tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36579130790727717292023-11-16T01:07:21.032-05:00Penguin Hall MonitorThe Penguin Hall Monitor reports on all the activities at Penguin Hall, its inhabitants and its visitors.
Come in, sit down, have a cup of coffee and stay awhile.Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.comBlogger266125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3657913079072771729.post-16295146970143008132015-05-25T14:05:00.001-04:002015-05-25T14:05:37.831-04:00With (H)all Gratitude <i>(Ed. note: This is a rerun of a previous column; one that is still relevant today.)</i><br />
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To all our sons and daughters in the military today,<br />
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whether retired or active:<br />
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From all of us at</div>
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Penguin Hall- Thank you.</div>
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(And lest we forget-)</div>
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to all our four legged friends</div>
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who have served as well:</div>
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Thanks and a head scritch to you, too!</div>
Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3657913079072771729.post-23275130444294193602014-12-24T14:45:00.000-05:002014-12-24T14:45:07.840-05:00Back By Popular Demand<i>(Editor's note: This article ran back in December 2012, but there have been so many requests for it the editors have decided to give in /take a holiday, and run it again.)</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtKKEUAMBRO007NdilcE2hJcvgdvKWM2hUCfQuXCkdK9zfKB_qSZN-r5W8a8-RvwbXq6Bzi7l9fINkfNIDH0FHOHRIAu2xse8KbGiirdEjhHNKWQjcTHk6pvEUFAghoaMp0xHpvp24LTNl/s1600/IMG_4271+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtKKEUAMBRO007NdilcE2hJcvgdvKWM2hUCfQuXCkdK9zfKB_qSZN-r5W8a8-RvwbXq6Bzi7l9fINkfNIDH0FHOHRIAu2xse8KbGiirdEjhHNKWQjcTHk6pvEUFAghoaMp0xHpvp24LTNl/s1600/IMG_4271+(1).JPG" height="167" width="200" /></a>Back in the days of little boys in short pants and little girls in crinolines, Mrs. Hall remembers many a Christmas eve spent propped on a cushion and pushed up the big people's table, starring down a bowl of the inevitable first course to what seemed then like the Meal That Lasted At Least Two Days. <br />
Forced to endure this annual ritual, it generally involved listening to a flock of elders drone on endlessly, then dawdle over stripping the table, washing every dish in the house and then sometime about oh, midnight or so, decide that perhaps we might just let the little ones open those pesky Christmas presents after all. And the opening salvo to this supreme tantalus of an evening was always a steaming bowl of sauerkraut soup.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2YvnQDwafKzzDUaM5Bfv3RSJgw9gMIMEYrjjp1izz83VAzx00nXJ8kcdN7Ffvuc33y-K4Xl8H6rMUZpbD5hRJT21igDr8PCRsLJUnUmhuyOmTOyozF28IqSpoYL_ba-RuRNmz2RK3QSs0/s1600/IMG_4167+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2YvnQDwafKzzDUaM5Bfv3RSJgw9gMIMEYrjjp1izz83VAzx00nXJ8kcdN7Ffvuc33y-K4Xl8H6rMUZpbD5hRJT21igDr8PCRsLJUnUmhuyOmTOyozF28IqSpoYL_ba-RuRNmz2RK3QSs0/s1600/IMG_4167+(1).JPG" height="200" width="195" /></a></div>
Some foods come naturally to a child, like ice cream and birthday cake. Others have to sidle up slowly to their little senses, and after much wooing and pleasant talk, eventually make nice with the infant's tastebuds and a new favorite is born. The giant mushrooms floating atop the sauerkraut soup like grisly lilypads on a murky pond did not come to be on Mrs. Hall's list of Happy Anticipations by any of those routes; they were imposed, as things often were in those days, abruptly and absolutely by martial law. <br />
Despite however, these rough beginnings, the glorious heady broth and winey aftertaste (if perhaps only by repetition) finally wore their way into her heart. And yet another generation grew that could not imagine a Christmas eve going by without a family around the table, impatience and anticipation intertwined and the saying of Grace over an beloved bowl of sauerkraut soup.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu5hB6C7fv7TLhrhWqnxbbd6xTgK21Rg0kvsCEW7CqeH_yEZwq0z0Vv2-ZC8aqpLtJscf4BIkBP6Q7o_2Xjll4h4GcEPd50Kme12l37JvTtGMyucT_ik3g3_2XL16v-43IIb70PsKfWPcr/s1600/IMG_4190+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu5hB6C7fv7TLhrhWqnxbbd6xTgK21Rg0kvsCEW7CqeH_yEZwq0z0Vv2-ZC8aqpLtJscf4BIkBP6Q7o_2Xjll4h4GcEPd50Kme12l37JvTtGMyucT_ik3g3_2XL16v-43IIb70PsKfWPcr/s1600/IMG_4190+(1).JPG" height="200" width="159" /></a>Mrs. Hall's phone rang last week and it was Master Ian calling from Okinawa, Japan. He was hoping Mrs. H. could wrap up a jar of her sauerkraut soup and ship it out to him for the holidays. When asked about Christmas, Erick remarked last weekend that the one thing he was going to miss this year was having that wonderful soup at the beginning of the meal, and just Tuesday afternoon, as the Halls drove out to join family for dinner, Colleen texted Mrs. H. that she too was dining with friends, but it wasn't the same without the soup. The circle will not be broken.<br />
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<i>(Editor's Note: In case the Gentle Reader would like to inflict tradition on a brand new generation of innocents, <a href="http://penguinhall.blogspot.com/p/how-to-make-s.html" target="_blank">the recipe for Sauerkraut Soup can be found here.</a>)</i><br />
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Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3657913079072771729.post-79799458694395854252013-12-08T16:12:00.002-05:002013-12-08T16:13:40.149-05:00Rap it up I'll take it<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_I0XhDAfn5eOBQ2b6kGplBYecRViLqF4LIWvPOO1J1yPE6HAOhnpZTeQF3m7oDwyBNpiiavz-agByHwp-7AE1DG27Li964PoGAloOMk8MBhyWLsa-4mS0AP8fqV9DG6A9kD9nlTvO8_Xi/s1600/Boeheim.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_I0XhDAfn5eOBQ2b6kGplBYecRViLqF4LIWvPOO1J1yPE6HAOhnpZTeQF3m7oDwyBNpiiavz-agByHwp-7AE1DG27Li964PoGAloOMk8MBhyWLsa-4mS0AP8fqV9DG6A9kD9nlTvO8_Xi/s320/Boeheim.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
It was yet another gameday and as they say, you can take the boy out of Syracuse, but you can't take the Syracuse out of the boy. Preparing to sequester herself against another onslaught of screaming audience static, Mrs. Hall had moved her laptop into the boardroom and was arranging her coffee and snacks, when her ears perked up. Wafting down the hall came a pulsing beat. She followed it to the couch and looked over Mr. Hall's shoulder. <br />
"What<i><b> is</b></i> that you're playing?" she asked. <br />
"Well," he said, " I was reading the Syracuse Post Standard online and apparently there's <a href="http://www.syracuse.com/axeman/index.ssf/2013/12/syracuse_basketball_a_jim_boeh.html" target="_blank">a rap about Jim Boeheim, the SU men's basketball coach</a>, and I was just listening to it. I'll turn it off if it bothers you-.."<br />
"No, no- that's not necessary." She returned to her desk. A quick search later, and the same beats could be heard coming from the boardroom. Mr. Hall peered around the corner with a smile.<br />
"It's catchy; I like it." she admitted, and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JIwVk_wivsM" target="_blank">played it three more times</a>. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz3c54jBwJuygMJek4QR6Qs98DV-q5csAAliPf84EkFP4NRbihig7zrOciqrZWMP1yqLW6j0CIDu_YI2393MC2ZsHOgFn1iKe8CPBB3gLhUP2f1C1L6Dbelbje_nOztbtohClb36AnEYPs/s1600/Boeheim+youtube+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz3c54jBwJuygMJek4QR6Qs98DV-q5csAAliPf84EkFP4NRbihig7zrOciqrZWMP1yqLW6j0CIDu_YI2393MC2ZsHOgFn1iKe8CPBB3gLhUP2f1C1L6Dbelbje_nOztbtohClb36AnEYPs/s320/Boeheim+youtube+pic.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
