.”

It was my claim to fame in 1970. Our class assignment was to write a limerick to honor Earth Day, the first of which was proclaimed in March of 1970.

I was amazed to learn that my “poem” had been chosen to be read on the air by SUNNY ELIOT! “Sunny” Eliot, local weatherman/comic/tv host and former WWII POW was a local Detroit tv institution, and often read poems or other submissions as a way to spice up his forecast.

Today, Thanksgiving 2007, I watched the Macy’s Parade, and (again) bemoaned the lack of TV coverage for the Detroit Parade. I will always think of it as Hudson’s parade, though it is now known as America’s Parade, and remember how Sunny was a perennial host for the parade.

A quick google search tells me that Mr. Eliot, as of September 21, 2007 is still reporting the weather in Detroit.

Happy Thanksgiving, Sunny! (and everyone else, too….)

The old joke goes like this: visitor to New York is trying to get there in time for a concert, and sees an old Jewish man playing a violin on a street corner. The visitor stops the car, rolls down the window and asks the old man “How do I get to Carnegie Hall?” The old man answers: “Prrractice, prrractice, prrractice…...”

David took some art classes in high school and in college, and then life intervened. He worked….supported his family….worked…and time passed. A few years ago, he told me wanted to start painting again. And so he did. I had seen him draw a few things over the years….but I had no idea!

He started by copying a Thomas Kincaid painting, just to get the feel of painting again. . I was stunned by his talent.

He continues to “practice, practice, practice….” and his newest piece is “Carnation, In-carnation, Re-incarnation….”—Check it out!

TRADITION! It was the entire premise of Fiddler On The Roof. And it drives our holidays (and I have no doubt-yours too). And it was tradition that I reflected on as David and I made the crepes this morning. Crepes, you ask? For as long as I can remember, Christmas morning breakfast has been crepes. In my family we called them Danish pancakes (since we are…at least a good portion….Danish). Crepes with powdered sugar. Or with syrup. Or with fruit topping. Or with a sausage rolled inside. Or all the above! Today it was just DH and me for Christmas breakfast. And we had crepes. Some things are just too sacred to skip!

On Christmas Eve we go to church, and when we get home, we turn on the Christmas tree and twinkling Christmas lights, place the Baby Jesus in the manger under the tree, and THEN Christmas has arrived! We have a special snack and drink and each open one gift, and wait for Santa to bring the rest to open in the morning-which reminds me of a story….

It was early on a Christmas morning. Our young son strode into our bedroom, arms crossed and a perturbed look on his face. “All the presents are here,” he stated, “but it can’t be Christmas because the baby isn’t in the manger!” The tradition had started when we married, continuing one started by my husband’s family. My mother-in-law would put the infant in the creche just before bedtime on Christmas Eve, signaling the “start” of Christmas. In carrying the tradition on, we would attend church on Christmas Eve, come home and place the small figure of Baby Jesus in the manger, then open one present and go to bed, awaiting the magic of Christmas morning.

On this Christmas Eve however, we had spent most of the night on the roof. We had torn off the old porch roof due to some leaks, planning to rebuild it, and didn’t expect any precipitation that early in the warm Arizona winter. A storm had blown in however, and we worked frantically against the wind and rain to spread and anchor plastic over the resulting holes. Finishing after several hours, we stuffed the stockings and spread the presents under the tree, then fell into bed, exhausted. The baby Jesus sat on the shelf, and was still there that Christmas morning. “I’ll go back into my room and wait until the Child is in the crib,” stated little Steven, “then it will be Christmas!”

Luke 2: 6,7: “And it came about that while they were there, the days were completed for her to give birth. And she gave birth to her first-born son; and she wrapped Him in cloths, and laid Him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.” We can become so engrossed in the “busy-ness” of Christmas that its source and meaning are lost. It took an eight-year old child to remind us that it isn’t Christmas until the Child is there.

