Tag Archives: bygone blog

Bygone blog — A short story about the Hatch Rd. lush

26 Jan

This is the latest in my on-again, off-again series of Bygone Blogs, in which I’m re-posting some of my favorite blogs from the last 17 years.

I’ve been doing more running these days, as I train for my first-ever half marathon in May. A few days ago I saw something that reminded me of this blog, from August 28, 2010. At the time I wrote it, I was living in North Penfield, and my regular running route would take me along Hatch Rd.

Our Hatch Rd. lush is back

A little more than two years ago, as I ran through my North Penfield neighborhoods, I noticed several discarded Black Velvet bottles along Hatch Rd. It appeared that someone was regularly throwing their empty bottles onto the grassy shoulder as they walked (or drove) along Hatch. It started out as just a few of them, but over several weeks the number grew to more than 20.

I mentioned this curiosity a few times in my blog.  A short time later the bottles not only miraculously disappeared, but they never returned again. Could have been a coincidence, but I like to think some disgruntled spouse read my blog and put two and two together.

Well, the bottles have returned. But this time they’re not Black Velvet. Our drinking and tossing friend has apparently switched to the less expensive (but still imported) Canadian Leaf whiskey.  I saw two of them yesterday along that very same Black Velvet stretch. It will be interesting to see if they multiply.

Or maybe that disgruntled spouse is still reading my blog.

* * *

That, by the way, was not my last encounter with the Hatch Rd. Lush. Four years later, I noticed a new, and growing, collection of empty bottles along that Hatch Rd. sidewalk. By now, however, his booze of choice had turned to vodka (as you can see in the photo above).

At least he wasn’t getting stuck in a rut.

* * *

email me  at missyblog@gmail.com. “Like” this blog on Facebook and follow me on Instagram and Threads (@missyblog)

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(posted 1/26/2025)

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Bygone Blog — A silly song for autumn

10 Nov
11122011 leaves

I’ve actually posted this Bygone Blog before, but it’s one of my favorites, and I can’t help but break out into song as I am raking every year. Maybe after reading this, you will too. (And, well, kittens. I need easy blog posts!) 

I wrote this when I was still living in Penfield and had to stuff hundreds (literally) bags of leaves each year for my trash hauler to pick up. Not having to do that anymore is another reason I love living in the village.   

Carol of the Leaves

(sung to the tune of “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.”)

(Really. It’s much more fun if you sing along with it.)

It’s the most back-breaking time of the year,
When winter is calling,
the leaves are a’falling
And bagging-the-leaves time is here,
It’s the most back-breaking time of the year.

11122011leaf

Yes, the most colorful season is here.
From the leaves on the trees
To the frustrated screams
That fall on your ears,
Yes, the most colorful season is here.

I think shoveling is better
Though snow’s cold and wetter,
I just push it and that’s not so bad.
Then the plows come on by
And they sweep it aside.
And I don’t have to stuff it in bags.

It’s the most back-breaking time of the year.
Some day thanks to our pleas,
Penfield WILL pick up leaves.
They’ll finally get it in gear.
It’s the most back-breaking time,
Yes, the most back-breaking time,
It’s the most back-breaking time of the year.

* * *

email me  at missyblog@gmail.com. “Like” this blog on Facebook and follow me on Instagram and Threads (@missyblog)

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(posted 11/10/2023)

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Bygone blog: Wednesday mornings 7 a.m.

25 Aug

I got to thinking about Hegedorn’s recently, and how much I miss it. And THAT got me to thinking about several blogs I wrote over the years about one of my favorite things about Hegedorn’s: “the boys.”

In honor of our hometown grocery store which is no more, and the arrival of the new school year, I pulled out some of those blogs. I present them here as part of my on-again, off-again series of Bygone Blogs, in which I’m re-posting some of my favorite blogs from the last 15 years. This one was originally published on June 4, 2008.

Wednesday mornings 7 a.m.  

One of the things I think I’ll miss most as the school year comes to an end is my Wednesday mornings at Hegedorn’s.

Frequently this year I’ve had to drive my son into school before classes Wednesday mornings for his men’s chorus practice. Early on I decided that just because he had to be at school at 6:45, I didn’t. So I began stopping by Hegedorn’s Cafe for coffee and a paper to fill the time before I had to be at work. That’s how I got to know the boys.

The “boys” are the Wednesday-morning regulars who, like me, make Hegedorn’s their watering hole before heading off to the face their day. They always sit in the same booth, where they proceed to solve the problems of the world.