"Great song- but those old shots of Boeheim in the 70s are a riot; did people actually dress like that then?" "Probably," Mr. Hall muttered, and went back to his lair. On the fourth time through though, Mr. Hall returned to the room. "Look, " he started, "I'm as big a fan of the Orange as anyone, but-" She apologized and turned down the sound.<br />
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But sometimes tunes have a funny way of staying around and as she noticed it becoming the de facto sound track for her afternoon, it occurred to her that maybe, just maybe, the artist that wrote that was on to something. She shot out a tweet of support to <a href="https://twitter.com/KingVega007" target="_blank">King Vega on Twitter</a>, and a hope that they play it at the Dome that evening. Sure enough, reports come back via Twitter that it had indeed rocked the Dome that night. Elated, Mrs. Hall shot out a few more missives to the Twittersphere.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL5Aacd7EXHoKKocmkBw3r8m21HFgmeIzXy1LL0wClMBcVAmedzufKhiOLnqrm4pA05SQCC0JuNI7rFkLkhOGKgxtVG96ZHTv_2cjjwQsP-HO4fN6f5x4BiiFLQSZYHGzi30arzNOpREA7/s1600/b+shot+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL5Aacd7EXHoKKocmkBw3r8m21HFgmeIzXy1LL0wClMBcVAmedzufKhiOLnqrm4pA05SQCC0JuNI7rFkLkhOGKgxtVG96ZHTv_2cjjwQsP-HO4fN6f5x4BiiFLQSZYHGzi30arzNOpREA7/s320/b+shot+pic.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The song seemed to be gaining some traction; they played it again a couple of times the next game and before she knew it, local media was picking up on it too. <a href="http://www.cnycentral.com/sports/story.aspx?id=979949#.UqTOzvRDuSo" target="_blank">CNY Central snagged an interview with Vega</a> and so did local <a href="http://www.9wsyr.com/mediacenter/local.aspx?videoId=4809037&navCatId=20640" target="_blank">Channel 9WSYR</a>. Mrs. Hall smiled as she watched them. Boeheim has huge magnetism in this town. He's regarded as a god by most, and certainly revered as one in basketball circles, and although there's been a number of books written about him, for all his influence and attraction in Syracuse, there's never been an anthem produced. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1RdhJc-hwa5OnZ0UJalX77_0NsB07YlR5XF9O1WTrdbQ_PLBSsYA8WgcjWdCG-Fj-58p5Y_z0YeCGfujyFbyMtTn2asRP64MBgOLjy1WBhQfLffs8d5nFfldrQrVONOyBx5RcUPCOTYF8/s1600/b+shot+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1RdhJc-hwa5OnZ0UJalX77_0NsB07YlR5XF9O1WTrdbQ_PLBSsYA8WgcjWdCG-Fj-58p5Y_z0YeCGfujyFbyMtTn2asRP64MBgOLjy1WBhQfLffs8d5nFfldrQrVONOyBx5RcUPCOTYF8/s320/b+shot+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
And here now, out of the blue, these fellows seemed to have not only nailed the local sentiment about their hometown icon, but married it to a great game beat as well. The manager, Elisah Kimbrough, on top of that, was internet savvy. Familiar with the power of social media, he was on top of the wave of enthusiasm online, and implored fans to request the song repeatedly at the Dome, where it was sure to gain greater recognition.<br />
A chime popped up on Mrs. Hall's laptop. It was a message on Twitter. Her tweets had caught the attention of Mr. Kimbrough and he was thanking her for her support. In the world of social media, a little link love goes a long ways. She asked him for some more info about King Vega and he sent her his press kit and bio, and more good news: a <a href="http://t.co/X84ihdiJOV" target="_blank">popular radio broadcast was interviewing them this very afternoon</a>, and their hit was going to be available on <a href="http://www.apple.com/itunes/" target="_blank">iTunes</a> by Tuesday. The ball just keeps on rolling.<br />
<i>Editor's Note: You can find King Vega's bio and picture <a href="http://penguinhall.blogspot.com/p/villain-since-1993-syracuse-native.html" target="_blank">here</a>. And while you're at it, stop in and give his <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JIwVk_wivsM" target="_blank">Youtube video</a> a few more hits; if he makes 15,000 views by the next Syracuse game, the Dome's going to have him perform live there. Let's help a local fellow make good!</i>Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3657913079072771729.post-84532585582686323162013-06-28T14:08:00.000-04:002013-06-28T14:08:58.603-04:00Through a Google Glass lightly<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWqcTNf8ZX0JWOu6dSeNWPnCWp9KSNiganiDqHpaL_kramDLjyHqeT0h9N2a93_nDVvHfg0-rTGDDB08mShGGcYapUjqpYAED8NebaYjpklr9ao8Uw8Wc_d0azxkSwumSv5nIYDZMDZ3Xf/s1600/binocular-building.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWqcTNf8ZX0JWOu6dSeNWPnCWp9KSNiganiDqHpaL_kramDLjyHqeT0h9N2a93_nDVvHfg0-rTGDDB08mShGGcYapUjqpYAED8NebaYjpklr9ao8Uw8Wc_d0azxkSwumSv5nIYDZMDZ3Xf/s200/binocular-building.jpg" width="200" /></a>"But why is this all so important?" questioned Mr. Hall, for the gazillionth time that week. Mrs. Hall sighed. "It's like this. Google wants to take over the world. And I, for one, welcome our Google overlords. As such, I've been awarded he opportunity to wear their newest example of supremacy. Did you ever see the movie 'Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory'? It's like getting the golden ticket to a tour of the neatest factory on earth." Mr. Hall's eyes narrowed as he tried to determine if she was snowing him or not, but he decided, in the long run, it really didn't matter. They were going to Google whether he understood it or not.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6k0Wq10adpL2KrU8KKiUEKIagHDqG-7CUQ3Ok1huKuDRwLYrXxuheBWByDu8e0xzKMkaNAgIG6ymnRqW9ZU1gEUMgXTX2YZFB2g4iMs0I21JgjOmIcxKY-BW3DWAA5HOXX4UwCXUZml2a/s1600/IMG_2145e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6k0Wq10adpL2KrU8KKiUEKIagHDqG-7CUQ3Ok1huKuDRwLYrXxuheBWByDu8e0xzKMkaNAgIG6ymnRqW9ZU1gEUMgXTX2YZFB2g4iMs0I21JgjOmIcxKY-BW3DWAA5HOXX4UwCXUZml2a/s200/IMG_2145e.jpg" width="200" /></a>Mr. Hall was in rare form that morning. The marine layer had drawn back from the shore a little more than usual so they had a fairly decent view of the miles of bumper to bumper traffic stretching well ahead of them on the way in, and after about 45 minutes of close combat, Mr. H. was about fit to be tied.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz9SYoPvTSQ8D65FOIF1vkpgeIJUNBqcOMyKVWDhXSKSX4sTQPrvOa-0X50n37NJcNmWHELLvc8wK8AavIEaw4I2egI_Oe-q8-02uBBqzKJNwug4FtdQkgz4dGrinxSozR8wcZlp_KX4H-/s1600/IMG_2144e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz9SYoPvTSQ8D65FOIF1vkpgeIJUNBqcOMyKVWDhXSKSX4sTQPrvOa-0X50n37NJcNmWHELLvc8wK8AavIEaw4I2egI_Oe-q8-02uBBqzKJNwug4FtdQkgz4dGrinxSozR8wcZlp_KX4H-/s200/IMG_2144e.jpg" width="200" /></a> His mood lifted however, when they passed through the giant binoculars that were the Google headquarters and were greeted by a bevy of smiling gracious youngsters. <br />
"Would you like a coffee or a mimosa, perhaps?" inquired one of the delightful youngsters. "Cookie?" Mr. Hall relaxed a bit and ordered a cuppa joe, while Mrs. H. opted for the mimosa. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMtuFe3xv-NROc1pnuVhBN96jUffaVz1IRjBG-a_cfkPgFpL7YLpawCQlZQ46_VCuDt_ZUVh97IEU9VZsq_bbjhEL0cqToZtYJ-f-BeG6HerKhPq4XHsLNK49tRio8-F_6wFvQk5BqG0mb/s1600/IMG_2140e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMtuFe3xv-NROc1pnuVhBN96jUffaVz1IRjBG-a_cfkPgFpL7YLpawCQlZQ46_VCuDt_ZUVh97IEU9VZsq_bbjhEL0cqToZtYJ-f-BeG6HerKhPq4XHsLNK49tRio8-F_6wFvQk5BqG0mb/s200/IMG_2140e.jpg" width="176" /></a>Their guide through the presentation showed them the different colors of glasses available, while all the while in the background, the barista working the concessions was grinding the coffee to make a perfectly fresh cup for Mr. Hall. Their drinks arrived, Mrs. Hall chose the white frames and the presentation continued.