We hope that today you are warm, full, and surrounded by the traditions that make your Christmases special!

Our Christmas tree cutting permit had arrived, and we made a last minute decision to drive “up north” to Arizona’s high desert to cut one. Throwing a half-bag of cookies and some sodas in the truck, my husband and I and our young son (then about 4) took off on a Saturday morning adventure. We knew the cutting area well, having camped in the area over the previous two summers. A storm had come through the area, and 16-20 inches of new snow was on the ground.

We got to the cutting area turnoff, and the country road was impassable due to the drifted snow. “It’s only a mile in to the cutting area,” said my husband, David. “Why don’t you and Steven stay here and play in the snow, while I go cut a tree and bring it back?” Knowing that it would be too difficult for my young child to walk that far in deep snow, I agreed.

David grabbed his saw and hiked off. Steven and I played for awhile, making snow angels and snowmen, then went back to the truck to warm up. Two hours passed. We nibbled on cookies. We went out and built a snow fort. Two more hours passed. We drank a soda. We threw snowballs at each other. More time passed. I kept watching down the road where David had hiked off, expecting to see him crest the hill at any moment.

After nearly seven hours had passed I was of course really worried. I could have driven to town at any time for help, but I worried that David would come and find us gone, and I prayed for his safe, swift return. The cookies and soda Steven and I had consumed were starting to wear thin, and the child was cold and cranky.

Finally, at the horizon David appeared. I was overjoyed and jumped out of the truck to run to him. David suddenly stopped, threw down the tree he was carrying on his shoulders and sat in the snow, so happy to see us that he just fell to the ground in relief and to give thanks for deliverance (and to rub some circulation back into his very cold feet). But I, seeing him drop to the ground, was worried that he was hurt. Panic-stricken, I loped through the deep snow toward him.

Did I mention that I faint when under emotional and physical stress? I have fainted on the basketball court, on the altar at my wedding, during ballet class, in the grocery store while pregnant…. I ran four feet in the snow, then fainted. I woke up, started to run again, and passed out after a few feet. He, seeing me passed out in the snow, tried to hurry down the road to me, carting the tree on his shoulders. His feet, nearly frostbitten from exposure, were numb however, and he had to stop every few yards to rub them to stimulate circulation.

This went on, me fainting, him dropping to the ground to warm his toes until we finally came together, falling into each others arms and sobbing with relief. We managed to drag the tree back to the truck, stopping when I became lightheaded, or when his feet became numb, loaded it and drove away to the nearest McDonald’s for hot food and cocoa.

Psalm 107: 4-6. “They wandered in the wilderness in a desert region: they did not find a way to an inhabited city. They were hungry and thirsty; Their soul fainted within them. Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble; He delivered them out of their distresses.”

We look back at this episode now and laugh at our stupidity and unpreparedness, but know that it was the hand of God that led us from possible disaster, and are grateful that His eye is ever on the sparrow-and on the fool.

The instructions said that in order to make my
Poinsettia bloom again, it needs to spend time outdoors in the summer, then be cut back in the fall, and then experience uninterrupted darkness for at least 15 hours a day until Thanksgiving.

Cut the plant back, plant it, dig it up, replant it, place it in a closet, take it out of the closet…the discussion went on for pages. Certainly more work than I wanted to do! So, I just put last year’s plant in a sunny spot and enjoyed the bushy green growth all spring, summer and fall, and didn’t worry whether it would bloom red come next Christmas .

What a surprise it was, then, to notice bright red bracts on last year’s plant when I watered it this morning. No special rules, no elaborate rituals followed, just the beauty of the seasonal plant doing what God created it to do!

Merry Christmas!

I was watching the Hudson’s Thanksgiving Day Parade today. (Well, it’s not REALLY “Hudson’s” parade anymore, but I’ll never think of it any differently….). While watching I was suddenly overwhelmed with memories. I grew up in a Detroit suburb, and Hudson’s was THE store.