Settled into a nearby booth, I sip my coffee and read the paper, and occasionally tune into their conversations. The talk bounces from politics to the best hunting and fishing spots, from the weather to the stock market. The conversations are always animated, the opinions always presented with conviction and an “I-don’t-care-if-you-agree-with-me-or-not” attitude. And if I keep my ears open, I occasionally pick up a vital kernel of knowledge such as “Never argue with a proctologist.”

I’ve never really gotten to know my Wednesday morning coffee buddies. The only guy I even know by name is Doug. Even if none of the other boys has yet arrived, I can always count on seeing Doug, sitting in the same spot in the same booth when I walk in. He’s always good for a smile and a wave.

But now that school’s almost over, I won’t need to get up early on Wednesday to drive my son. For that matter, my son’s graduating this year, so there may not be any more early Wednesday mornings for me.

And that makes me sad, because the Hegedorn’s boys always started my day off with a smile. 

* * *

I would write about “the boys” a few more times. The next time was a few weeks later, shortly after the Democrat and Chronicle had published my “Wednesday mornings” blog in the paper...

Last Wednesday morning was fun. The editors at the D&C chose then to re-publish my “Wednesday Mornings 7 a.m.” blog about the “boy’s club” I had gotten to know at Hegedorn’s. I made a point that morning to tuck the paper under my arm and visit Hegedorn’s Cafe one last time before the end of the school year. I wanted to make sure “the boys” saw the paper.

I needn’t have worried. As soon as I walked in I saw that Doug, whom I had mentioned in the blog, had the article spread out on the table, and was calling anyone with earshot to come over and see it. When he saw me, he threw out his arms, gave me a big smile and a bigger hug. He was tickled pink to have seen his name in the paper (although one of Doug’s friends said I should have mentioned that he’s single.) I clearly had made his day. And it was a great way to start mine.

* * *

My daughter entered Schroeder that September and signed up for women’s choir, which meant that I had to drive her to school reallystinkingearly on Monday mornings, which gave me at least another year to visit with the boys before school. But then, in January …

I had a bit of a scare this morning.

I dropped my daughter off early at Schroeder for her a capella group practice as I usually do, and continued to Hegedorn’s to begin the work week with my regular Monday morning cup of coffee and laugh fest with “the Boys.”  But as I drove into the strangely empty parking lot, I saw that the café was dark. The doors were locked.

The Boys were not there.

I had been warned that this day was coming. Plans have been in the works for a while for Guida’s Pizzeria to take over the Bill Gray’s Pizza Café at Hegedorn’s.  Now, the Boys told me they had gotten assurances that the new owners would continue opening early every morning. But who really knew for sure?  

So when I saw the place dark, my heart skipped a beat. “Now wait,” I told myself, “Don’t panic. The Boys said they would leave a note if they were displaced, telling me where they were.”  So I drove by the front door.  Twice.

No note.

So where could they have gone? Starbucks across the street?  Nah, no way. Couldn’t see the Boys at Starbucks.  Maybe Dunkin’ Donuts in the village…that’s a long way to go, and there’s a chance they’re not there, but I could do it and still get to work on time.

Then a flash of brilliance: someone in Hegedorn’s has got to know where they went. Sure enough, I popped into the store, went up to the customer service desk (where they know everything) and was promptly told that the Boys were at Bill Gray’s down the hill.

Sure enough, there they were, packed into two booths like always, solving the problems of the world. My week was saved.

The good news is that Guida’s only needs to close the café for a few weeks for renovations, and then will reopen in the mornings.  So I’m looking at one more morning at Bill Gray’s, then life gets back to normal.

But it really doesn’t matter where the Boys are. (Except maybe Starbucks. I might have to draw the line there.) I’ll always find them, and they will always start my week off with a smile.

* * *

email me  at missyblog@gmail.com. “Like” this blog on Facebook and follow me on Instagram (@missyblog)

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(posted 8/25/2023)

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Bygone blog — Smelly yellow books

26 Jun

This is the latest in my on-again, off-again series of Bygone Blogs, in which I’m re-posting some of my favorite blogs from the last 15 years. This one was originally published on June 23, 2009, when I was working in the Webster Thomas High School library.

Our set of Encyclopedia Britannicas played a very important part in my young life. I was reminded of them the other day when I was poking through some old books in the attic, and I came across one with a familiar smell.

Smelly Yellow Books

An unfortunate and always difficult job every librarian must face at least once a year is weeding out-of-date and worn books from the collection. No one ever likes to throw out books, but it’s a necessary evil to keep a collection current and make room for new arrivals.

In our library, one thing nearing the end of its lifespan is our World Book encyclopedia set. I’ll be sad when that has to go, because for me it will mean the end of an era.