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If an entire corporation could have conspired to put them more at ease, it couldn't have done any better than that morning visit. The playful settings and congenial nature of the culture worked its magic; by the time they were effortless snapping pictures with the new device, Mr. Hall was practically purring.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2dCZLaQY4iGpbdQWBHRiYA7QtXLJDcuYbGs-DwyLqwfFPcV5e2AniSOzUZBdd26KUawUbPkWveZith0ni-jd6YmOyKNoX9Ae_gGD7c1kz8g-1X3y9DP2bzUcmHeiizzA7vmH2uIKIsj9t/s1600/IMG_2148e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2dCZLaQY4iGpbdQWBHRiYA7QtXLJDcuYbGs-DwyLqwfFPcV5e2AniSOzUZBdd26KUawUbPkWveZith0ni-jd6YmOyKNoX9Ae_gGD7c1kz8g-1X3y9DP2bzUcmHeiizzA7vmH2uIKIsj9t/s200/IMG_2148e.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="text-align: center;">"Would you like a tour before you go?", the young lady inquired, and had barely finished the sentence before they nodded a vigorous yes. Notoriously secretive in its operations, Mrs. Hall jumped at the opportunity to check out its workings; but of course, the tour only included selected and relatively public areas. </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1w1ZTXSBjaCdErGpT81BOcB9F_cIgKhOCsEu2fVRLBodjHfh_SVJWMd62t8gx83FKRPTNJwLts61dzAj2xHJfHT7pakP5jwnkI7KvFrwe00o6GbpVVkBiYHNsWG9y3l3FnpVtUMfzYgo8/s665/IMG_2140f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1w1ZTXSBjaCdErGpT81BOcB9F_cIgKhOCsEu2fVRLBodjHfh_SVJWMd62t8gx83FKRPTNJwLts61dzAj2xHJfHT7pakP5jwnkI7KvFrwe00o6GbpVVkBiYHNsWG9y3l3FnpVtUMfzYgo8/s200/IMG_2140f.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="text-align: center;"> </span><span style="text-align: center;">As their decorators seemed to display a penchant for midcentury modern designers, Mrs. Hall turned every corner suppressing an urge to nonchalantly stuff one of the Charles Eames or Eero Aarnio chairs into her purse. Mr. Hall, wise to her ways, had noticed her just reaching for one of the Frank Gehry stools in the courtyard and subtly discouraged her with a look.</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0QJqC5v3bJ7BWEMxFjfz13h4PEzsDXA9ZXWHVbncIdbkGvERZybEfl3B8E-Zr7EsSGSfc3H5gvvGbyBKgdkJvnf5Immifu9xOq7y46jtRd9XP_U1qcK12YiHcUclBcNYgDyCf7A7u228j/s1600/IMG_2150e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="95" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0QJqC5v3bJ7BWEMxFjfz13h4PEzsDXA9ZXWHVbncIdbkGvERZybEfl3B8E-Zr7EsSGSfc3H5gvvGbyBKgdkJvnf5Immifu9xOq7y46jtRd9XP_U1qcK12YiHcUclBcNYgDyCf7A7u228j/s200/IMG_2150e.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="text-align: center;">"Well, this has been delightful, but it's time to toddle on," said Mr. H. taking her arm as he caught her eyeing the artwork in the lobby. Thanks were garnered all around as they passed the valet parking, and the Halls flew back off into the desert and home with their new toy.</span>Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3657913079072771729.post-74886768993660578072013-06-27T23:28:00.001-04:002013-06-27T23:28:18.187-04:00Welcome to the future<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A low rumble in the distance increased to a roar. The windows rattled, the glass on Mrs. Hall's artwork shook. Mr. Hall casually picked up his cup as it bounced across the vibrating table. Mrs. Hall checked out the front window as the sound of car alarms moved progressively down the street She returned to the kitchen.<br />
"The boys are out late this morning."<br />
"Uh-huh." Mr. H. grunted into his cup. "Sounds like the B-1s again." She poured him another round. Early morning air shows out of Nellis AFB were becoming routine. "Are you packed and ready?" he asked. <br />
Weighing in with the status report, "The bags are by the back door and the cat has been provided with more than enough food and water." Mrs. Hall chomped at the bit. "Let's blow this popstand!" The hanger doors flew open and the Halls were off.
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For a brief week in February, Google had announced it was opening its testing of Google Glass (its avant-garde optical head mounted computer) to the public, and from a pool of individuals who had tweeted on Twitter or posted on Facebook the appropriate phrase along with a creative use or application, it chose a new fleet of guinea pigs. Of these intrepid futurists, Mrs. Hall was one. Undaunted by the fact that the Significance of This Earth Shattering Event had to be explained to him at least once a day, Mr. Hall jumped on the bandwagon eagerly, and preparations for the presentation and demonstration event being held in Los Angeles began at once. <br />
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The trip to LA is not an arduous one, but after a few hours of deserts and traffic even the most adventurous prefer a break, and Mr. Hall, having seen to arrangements in his usual perfection, eventually ushered Mrs. Hall into the bar at the Peninsula Hotel in Beverly Hills.<br />
The vapor of a bartender fluttered by with a silver dish bearing a light nosh, and just as the clock struck that happy hour, a brace of martinis appeared before them, icy and cold. "I thought it better if we spent the night in town first, and you arrived at your presentation meeting refreshed early in the morning." Mrs. Hall could not have agreed more and toasted his excellent decision. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH0BkDg-dLReAmto2ZlDJWkNu4reIweVe_aWJZXeWq_gaaTeqGJqroHY11Acl3ysWMCyM_WAW_wJoVVL2U0drt3dhu2kMi_k8JWXjyCN-9xX6tlOxS7dYqWbcHPgE-OipUSfLzScrnax7b/s1600/IMG_2097e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH0BkDg-dLReAmto2ZlDJWkNu4reIweVe_aWJZXeWq_gaaTeqGJqroHY11Acl3ysWMCyM_WAW_wJoVVL2U0drt3dhu2kMi_k8JWXjyCN-9xX6tlOxS7dYqWbcHPgE-OipUSfLzScrnax7b/s200/IMG_2097e.jpg" width="200" /></a>Savories aside, one of the nicest things one can find at a bar is charming company, and the bar's offerings that evening were all equally entertaining. A serendipitous seating at the corner stools put them in close proximity of a lovely young lady who, well acquainted with the local beach scene, was only too happy to regale them with a list of places of interest to visit. While they traded stories for the better part of an hour, she munched on some light fare, but declined when the Halls offered a stronger beverage. "I'm really at work," she admitted, while leaning into them to keep a confidence. "I'm here as an assistant to the Princess of [<i>country redacted for privacy's sake</i>], and I'm waiting for her to ring up for me." When asked how long she had been waiting, she replied, "Well, I've been here for five hours now. I guess she's sleeping in late today." Not long after she was called upstairs by her charge, the Hall's attention turned to some well-heeled gentlemen seated further away. Their curiosity piqued by a lack of conversation and a round of martinis, they questioned the barkeep about some equipment next to the coolers. <br />
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The bartender dutifully pulled out a tray of massive ice squares and a pair of tongs, and using a very heavy copper cylinder mould, produced a couple of perfectly spherical tennis ball sized ice cubes. No further need of explanation was necessary; they knew what needed to be done next. A round of single malt was immediately ordered, and the ice balls put to the test. "I always love coming here, " remarked Mrs. Hall, as they strolled back out into the sunlight, "It's such a sensible establishment," and Mr. Hall could only concur.<br />
Next episode: - Through a (Google) glass lightly- stay tuned!<br />
<br />Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3657913079072771729.post-52417063673805567212013-05-24T17:04:00.000-04:002013-05-24T17:04:27.295-04:00Vegas is MarsTales from the Outer Rim<br />
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"I've finally figured it out; Vegas is Mars." <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPbsKInmL2TLziJ7K5yR1ZN7yVTpc8HkA16cgmwZuzpow84yWOBx7vbFVxYMq7wCgv-Z7-qQAvWGcjlSx7_e4yvjAydexbynh7s29SKuLKBiGPiIKUyNQ3kc6PZ5X3kQ3-sYO390Q1pvnj/s1600/Vegas+is+Mars+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPbsKInmL2TLziJ7K5yR1ZN7yVTpc8HkA16cgmwZuzpow84yWOBx7vbFVxYMq7wCgv-Z7-qQAvWGcjlSx7_e4yvjAydexbynh7s29SKuLKBiGPiIKUyNQ3kc6PZ5X3kQ3-sYO390Q1pvnj/s200/Vegas+is+Mars+1.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
Mr. Hall perused the article on his iPad intently.<br />
"Really, I mean it. Just look around you. Does this place look like Earth to you?" <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh79zGH9NAzcvr-CrGGVT4k7TA63ilHuC95GE9wuNz4POtw8momLXTNMHwdAfSjw_nUUIchsFtT-IRBwKCm0Fo-WE6rTwI5RBQudsZD8Q7IIjwzkXzGObYUprdHfz5ygN5-uKDzAgkwUA7b/s1600/Vegas+is+Mars+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh79zGH9NAzcvr-CrGGVT4k7TA63ilHuC95GE9wuNz4POtw8momLXTNMHwdAfSjw_nUUIchsFtT-IRBwKCm0Fo-WE6rTwI5RBQudsZD8Q7IIjwzkXzGObYUprdHfz5ygN5-uKDzAgkwUA7b/s200/Vegas+is+Mars+2.jpg" width="151" /></a>Mrs. Hall had been arranging her recent photographs into chronological order, and suddenly it all became clear to her.<br />
"The buildings, the 'people', those weird plants... it's all coming together for me now." <br />
Mr. Hall endeavored to focus on his reading with as much obvious purpose as he could muster, but Mrs. Hall was on a tear as they say, and as such, oblivious to subtlety.<br />
"The architecture is like no other place on Earth that I know. Monorails taking people all around the town- moving sidewalks. I've seen all the movies- I know Mars when I see it!"