It was a special occasion when Mom would dress up in her best sixties suit
and gloves (I don’t ever remember her wearing a hat, though….) and we would make the long drive (in the Nash Rambler) down Woodward Avenue to spend the day “Downtown.” The old Hudson’s store was at the heart of the retail district in Detroit, and though I can’t tell you the exact number of floors, I know that Santa took up residence on the 12th floor in Toyland, after arriving at the front steps of the store on Thanksgiving Day.

I was just entering my teen years when pantyhose were introduced, and I bought my first pair at Hudson’s. I remember sauntering up the almost hidden stairs which led to the “3rd and a half” floor: one really had to be a “regular” to know where to find it!

I still blush when I remember the “foundations“
department, where women went into curtained fitting rooms where they were measured by white-coated attendants for the perfect fit.

Special deals could be found in the basement: closeout and “value priced” items, but it had a separate entrance so that the “riff-raff” wouldn’t have to mix with the gentry.

And then….there was lunch-at Sanders! A Detroit institution for 130 years, Sanders was famous for their old-fashioned lunch counter. It is where I learned to love grilled cheese sandwiches, and the to-die-for hot fudge sauce. They closed their last store about 10 years ago.

So when the parade-the 80th annual Detroit Thanksgiving Day Parade (some sources would say the 82nd) -aired this morning, I was transported home to the living room on Ardmore Park, sitting cross-legged on the floor in my pajamas eating cereal while watching the parade on Thanksgiving morning. Waiting, for Grandma and Grandpa to arrive with the mashed turnips for dinner (ick)…..waiting for the candied crabapples and pears that would be part of the feast (yum!)….waiting…..for SANTA!

I love a parade…!

Well, it was unavoidable. We needed to go into Walmart today. DH wanted some of those flickering candle lightbulbs for the Victorian Christmas tree that we always put upstairs. With DS and Amy also coming for the holidays, (have I mentioned that DS is the genius behind the design and graphics on this site…?), I also needed to pick up some baking supplies. Christmas isn’t Christmas without Trilby Cookies!

So after (NOT) finding the lights, and picking up the baking supplies, we headed to the checkouts. It was Sunday afternoon. There are 30 checkout stations at this Super Walmart. Two were manned. The other open checkouts were “self service.” They don’t work. The products either don’t scan, or don’t register as being added to the sack, and so trigger an error message….and then one needs to wait for the attendant….and then restart….

....and I became quite annoyed at the whole scenario. Clearly, Walmart is trying to save staffing costs by reducing the number of live personnel. Clearly if they can make the customer do the work of scanning and packing, their profit margin increases. Clearly, it is annoying, irritating, and not time-saving for the consumer.

I’ll be buying my Christmas gifts online…..

Darlene owns Bella’s and Bella’s Attic. The main store has high-end home furnishings, custom window treatments and fancy “doodads.” The Attic has boutique and designer clothing. She carries unique designs, and especially high end western wear. Periodically I will come across some things in our local thrifts that she has donated at the end of the season, when new items are coming in.

This year I asked if she would consider donating those end-of-season items to the Boys and Girls Club of Elko. And she said “Sure!”

And the result is a load of new items here at The Hroost! Take a look through our Home Decor section or search on keyword Bella: we have silverplate candlesticks, beaded lampshades, enameled trays, fancy door and cabinet knobs, cowboy knick-knacks, decorative plates and other home décor items. Those Bella items are specially marked with a BCGE (Boys and Girls Club, Elko) note at the end of the description. These are all brand new items, some have been used as floor samples and may have a ding or scratch (which will be pointed out if present), and 100% of the sales proceeds of those items go directly to the club.

Buy a great gift for your special someone, and give a gift to The Boys and Girls Club in the process….We ALL win!

That song always annoys me. It’s not the lyrics, or the association with The Sound of Music, or Julie Andrews. It’s the Christmas thing. It is now early November, and I have just started to hear Christmas music being played. And THAT song is one of them.