I remember fondly the Encyclopedia Britannica set we owned when I was a child. It was yellow, had 18 volumes and dark gold-leaf lettering. It resided, very dignified, in the same bookcase in the dining room of every house we lived in. The pages in those volumes guided me through countless school projects and research assignments. Just knowing they were there gave me confidence; I knew I had the resources at my fingertips to get a good grade.

We even used our Britannica to play the “encyclopedia game.” My mother would tell us which volume she had, then start reading the article (saying “blank,” of course, when an obvious word would have given away the answer.) We raced to tell her what the article was about. We loved that game.

And I can still remember how our Britannica set smelled. Robust, and just a little musty. To me, that aroma signified knowledge.

But no one uses encyclopedias anymore, at least ones printed on paper. High schools and public libraries now subscribe to online databases which tap into a thousand times more information than any encyclopedia set could ever offer. Google and Wikipedia are even easier. I think it’s safe to say our library’s World Book set hasn’t seen the light of day in more than a year.

The death of encyclopedia sets is really the end of an era. It’s like another piece of my youth is disappearing. The internet is awesome, and has opened up the world to us. But I hope there will never be a time when our children don’t know what it feels like to turn a page, or hear the snap of the paper…or know the smell of a book.

* * *

email me  at missyblog@gmail.com. “Like” this blog on Facebook and follow me on Instagram.

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(Posted 6/26/2023)

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Bygone blog — It’s time to update the Wegmans Game

20 Feb

This is the latest in my on-again, off-again series of Bygone Blogs, in which I’m re-posting some of my favorite blogs from the last 15 years. This one was originally published on March 21, 2010.

It’s time to update the Wegmans Game

Chances are good you’ve played the Wegmans Game.

You know what I mean. When you and a companion go to Wegmans, each of you counts how many people you know. Whoever sees the most people wins.  It’s a fun and easy game, since if you hang around Wegmans long enough you’ll see just about everyone in the community walk through the doors.

I’ve been playing this game for years with my kids, and I must say it’s getting a little predictable. So this morning as I shopped at the Holt Rd. Wegmans, I began to think of ways to spice up the game for the next generation of Wegmans shoppers.

Here’s what I came up with.  Feel free to add your own.

The Wegmans Game (21st Century Rules)

  • Wegmans employees are only worth a half point each. They’re required to be there for long hours anyway, so seeing them is not terribly serendipitous.  And you’ll really appreciate this rule if you’re shopping with your high school-aged child, since he or she will know every one of the checkers.
  • Talkers and stalkers can earn bonus points. These are the people who always seem to shop when you do, and assume you want a half-hour description of their gall bladder surgery. One point for seeing them, a bonus point for successfully avoiding them. Five bonus points for being caught and having to listen to the surgery story.
  • One point for a teacher if you have that teacher this year. One additional point for every decade back you had that teacher. (For example, one extra point for the 00s, two points for the 90s, three for the 80s, and so on. So Mom or Dad, if you see your grade school teacher, it’s almost a guaranteed win.)
  • You must know the person’s name to earn a point. Otherwise you don’t really “know” the person, do you? (Whether you need to know both first and last names can be considered a house rule.)
  • If both players know the same person, point goes to the one who sees that person first.  It rewards acute observation skills.
  • If you skunk your opponent, you must spot said opponent three people at the beginning of the next game.

So I think we have a good start here. Anyone else have a suggestion?

* * *

email me  at missyblog@gmail.com. “Like” this blog on Facebook and follow me on Instagram.

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(posted 2/20/2023)

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Bygone blog — Parental stupidity index

29 Nov

This is the latest in my on-again, off-again series of Bygone Blogs, in which I’m re-posting some of my favorite blogs from the last 14 years. This one was originally published on October 8, 2008.

Parental Stupidity Index

WARNING! Mathematics ahead!
(But stay with me, because you might find this interesting.)

My husband and I have a 14-year old. She thinks we’re stupid.

Now this phenomenon — which I’ll call “Perceived Parental Intelligence,” or PPI — is not unusual. Matter of fact, it’s so commonplace I’m surprised there hasn’t been any serious quantitative research on the subject. So of course, I’ve decided to give it a shot.

As I see it, the PPI phenomenon proceeds something like this: from birth to pre-teen, children think their parents are the smartest people in the world. At about 9 or 10 years old, that perception begins to sag. Then, at around 11 years old, the PPI takes a precipitous drop and continues to drop (i.e. parents continue to get stupider) until children’s mid to late-teen years.

It’s at this time, roughly coinciding with the college years, that Perceived Parental Intelligence begins a slow and steady crawl back up. Not surprisingly, the index takes an abrupt upswing in the late 20s, when children start having children of their own, and they wonder how on earth their parents managed to raise a family without going psycho.

For visual learners, below you’ll see how the PPI phenomenon looks when graphed.