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLg2Gkf0bmvl4uY21mnQLO1o_ibE4GSCzHCC7QihimpOTPalXSdcmCMVxQTiSFi0xOUTXgNi-jbQIHFeLK6_Td8LXpjPtGaJxoiDHJrKU_oFVhArH-bcXzvUdjr4i2M1CRUov7tFLhAkDs/s1600/Vegas+is+Mars+9.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLg2Gkf0bmvl4uY21mnQLO1o_ibE4GSCzHCC7QihimpOTPalXSdcmCMVxQTiSFi0xOUTXgNi-jbQIHFeLK6_Td8LXpjPtGaJxoiDHJrKU_oFVhArH-bcXzvUdjr4i2M1CRUov7tFLhAkDs/s200/Vegas+is+Mars+9.JPG" width="150" /></a>"There is not a species of plant that I recognize out back. Most of them are downright scary. I can say with all confidence that the only flora with which I have any knowledge in this entire place is the Astroturf® laying alongside of our patio!" Mr. Hall decided now would be a good time to retire to his lair upstairs for awhile and reorganize his coin collection.<br />
He had given the job due consideration for the better part of an hour and a half, and after he woke up and stretched a bit, he came to the conclusion that it must be pretty close to lunchtime. He peeked around the corner and inquired about the odds of having bean soup on the menu.<br />
The previous subject matter, however, still seemed to be lingering in the air- Mrs. Hall picked up the conversation where she had left off, even as she prepared herself a sardine sandwich. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEialK7eNEG4rJlqMqH0wiCkJ1sIPBZtt-wuXfejiDwzCJo70aajBTkv3UIJuQJhq-jRCQgZWTZGyzDmuzkGC9-KLLj0sj6CVmIhwbcw-GRfducISMUTFmDxHyG5kwxZ6z-A2Lu4tk4LUHvh/s1600/Vegas+is+Mars+4+They+walk+among+us.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEialK7eNEG4rJlqMqH0wiCkJ1sIPBZtt-wuXfejiDwzCJo70aajBTkv3UIJuQJhq-jRCQgZWTZGyzDmuzkGC9-KLLj0sj6CVmIhwbcw-GRfducISMUTFmDxHyG5kwxZ6z-A2Lu4tk4LUHvh/s200/Vegas+is+Mars+4+They+walk+among+us.jpg" width="200" /></a>"What were those things we saw walking about in front of the Venetian the other day- they certainly didn't look of this world. And those crowds down on Fremont Street! If that's not a road show version of 'Total Recall' I don't know what-." She laid the place settings.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZaqpHPvh-tpsgQ5QTxdPT0Z7_EM-N2fJwI-8dK79k9x1tgLuVILhllLd-7odcG9HsVBsHMscLpQhoMIVrn6R1V2jZLJ_xTEWhcbkgXEUBbJF-Z0wx0IFt-bYwG4aEWpQjO04IoJUo4QIQ/s1600/Vegas+is+Mars+7+Loosest+Slots+in+the+Universe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZaqpHPvh-tpsgQ5QTxdPT0Z7_EM-N2fJwI-8dK79k9x1tgLuVILhllLd-7odcG9HsVBsHMscLpQhoMIVrn6R1V2jZLJ_xTEWhcbkgXEUBbJF-Z0wx0IFt-bYwG4aEWpQjO04IoJUo4QIQ/s320/Vegas+is+Mars+7+Loosest+Slots+in+the+Universe.jpg" width="148" /></a>"I'll tell you what's unearthly," said Mr. Hall, as he poked through the cabinets. "It's people who think sardines are supposed to be lunch material." He pulled out a can of split pea soup and gestured in its direction. The conversation took a brief sabbatical at that point, as they calmly discussed the relative health benefits of fish versus peas, but later that evening, Mr. Hall actually took up the banner.<br />
"Look, I'll admit this place is different; but isn't that what we wanted? It's not New York for sure, but as far as the weather goes, that's a very good thing. Traffic on the interplanetary shuttles seems to be working at full capacity, because our guest room has been occupied every other weekend since we moved here. Earth or Mars, what difference does it make? I like it here, the food's good and it's fun, so what's yer beef?" Mr. Hall refolded his newspaper forcefully for the purpose of visual punctuation and rested his argument.<br />
"It's solid logic like that that leaves little room for discussion," Mrs. Hall admitted and gave him a little peck on the cheek. She was just about to compliment him on his debating skills when she spied an advert in his paper. "Loosest slots in the Universe! Whoa baby- what are we doing this weekend?"<br />
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Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3657913079072771729.post-32793824119718064782013-02-24T01:13:00.000-05:002013-02-24T02:40:22.668-05:00All shook upThe post arriving later than expected last week, Mr. Hall donned his jacket and strolled down to the box. He returned with a stack of adverts and a small red envelope, which he casually handed off to Mrs. H.<br />
"Oh look, sweetheart- we've been invited to another party." Mrs. Hall perused the brightly colored missive with anticipation. "That lovely couple we met last month is having a birthday party; apparently it has a 'theme'- it says that Elvis is going to make an appearance. Well, imagine that!" <br />
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Mr. Hall barely looked up from his newspapers. "Humphf," he grunted. "It would be an event if Elvis didn't appear. We've seen more of Elvis here than we saw when we visited Graceland two years ago in Memphis. Didn't we just see an Elvis at that casino we took my niece a week or so ago?" Mrs. Hall did seem to recall snapping a shot of The King helpfully advising a tourist on the complexities of video poker recently.<br />
So when the following Saturday came around, she dutifully wrapped a inoffensive little bottle of champers in a birthday bag, and they trudged down the street. Lively music and a raucous crowd met them at the door, and so did a startling revelation. The Elvis standing in front of a massive sound system in the family room finished up his song and announced their arrival immediately.<br />
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"Psst-" whispered Mrs. Hall to Mr. Hall. "Am I mistaken, or are there....?" and her voice trailed off. "No, no- you're right," confirmed Mr. H. "Apparently, instead of there being a room full of partygoers with Elvis making a guest appearance- it seems that this is a room full of Elvises with a guest appearance by us." It seemed the plain truth. Scattered throughout the house and patio were various incarnations of the King of Rock and Roll. As soon as one finished singing flawlessly, the next hopped up and began crooning yet another classic hit. The birthday girl and her mother anxiously approached the Halls.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg3rXfe-MHLYxKXpMvm4fTcZyfd9iRfH6qFzDng97O8WqrRLxYJ8hfS3XYnxDD0owVay4zvFGmM6G3pxN0-yNQKe0hDbueEz8Opo3wqKBZu9RQqZtT0e-oPbtVPWhDYiagYBfTIB8B_Bf3/s1600/0216131713b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg3rXfe-MHLYxKXpMvm4fTcZyfd9iRfH6qFzDng97O8WqrRLxYJ8hfS3XYnxDD0owVay4zvFGmM6G3pxN0-yNQKe0hDbueEz8Opo3wqKBZu9RQqZtT0e-oPbtVPWhDYiagYBfTIB8B_Bf3/s200/0216131713b.jpg" width="200" /></a> "We're so glad you're here! Did you get something to drink? What do you think of our little group? My mom and I are are part of a local Elvis fan club and they all came out for my birthday! Wasn't that last singer great? We were lucky to get him- he's performing down on Fremont Street this week and I didn't think he'd be able to come." A slighter shade of The King approached them and handed them his card. "Let me know if you'd like me to perform," he said, flashing a broad smile,"and I'm a licensed minister too, as well, if that's necessary." Mrs. Hall pocketed the card. Mr. Hall decided now would be a good time to check out the bar.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3GcUQSdytQ-9-kDSS0jxmA_q4ywU-YDUvHwjV9imyHBqz4BhlkVM26Uj0YikiqsYkj-rZ4tWqNSo1h8Tr4_X19Ay8a1z1gdWkn2uoTrg0ZGj_xz_mWKyHjmTQs2M8o2S1lEc3py5CIMOS/s1600/0216131758e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3GcUQSdytQ-9-kDSS0jxmA_q4ywU-YDUvHwjV9imyHBqz4BhlkVM26Uj0YikiqsYkj-rZ4tWqNSo1h8Tr4_X19Ay8a1z1gdWkn2uoTrg0ZGj_xz_mWKyHjmTQs2M8o2S1lEc3py5CIMOS/s200/0216131758e.jpg" width="143" /></a>"I heard them announce a raffle- you probably should buy a couple of tickets." whispered Mrs. H. when she finally located him. "I heard her say they were '14 for 5'- doesn't that strike you as an odd price?" Mr. Hall shook his head and toddled over to the table. "Here are fourteen tickets for five dollars. Keep an eye on the numbers," he said, and attempted to strike up a conversation with what looked like one of the regular guests purporting to be a pilot. In the midst of their chat however, he was cut off. Apparently traveling incognito, when the music stopped, the pilot jumped up himself and began belting out a particularly heartfelt ballad.<br />