Don’t get me wrong… I LOVE Christmas! I love shopping for gifts, decorating, baking, wrapping, Christmas Carols, crackling fireplaces with pine cones in them. I love snow, Christmas trees, and creches. I love Christmas pageants at church….but I am annoyed every time THAT song is played.

Because…..it is NOT a Christmas song. It meets no criteria for being one (my criteria, that is….). It does not talk about Jesus, wise men, Santa, reindeer, angels, Christmas trees, the nativity or any other acceptable Christmas subject.

I can only guess that the reason it has been appropriated as a Christmas song is because it passingly mentions “snowflakes that melt on my nose and eyelashes.” But, having seen the play and movie….at least a few times….I distinctly remember the setting of the song. It was in summer, during a rainstorm.

Well, please feel free to look through The Hroost, find those special Christmas somethings for your special someones. But don’t look for a copy of “My Favorite Things….”

There was a chat on one of the eBay discussion boards today about how to increase store traffic (since eBay has now virtually eliminated any eBay Store item from search…..), and one seller was particularly worried that Christmas was going to be quite spare at his house due to lack of sales now. Another wag suggested that he offer to sell his store at auction, because it was clearly haunted by ghosts who chased away anyone coming it to look around, and because “haunted” items always seem to draw not only a lot of interest, but lots of bids! Another said perhaps they should start describing every item in their stores as haunted in order to generate interest, and then people could give “haunted gifts” for Christmas.

I was reminded of the fish…....

DH’s parents came to visit one Christmas-something they don’t usually do, because they don’t like leaving the sunny, warm Valley of the Sun to come up to cold, snowy northern Nevada. But this particular year we convinced them. We don’t normally exchange gifts, as we all already have “too much stuff,” but DH did buy them some token gifts just to have something to open on Christmas Eve. One evening, while they and DH were off to town on an outing I decided to just sit and admire the beauty of the lights in the darkened house. DH had already wrapped his parent’s gifts, and placed them under the tree.

I went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, and was startled to hear a rustling under the tree, accompanied by some tinkling musical notes. After nearly dropping the hot tea on my foot, I searched under the tree and found…nothing unusual. The family returned, we had a nice chat, and we all went to bed. I woke early the next day, as is my wont, and rose at 5:30am, made tea, and sat near the lit tree. In the cold house, the furnace came on…..then, again, a rustle. Again, some tinkling notes…again, nothing to be found.

I puzzled over it all that day (which was Christmas Eve), and wondered which gift was “haunted”, but was too busy with the activities of the day to worry too much about it. It is our custom to go to church on Christmas Eve, and after church to have a drink and a special snack, while each opening one gift, leaving the rest to open on Christmas Day. DH opened a new stack of CD-R discs…I received a lovely Diane Von Furstenberg silk scarf. Mom received a bottle of her favorite Red Door cologne. And step-dad John got….Big Mouth Billy Bass: a mounted plastic fish who raises his head from the mounting board and belts out a rendition of Bobby McFerrin’s “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.” The mystery of the haunted gift was solved! That particular gift had been placed near a heat register. The fish’s song and head movements are motion activated…and the moving air of the blowing heat rustled the wrapping paper and made Billy come to life.

I’ll never forget John’s parting words when he left for home shortly after Christmas: “So long, and thanks for the fish!” (If you don’t get it, you’re MUCH too young…..).

You won’t find Big Mouth Billy Bass at The-Hroost, but come in and look for other boo-tiful things!

My approach to cars and purses is similar. If my car starts when I turn the key in the ignition, goes forward when I put it in drive, and stops when I press the brake, then I’m happy. Horsepower, sexy lines, and leather seats with “bun warmers” are nice, but I don’t seek them out. I feel the same way about my purses. I like one that is small, holds my stuff in an organized manner, and will hold up to the abuse I give it. It doesn’t have to be fancy. Or expensive. And, I will admit, I don’t know what to look for in either an expensive car, or a designer purse. So I don’t buy (or sell….) either one.