Point A, a child’s early years, are when parents are percieved to be really smart and know everything.

Point B, when a child enters the pre-teen years, parents begin their quick descent into stupidity.

At Point C, when grandchildren are born, parents all of a sudden look like Einstein.

I’m curious to see if other families are seeing the same phenomenon. I also encourage replication of this study. I wonder, for example, if Point B — where the PPI begins to decline — is a constant.

* * *

email me  at missyblog@gmail.com. “Like” this blog on Facebook and follow me on Instagram.

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(posted 11/28/2022)

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Bygone blog — The psychology of dinner dishes

1 Jul

This is the latest in my on-again, off-again series of Bygone Blogs, in which I am re-posting some of my favorite blogs from the last eight years. This one was originally published on December 18, 2011.

The psychology of dinner dishes

As we were clearing the table after dinner last night, my husband, son and I got into a discussion about loading the dishwasher. (All families talk about stuff like this, right?) It wasn’t one of our more in-depth discussions like we’ve had about things like the proper way to hang the toilet paper, or why there are grease spots on the kitchen ceiling. No, this was simply an exploratory discussion about why on earth my husband chooses to stack the glasses on the inside rows of the upper rack rather than filling the outside rows first. That’s just weird.

From that discussion, we came up with an interesting idea: how a person loads a dishwasher can tell you a lot about their personality.

Let’s say, for example, that you always insist on loading the dishwasher yourself, and when someone else does it, you go back to correct their work when no one’s looking. That means you have control issues.

Do you make sure all the knives, spoons and forks are separated into their own individual compartments? You’re OCD.

Do you put your knives in point-up? That’s sadistic.

Do you methodically fill every square inch of the top racks with cups, glasses and serving utensils; stack bowls, dinner plates and pots and pans two layers deep in the bottom rack; shoe-horn in six more cake plates, and THEN turn it on and expect the appliance to deal with it? Totally passive-aggressive.

Think about that when you’re hanging around in the kitchen with your extended family this holiday season. You never know what you might discover.

* * *

email me  at missyblog@gmail.com. “Like” this blog on Facebook and follow me on Twitter and Instagram.

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(posted 7/1/2022)

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Bygone blog: Summer camp

14 Jul

This is the seventh in my series of Bygone Blogs, in which I am re-posting some of my favorite blogs from the last 10 years. This one was originally published on June 20, 2011. I post it today in honor of all the kids (young and old) who are going off to camp this summer. 

A letter to my son at camp

Lenore Skenazy had a funny column in Sunday morning’s newspaper. Maybe you saw it; she had come across a website which actually gave instructions to parents on how to write a letter to their child at camp. Now, I didn’t go so far as to try to find that website, but I suspect the advice is aimed at parents whose young children are at a sleep-away camp, perhaps for the first time.

My daughter showed me the column yesterday.  She suggested I follow the website’s instructions and send a letter to my son, who left for camp Friday morning.  I thought that was a terrific idea.

But since my son is 21 years old and will be spending his entire summer as a counselor at the YMCA’s Camp Gorham in the Adirondacks, mine reads a bit differently:

Dear Sean,

I hope you had a safe trip to camp on Friday morning. Actually, I know you did; your dad took you there personally since we won’t let you have your own car until you can pay collision costs yourself for a change.

I miss you already. I was just remarking on that as I gathered your laundry from the floor in your room and rediscovered the color of your carpet.  I will miss all the charming peculiarities that make you unique and that bring us such joy at home.

Like your superhuman ability to eat an entire box of cereal in just two bowlfuls. And an entire 29-ounce can of peaches in one sitting.

I will miss seeing what new musical instrument you have decided to befriend this week. I will miss the way you can see music in everything. Like when you “conduct” the directional signal in my car as it makes its steady blinky noise, and how you can turn any surface in the house into an impromptu drum when we least expect it. I will miss having to high-step through my office so as to not step on a cymbal or flute or tambourine.

I will miss hearing the “SLAM!  THUNK!” when you come in from teaching in the evening, slamming the door behind you and dropping everything you carry within a one-foot radius. I will miss having to kick you out of the lounge chair because Dad and I want to use the TV ourselves for a change.  I will miss worrying if you’ll be up in time for your appointments because you stayed up all night playing video games.

Yes, I will miss all of these things, because as aggravating as they all are, they all mean you’re home and you’re safe. And that’s all a mom needs to know.

So have fun at camp this summer, Sean. I’ll miss you. But I’ll try to remember that I get you nine months of the year, so it’s only fair those kids at Camp Gorham get you the other three months.

They have no idea how lucky they are.

Love, Mom

* * *

email me  at missyblog@gmail.com. “Like” this blog on Facebook and follow me on Twitter and Instagram

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