A couple of songbooks (and two winning raffle tickets) later, the Halls, exhausted from all that excitement, thanked their hosts and headed back out into the night. Back at the house on the corner, the rock and roll hits kept right on coming- they were just getting warmed up.Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3657913079072771729.post-2494694539776345482013-02-06T11:20:00.001-05:002013-02-06T11:20:52.614-05:00The new digs aren't the same as Digger's digsMrs. Hall watched the little "buffering" circle go 'round and 'round on her laptop screen. "Oh, bother!*" she said. "I really wanted to see this game!" Killer rolled over in the sunshine and expressed her excitement by actively ignored them.
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpC7_SARWeUWNrC7ViKgxj0WXW6RMgVeiYcj0fkHf9XYbHK71J-8rsij-EgjtVb3fWVI7QqkTS6AHP8lBng9yLDv_B5t-tdlYg1Ha3F3Bn5w_GZ9b1VKTwhuFRhWszfvXdEuZiJwZKnCps/s1600/IMG_1292e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpC7_SARWeUWNrC7ViKgxj0WXW6RMgVeiYcj0fkHf9XYbHK71J-8rsij-EgjtVb3fWVI7QqkTS6AHP8lBng9yLDv_B5t-tdlYg1Ha3F3Bn5w_GZ9b1VKTwhuFRhWszfvXdEuZiJwZKnCps/s200/IMG_1292e.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
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The Hall was not wired for cable yet, so Mr. and Mrs. Hall were struggling with their remaining solutions for viewing The Big Game. In the past, they would have just loaded up the family flivver with beer and peanuts, braved the latest installment of lake effect and camped in the friendly confines of Digger's Pub til the wee dark snowy hours of the weekend, watching the game (and accompanying wagering boards) with glee.
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What their little Hall out west might lack in slushy charm- the thermometer hovered at 70 degrees- it made up in spirit. The Halls had been reminiscing all morning of game days gone before. "We should give them a call-" started Mr. Hall, and Mrs. H's cellie suddenly started to ring. "Okay, that's just spooky." she said as she lifted the receiver.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAcVT0eYlAHUvKNUXVgynzdRnkpi0dUnmiIRucA30g3HXYnrOXWVJjU4Nu-578x1TQWGY-fda-xD934Z4jnhy_LGkaZbWxFPdQEUopqL0oMBF3AGYQGjA20UPsKkfp5NMNtQPF7UjN9H4U/s1600/imagejpeg952+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAcVT0eYlAHUvKNUXVgynzdRnkpi0dUnmiIRucA30g3HXYnrOXWVJjU4Nu-578x1TQWGY-fda-xD934Z4jnhy_LGkaZbWxFPdQEUopqL0oMBF3AGYQGjA20UPsKkfp5NMNtQPF7UjN9H4U/s200/imagejpeg952+%25282%2529.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
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It was indeed Karen and Joe, wishing them well and missing them mightily. They had been busy keeping the snow at bay and shrugging off the subzero windchills. (Mrs. Hall, in fact, thought she discerned a bit of the frost over the line herself, when she mentioned some concern about getting a sunburn on their morning constitutional.) They had received Mr. Hall's contribution to the good of the order a few weeks earlier and sent on facsimiles of the boards so the Halls could follow along. Hugs and pictures were exchanged via various electronic methods, and their attentions returned to the field.</div>
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Mrs. Hall laid out some light fare and tried to adjust their reception. The little buffering symbol continued to taunt them, making it impossible to even sing along with the national anthem, much less make sense of some particularly entertaining commercials.<br />
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"That's it. I can't stand it." Mrs. Hall was adamant. "Let's head to the home pub and see if we can still get a seat." Sliding out of the hanger, they coasted approximately a half a mile down the hill to the local watering hole and peeked in. The crowd was a sea of red 49ers jerseys. "Uh-oh; you're in trouble now," remarked to Mr. Hall to Mrs. Hall, who had already expressed her support for the Ravens. She slunk over to an empty spot at the bar against the wall. <br />
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Despite a few technical glitches however, the game proceeded as hoped for, and every time the Ravens scored, the silence in the room, as they say, was deafening. An ugly gloom began to settle into the crowd. Mrs. Hall was of the opinion that interpreting the winners on the gaming boards was best left to the experts, and so was particularly relieved when her team took the trophy, and they were able to depart the premises without a scuffle. "Too bad about your team," she consoled as they closed the hanger doors. "I hope we didn't take too much of a beating this year."<br />
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"On the contrary," he replied "our little franchise is well into profit. Despite the fact that the Ravens won, the Las Vegas oddsmakers had the Ravens ahead by four points. Anyone betting on the 49ers (here he paused to look crafty) would have still won because the Ravens didn't make the spread. Add to that, (-Darling, fetch me another one of those icy beers you stashed away, would you?) because of that safety in the second half, the scoring was so cockeyed, I'm happy to report I think we more than doubled our outlay on the boards." Mrs. Hall could only smile as she brought him another plate of snacks. Killer, barely able to contain herself, yawned and rolled over.<br />
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*or words to that effect.</div>
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Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3657913079072771729.post-10796738549052499572012-12-25T04:16:00.002-05:002012-12-25T04:19:42.679-05:00By Popular Demand<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Back in the days of little boys in short pants and little girls in crinolines, Mrs. Hall remembers many a Christmas eve spent propped on a cushion and pushed up the big people's table, starring down a bowl of the inevitable first course to what seemed then like the Meal That Lasted At Least Two Days. Forced to endure this annual ritual, it generally involved listening to a flock of elders drone on endlessly, then dawdle over stripping the table, washing every dish in the house and then sometime about oh, midnight or so, decide that perhaps we might just let the little ones open those pesky Christmas presents after all. And the opening salvo to this supreme tantalus of an evening was always a steaming bowl of sauerkraut soup. <br />