While at a conference out of state last week, my (admittedly inexpensive) purse broke at the handle. So I trundled myself off to the nearest thrift store, and checked out the purse section. I found one that fit my needs precisely: small, well organized with neat little compartments which were easy to access, and which felt good on my shoulder. I paid the $2.99 and happily walked out of the store. (Well, after looking through all the other departments of course….).

Later, in my hotel room, I started the transfer: I emptied my old purse. I put my cards into the neat little slots of the new purse. I put the cash into the pocket. I put the checkbook into its slot, my driver’s license into the windowed compartment, the change into the velcroed pocket. I snapped closed the top flap…and my jaw dropped open. There on the front, embossed into the supple brown leather: Coach Leatherware.

Now, for those of you who are neither fashionistas nor eBay junkies, you may not know that Coach is a high-end maker of quality leather purses. It is also highly faked by rip-off artists and scammers, and those fakes are pawned off to unsuspecting buyers on sites like eBay.

Now I am conflicted. I love my organized little purse, but I don’t like the thought of carrying a fake designer purse (the sales of which are often used to fund terrorism, illegal drug trafficking and other crimes), and haven’t the expertise to determine if it is authentic. And… having read the eBay discussion boards, I know that those who do know the difference will either admire and covet my expensive leather Coach purse, or snicker behind their hands at the obvious fake that I am carrying. So, if you’re looking for a Coach, LV or Gucci purse, this is NOT the place….

Ignorance truly …was…. bliss…..

School never “did it” for him. He was bored, and so after 3 years of getting him out of bed in time for school, just so he could skip out, I finally told him to go take the GED and get it over with. He did so. Never studied, never prepared. He just went and took the test and passed. He spent several years working at a variety of low paying jobs. His girlfriend, Amy, wanted to go to college, so they asked if they could live in our garage apartment (gratis) for awhile while she attended the local college and he worked. He said he would then go to school after she had finished a year or so, as he had to work to provide living expenses.

I (slyly…..) pointed out that student loans provide living expenses, and that living here free would be a perfect opportunity for HIM to attend school also. Well he did, and discovered that he COULD finish classes and assignments. He is now the student union computer guru at UNR in Reno where he is finishing his degree in computer engineering. Well, this old mom was trying to set up this webstore, The-Hroost. I was having trouble with some of the coding in liquid ( a not-quite html language….), and he sort of …...magically set up the whole store. In a day.

So, feel free to check out his handiwork here at The Hroost. My son, the genius. Check him out at myspace.com/hryniuk

I hate meetings. I hate sitting through them. I hate the small talk that you have to do while waiting for them to start. Meetings often accomplish nothing more than emptying a few pots of coffee. And so, I have studiously avoided volunteering for things that would entail my having to attend….meetings. I did make one exception.
Mr. V. has been my patient for several years. One spring he asked if I would consider serving on the Board of Directors for the local Boys and Girls Club. He is the executive director, and he felt that having a physician on board would bring a new viewpoint to the board. My first inclination was to say no: as a doctor and an active member of my church, I felt I had enough to keep me busy, and being on the BOD would mean MEETINGS! But I liked Mr. V., and respected his obvious passion for the local club. I researched the national organization and liked what I read. I researched the local organization and realized that not only did I WANT to serve on the BOD, but that it would be a great honor for me do to so.
The local club serves over 1200 kids, providing after school and weekend activities including academics, art, sports, and computing. All of this is done in one of our local elementary schools, because the club does not have its own facility. The club is essentially completely mobile and can be “put up” and “torn down” quickly should the school (who of course has priority over the space…) need the room for a given activity. This of course means that the Boys and Girls Club of Elko cannot grow, and is limited in the number and type of activities they can offer.
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