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Some foods come naturally to a child, like ice cream and birthday cake. Others have to sidle up slowly to their little senses, and after much wooing and pleasant talk, eventually make nice with the infant's tastebuds and a new favorite is born. The giant mushrooms floating atop the sauerkraut soup like grisly lilypads on a murky pond did not come to be on Mrs. Hall's list of Happy Anticipations by any of those routes; they were imposed, as things often were in those days, abruptly and absolutely by martial law. Despite however, these rough beginnings, the glorious heady broth and winey aftertaste (if perhaps only by repetition) finally wore their way into her heart. And yet another generation grew that could not imagine a Christmas eve going by without a family around the table, impatience and anticipation intertwined and the saying of Grace over an beloved bowl of sauerkraut soup.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDbbXM-x_28l2L0ytzK_3Cm9U_6Fy6CZgcZT1ayrDjnBkfxMBUT9fPs_aMhS-O4dmGD0LJuMCKAFSJ1qk-KPUfKE3bVa05OdljWfra2szsmG4cD5m3XRfizEJj89pEF4a0Bho2-7Dx904v/s1600/IMG_1059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDbbXM-x_28l2L0ytzK_3Cm9U_6Fy6CZgcZT1ayrDjnBkfxMBUT9fPs_aMhS-O4dmGD0LJuMCKAFSJ1qk-KPUfKE3bVa05OdljWfra2szsmG4cD5m3XRfizEJj89pEF4a0Bho2-7Dx904v/s200/IMG_1059.JPG" width="200" /></a>Mrs. Hall's phone rang last week and it was Master Ian calling from Okinawa, Japan. He was hoping Mrs. H. could wrap up a jar of her sauerkraut soup and ship it out to him for the holidays. When asked about Christmas, Erick remarked last weekend that the one thing he was going to miss this year was having that wonderful soup at the beginning of the meal, and just Tuesday afternoon, as the Halls drove out to join family for dinner, Colleen texted Mrs. H. that she too was dining with friends, but it wasn't the same without the soup. The circle will not be broken.<br />
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<i>(Editor's Note: In case the Gentle Reader would like to inflict tradition on a brand new generation of innocents, <a href="http://penguinhall.blogspot.com/p/how-to-make-s.html" target="_blank">the recipe for Sauerkraut Soup can be found here.</a>)</i><br />
<br />Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3657913079072771729.post-75857888225691181452012-12-20T14:45:00.001-05:002012-12-20T14:45:38.815-05:00Tis the season<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKQMEK9vablXB7a7WY4ICk7rEjmIBwQcaOnuvSRABAzESZNP_aMMnzSschteklnCpZb836xDKBo4G_xc3gJ-gPJyRM9lYb5DMQ6PgvtdDObtetbBRi2nl9R4pbmuBqHeWqv4qf-VzlZm4u/s1600/IMG_1008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKQMEK9vablXB7a7WY4ICk7rEjmIBwQcaOnuvSRABAzESZNP_aMMnzSschteklnCpZb836xDKBo4G_xc3gJ-gPJyRM9lYb5DMQ6PgvtdDObtetbBRi2nl9R4pbmuBqHeWqv4qf-VzlZm4u/s200/IMG_1008.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
Killer purred contentedly. Her ample proportions filled her new kitty bed completely, and lulled to sleep with visions of feckless vermin running through her head (and considerable catnip coursing through her system) she managed a tidy fifteen hours of bliss a day. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguMX-0h63DOnhFseOaZmRm1Ji37xMQW5O1pmhLrDHyAqfy61t3AfGtCIkjxMbYnh1IRigPvQoCm6h-fCB5AsTm0oUBBEWWM3k6iqH1u2bIfvoWftATgPZkXWJ49EySqLMoe34uULEFG5vr/s1600/Frasier.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguMX-0h63DOnhFseOaZmRm1Ji37xMQW5O1pmhLrDHyAqfy61t3AfGtCIkjxMbYnh1IRigPvQoCm6h-fCB5AsTm0oUBBEWWM3k6iqH1u2bIfvoWftATgPZkXWJ49EySqLMoe34uULEFG5vr/s200/Frasier.jpg" width="200" /></a>Mr. Hall glanced over his shoulder at her behind the couch and adjusted his pillows. Mrs. Hall had given him the complete series of "Frasier" on DVD for his birthday, and even with all the disciplined rationing he could muster, he still seemed to be devouring the episodes like peanuts. There were thirteen episodes to a season and he was on the third season already. "What gets me, " Mr. Hall muttered, as he settled in comfortably with his soda and snacky chips within reach for the fourth show that afternoon, "is how that cat can just lay there for hours in the same position, day after day." Mrs. Hall opened her mouth to speak, but then thought better of it. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOkKMiPbFjk__Rm99_87d53BR7biqkrOhLAf0YzUl9b_rYwNwRwu1UM-N1DAWo8JDZYs58883b5ANX74GBcJiOCc79m9nlq0NAn2kMmbRuUoCJMNnqWLKptxe7YiEOR0pj8BYSESQX5Xti/s1600/IMG_1013e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOkKMiPbFjk__Rm99_87d53BR7biqkrOhLAf0YzUl9b_rYwNwRwu1UM-N1DAWo8JDZYs58883b5ANX74GBcJiOCc79m9nlq0NAn2kMmbRuUoCJMNnqWLKptxe7YiEOR0pj8BYSESQX5Xti/s200/IMG_1013e.jpg" width="200" /></a>Birthdays come but once a year, and although Mr. Hall had insisted on no fuss, no party, no cake- Mrs. Hall knew there had to be at least a smidgen of pomp and ceremony. She promptly came up with a solution. "Make a wish, darling, and blow out the candle!" said Mrs. Hall. "I've already got my wish," he said, smiling. "Erick's coming out this weekend for a visit and I can hardly wait to see him!"<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOH1aJldRUjsYIGlwrhz08z0UafQg_oL9lN0LVs6xMHszukYXL2Tf7_ja6y5B68RWAs0q517Qs5KPpGmBz2-bcrxzDin_4Nr1c_VKUcUsbj5yAbxfl7Wa27bwnKhrsCW29jYO9dSW1KknY/s1600/IMG_1021e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOH1aJldRUjsYIGlwrhz08z0UafQg_oL9lN0LVs6xMHszukYXL2Tf7_ja6y5B68RWAs0q517Qs5KPpGmBz2-bcrxzDin_4Nr1c_VKUcUsbj5yAbxfl7Wa27bwnKhrsCW29jYO9dSW1KknY/s200/IMG_1021e.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Mr. Hall's son Erick came in on the late flight from Seattle Friday evening. Pestering him for any news from the homefront and plying him with considerable homemade chili until late into the night, they finally let the poor fellow lie down and get some rest.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitdRRdrw0v7_WKIGWa4zLmrOobKXDNuvF3bjaLi6M_eS22wyJ-nlIUkyZsSHJJQ_bC5tJ8WeaoKn3Uu7ZCcntKEhnmcvJCL-uNY3Pe279TAqkcX5VCUgpPjXboOZpyxSF4Hn8R7B6p9qFk/s1600/sports+book+red+rock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitdRRdrw0v7_WKIGWa4zLmrOobKXDNuvF3bjaLi6M_eS22wyJ-nlIUkyZsSHJJQ_bC5tJ8WeaoKn3Uu7ZCcntKEhnmcvJCL-uNY3Pe279TAqkcX5VCUgpPjXboOZpyxSF4Hn8R7B6p9qFk/s200/sports+book+red+rock.jpg" width="200" /></a>The next morning an unseasonable overcast marred an otherwise beautiful day as the little band trotted out to check out some of the suburban hotspots. Erick was familiar with the highlights of the Strip, but the outlying areas had seen significant growth since his last visit, and the Halls enjoyed playing tourguides to the outer rim diversions. After a brief stop at Tivoli, they ended up at the sports book at the recently renovated Red Rock Casino; the boys checking the spread on some basketball games, Mrs. Hall perfecting her trifecta skills.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9DygMZlTiZJHP-mXl39vZqduo1CbLFkUnvJftvVkpEoS9ouXToywG6S-0okpeUYNXfqefZpxFL9qhq2yIK-9xHbQgey-ScjGeBfch7OBgTdYINNvYUKCd1FqYnG1ZioqYqB1kHJs9gHSn/s1600/IMG_1022e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9DygMZlTiZJHP-mXl39vZqduo1CbLFkUnvJftvVkpEoS9ouXToywG6S-0okpeUYNXfqefZpxFL9qhq2yIK-9xHbQgey-ScjGeBfch7OBgTdYINNvYUKCd1FqYnG1ZioqYqB1kHJs9gHSn/s200/IMG_1022e.jpg" width="125" /></a> A lively dinner at their favorite mexican restaurant, washed down with a few pitchers of margaritas to celebrate their winnings and the weekend seemed rounded out very nicely indeed.<br />
Time always seems to fly by in a blur when company comes, remarked Mr. Hall sadly, as he ferried his son back to the airport Sunday morning. "At least you're leaving with a profit- I always think that's the best way to vacation." Hugs were served all around, and Erick sped off back to work.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRrz18AUA5XAobnNK2-77Leaeb8bDsHSX6LVYP-tMDk0YVlQYWNj7tfvhmN-oPo6ME9kWpLyYyTqLlVizwhqoBxE_ZaeYwVzc9IYjgvHJ2d3oZzW4u1raptL4qpPoJWInFe059id4nSIqU/s1600/IMG_0990.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRrz18AUA5XAobnNK2-77Leaeb8bDsHSX6LVYP-tMDk0YVlQYWNj7tfvhmN-oPo6ME9kWpLyYyTqLlVizwhqoBxE_ZaeYwVzc9IYjgvHJ2d3oZzW4u1raptL4qpPoJWInFe059id4nSIqU/s200/IMG_0990.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
Mr. Hall settled down into his favorite spot on the couch and queued up another "Frasier" episode. He looked over at his empty glass and turned to Killer. "Oh, don't get up- <i>I'll</i> get it." Killer emitted a low yawn, rearranged herself on the couch and covered her head with her paw.Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3657913079072771729.post-89891526292955327292012-12-20T13:00:00.001-05:002012-12-20T13:00:22.429-05:00Ghosts of Christmas PastMrs. Hall arranged the Christmas cards on the bookcases and sighed. Noticing her wistful state, Mr. Hall came over, smiled and gave her a warm hug. "What is that delicious aroma you're wearing?" he asked.<br />
"Well, it depends," she moped. "If it's redolent of rosemary and mint, it's that lovely shower gel I order from that glorious spa in New York. If it smells like Old Spice<span style="font-size: 10pt;">©</span>, then it's my anti-perspirant from Walmart." <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRaHV7BBmHxs7Bq6Hyds4R4xYBT21tTWWPo63Re_4s_uGfMGYFM1KyuttDzcfmEwHOnFMuu8zMAmwi_IxC_paIYxW__uztxbO3ZmHzPW2lIQcbPFInytJ69ULqgxQROxZ1AElEdcqVjNs0/s1600/IMG_8610.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRaHV7BBmHxs7Bq6Hyds4R4xYBT21tTWWPo63Re_4s_uGfMGYFM1KyuttDzcfmEwHOnFMuu8zMAmwi_IxC_paIYxW__uztxbO3ZmHzPW2lIQcbPFInytJ69ULqgxQROxZ1AElEdcqVjNs0/s200/IMG_8610.JPG" width="200" /></a> Mr. Hall sensed there might be some discord in her soul. "It's just that I was thinking of all the things we'd be doing if we were back East," she said. "Right about now, Oakwood Crematorium would be having their yearly cocktail party after work. We'd stroll on over after filing a death certificate or two, have a short one with the boys and remark on the state of the business, admire the sextant's landscaping and toddle on home. They always have such a nice buffet; although I understand the chef they use is famous for his barbecue. Darling, why do you suppose they never have it on the menu?" Mr. Hall smiled gently at her. "I'm guessing they try to steer clear of anything smoky at those functions."<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnknXybrBjIqu1fimsE_O2UBVg-kjYcD1N7a9tynLIBELLjLyDppSooYDtM4dNV37WqnVz4OR-5An-ZLVn49-aUZCHgCzMLe2huq2gzXRUcmo78X6EP5QcuFd_PehmN01PavcqhkQQbaIE/s1600/Bob+Atchinson,+Sam+crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnknXybrBjIqu1fimsE_O2UBVg-kjYcD1N7a9tynLIBELLjLyDppSooYDtM4dNV37WqnVz4OR-5An-ZLVn49-aUZCHgCzMLe2huq2gzXRUcmo78X6EP5QcuFd_PehmN01PavcqhkQQbaIE/s200/Bob+Atchinson,+Sam+crop.jpg" width="175" /></a> "I miss the holiday dinner at Coleman's Irish Pub." she continued on dreamily. "The bar decorated to a faretheewell and the parking lot a sea of black Cadillacs. All the old faces we'd see there- Scottie Kerr from Batesville and Bob Atkinson from Wilbert Vaults, all talking business over the hors d'oeuvre and desserts. Ah- good times!" Mr. H. nodded as he slipped on his coat to retrieve the afternoon post.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH4urAte-clR0qAHwJLA0Ycdw5QWmMCsrSJSJqkMWgMgK1rXJLR-k-r0XAmaW4vEzJcHGS-6Pn9P1bzizbjp9W2OQp482_i1k1Y-5M5N0eaoTVYNmH_TZbyTD3JZ48G1EXkTggJjn8wyuS/s1600/IMG_1557.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH4urAte-clR0qAHwJLA0Ycdw5QWmMCsrSJSJqkMWgMgK1rXJLR-k-r0XAmaW4vEzJcHGS-6Pn9P1bzizbjp9W2OQp482_i1k1Y-5M5N0eaoTVYNmH_TZbyTD3JZ48G1EXkTggJjn8wyuS/s200/IMG_1557.JPG" width="150" /></a> She was still sulking on the couch when he returned with a handful of colorful envelopes. "You'll have to put aside your homesick pout for another day," he informed her after perusing a brightly colored missive that had been taped to their front door. "We've been invited to a neighborhood mixer tomorrow night. Fetch a shiny bow from the giftwrap and see if there's a bottle of that cheeky Beaujolais left in the cooler." But he looked around to discover he was talking to himself; all that remained in the room was a whiff of mint and musk- Mrs. Hall was already nose deep in the Christmas ribbon.Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3657913079072771729.post-70506223980437763062012-11-27T17:47:00.002-05:002012-11-27T17:47:22.456-05:00Special Delivery"Five ounces or six?" she murmured, to no one in particular.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOMZEtJZ-qKwlxeu3rRPRPKC5-DO-QxWSRmGzjB8z04mwHq8PUxEYOBXcVqkgmVv4PgzMQKUNY1riClOb-GH7djlcqEk6MOMZI9i72TtWlhluuEVA9oTZNeBdgjF3FpFCTizrJtLlQNGWv/s1600/penguin+cups.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOMZEtJZ-qKwlxeu3rRPRPKC5-DO-QxWSRmGzjB8z04mwHq8PUxEYOBXcVqkgmVv4PgzMQKUNY1riClOb-GH7djlcqEk6MOMZI9i72TtWlhluuEVA9oTZNeBdgjF3FpFCTizrJtLlQNGWv/s200/penguin+cups.jpg" width="200" /></a>Mrs. Hall stood poised in the aisle of the Williams Sonoma at the outlet mall; in her hands she weighed the relative merits of two different cappuccino mugs. As so often happens in the case of new purchases, the acquisition of a tiny new espresso machine for the guest room had created more problems than it solved. None of Mrs. Hall's dainty espresso cups had proved large enough for the "lungo" setting on the maker, leaving her puzzling as usual, over size versus aesthetics.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYvYwKoGbWNM9U3MaciktePrIvAmY80e9YCV1DU5jkTX2Y9E5FY7Ogw3AaYUqt4vl0oPz0gZ1jDaT2fq29rDq2GzcrxKAKAYaIDTzIGdFwkqadyq8IRu6SlswbIwfjpuNia2bhFMjIwU-2/s1600/Williams+Sonoma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYvYwKoGbWNM9U3MaciktePrIvAmY80e9YCV1DU5jkTX2Y9E5FY7Ogw3AaYUqt4vl0oPz0gZ1jDaT2fq29rDq2GzcrxKAKAYaIDTzIGdFwkqadyq8IRu6SlswbIwfjpuNia2bhFMjIwU-2/s200/Williams+Sonoma.jpg" width="200" /></a>Mr. Hall, himself so consumed with the problem at hand, found the best way he could address it was to park himself in front of a massive television monitor displaying random sports events in the promenade, and there remain to ponder the infinite. The ringing in her ears (she thought the result of mental exertion) turned out to be her cellphone, and Mrs. Hall answered more curtly than usual.<br />
"They've been trying to deliver a package to your house three times now, and you haven't been home." The voice on the other end sounded familiar, yet Mrs. Hall struggled to place it- "Where are you and when will you be home to receive it?" Her faculties penetrating the fog, Mrs. Hall finally determined that Mrs. Iltsch (whose husband to whom Mr. Hall had entrusted the management of the funeral home) was trying to deliver a perishable item to them, and apparently having some difficulty about it.
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAlyrcuMCEkJQTZ8CAdJxaXQkKy6QAyvO0R6qAiRBFZ1EaxReRVoHRxnidQa5MNqnr_15sownRV24CBHlSQ4GTSyXlUk8EB0dQJPOscoUDyKiZ8v1wfEPcJArMFPfBGFPNRVSoLkFf3BQG/s1600/220px-Interstate15_Ivanpah_Valley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAlyrcuMCEkJQTZ8CAdJxaXQkKy6QAyvO0R6qAiRBFZ1EaxReRVoHRxnidQa5MNqnr_15sownRV24CBHlSQ4GTSyXlUk8EB0dQJPOscoUDyKiZ8v1wfEPcJArMFPfBGFPNRVSoLkFf3BQG/s200/220px-Interstate15_Ivanpah_Valley.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
Even with Winston's inestimable abilities and the blessings of the Nevada Highway Patrol, they were a good hours' drive away. "We'll be there by four, for sure," she replied, and leaving the quandary of the cups aside, scooped up Mr. Hall and took off. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvpaQ008IWhDfEuvWKXaWZ4G_yB_B4kUn2IiH5f1cn_abYczdlPMGKGieVfgm6QHf49BJwtSVvDBDCEFQF5d_KsrwwdJ7DeFXYl3M3tze_0pCshf6urXR1_Sd477vm9NFQe40aN714MzzJ/s1600/IMG_0933.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvpaQ008IWhDfEuvWKXaWZ4G_yB_B4kUn2IiH5f1cn_abYczdlPMGKGieVfgm6QHf49BJwtSVvDBDCEFQF5d_KsrwwdJ7DeFXYl3M3tze_0pCshf6urXR1_Sd477vm9NFQe40aN714MzzJ/s200/IMG_0933.JPG" width="150" /></a>Shortly before four, the bell rang and Mrs. Hall swung open the big door while moving deftly to hipcheck Killer before she made a break for freedom. When she looked up, she let out a squeal that brought Mr. H. running. "We thought you'd never get home!" laughed Mr. and Mrs. Iltsch, when Mrs. Hall finally finished hugging the stuffing out of them. "Sorry about resorting to calling. We had a choice of flying to Florida or here- and Pam said 'Vegas!' so here we are!"<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVwQbi5w0__JeEgVSiYy3TmbpSQDG6mWTFepO7GeKheb_HEvFzP4lhxMMFQZPpLPHRqlEM4HW_P2q-d81JFdLYxl9Cdf-RzTUKXlBJD1dSC1DxFumLEEENL1yPR2bkaZr8wa8bJtSoXXi7/s1600/IMG_0900.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVwQbi5w0__JeEgVSiYy3TmbpSQDG6mWTFepO7GeKheb_HEvFzP4lhxMMFQZPpLPHRqlEM4HW_P2q-d81JFdLYxl9Cdf-RzTUKXlBJD1dSC1DxFumLEEENL1yPR2bkaZr8wa8bJtSoXXi7/s200/IMG_0900.JPG" width="200" /></a>The Iltschs always travel in style, and while they planned on spending some time with the Halls, they had booked luxury accommodations at the Palazzo downtown. After a quick stop to investigate the sunken living room in their suite, the little band hurried on to a show.
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKBSdICwf0h1q6orQ5h_1rpQoOGjKu0ooYML6dR8H7ZohxnYcmLlNizYaDw9JSDeypS0OrunF4nQA5gLVx9PU_lI_BIHgMbKvpr91fqx3tEpQ-PmwaAI-wPOrORwV55TtziWvBFIcULXjP/s1600/RDyQAo8g5sywR7eMzErg0pBX82.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="95" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKBSdICwf0h1q6orQ5h_1rpQoOGjKu0ooYML6dR8H7ZohxnYcmLlNizYaDw9JSDeypS0OrunF4nQA5gLVx9PU_lI_BIHgMbKvpr91fqx3tEpQ-PmwaAI-wPOrORwV55TtziWvBFIcULXjP/s200/RDyQAo8g5sywR7eMzErg0pBX82.jpg" width="200" /></a> Penn and Teller put on a marvelous act at the Rio, and upon Mr. Iltsch's insistence, they stopped and had their pictures taken with the stars immediately following the show.
<br />
The Halls implored them to stay for the Thanksgiving holiday, but the Iltschs had places to go and people to see. They had to leave soon but it was agreed they would all go see the David Copperfield show their last night.<br />
After a perfectly mesmerizing hour of wizardry, Mr. Copperfield came back out for a last call. Large inflatable silver balls were thrown out into the audience, bounced about while the music played, and when it stopped, whomsoever was holding a ball was asked to come up. The music ceased; one of the balls was directly in front of Mr. Hall; he reached forward smiling and handed it over his head to Mrs. Hall. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDQCsOLpTRHyslzZhRgluhInPeNGvVlhaT3fWdSkKZSFfGjCOzoIftDc0Ar6UF2jkC_L_IAdAXANMLB3tbMeQTSAn32qi89LtY45KMzjgiSsBNfbodWCaW7pC7heodzgNXacArWto0P5B9/s1600/davidcopperfield.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDQCsOLpTRHyslzZhRgluhInPeNGvVlhaT3fWdSkKZSFfGjCOzoIftDc0Ar6UF2jkC_L_IAdAXANMLB3tbMeQTSAn32qi89LtY45KMzjgiSsBNfbodWCaW7pC7heodzgNXacArWto0P5B9/s200/davidcopperfield.jpg" width="200" /></a>As an encore, the random guests chosen from the audience were to disappear right on stage. Mrs. Hall, holding the ball high above her head joined the lucky attendees on the stage. There was a few scurried moments as the unsuspecting group was shuttled onto the platform, and then before they knew it, the curtain was over them, a bit of cursory shaking was involved and the little band appeared at the back of the room mysteriously unscathed and to great audience applause. After receiving an autographed picture from Mr. Copperfield himself, Mrs. Hall rejoined her little group. They floated happily around the casino for little while longer, but then it was time to part. <br />
"If only we could make this a yearly tradition," Mrs. Hall sighed, as they waved goodbye to their friends. "They are such a breath of fresh air." Mr. Hall agreed entirely, as he fired up Winston for the return trip home.Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3657913079072771729.post-17887123014913527482012-11-24T18:10:00.001-05:002012-11-24T18:10:56.818-05:00The Wild Blue Yonder<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFJj_A0il0_Pz8MgaTchYhkCld9r8siUklI9ZSQp8yrDSRiarGgza4HlIC-IGSHMFuPIH2u12myi4lTpEopg-RFWXPql9OyKYzuqlo6dn7uaTSO9IigGUW5k9xgIA95ncbw6OFvsfLHM9E/s1600/IMG_0839e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFJj_A0il0_Pz8MgaTchYhkCld9r8siUklI9ZSQp8yrDSRiarGgza4HlIC-IGSHMFuPIH2u12myi4lTpEopg-RFWXPql9OyKYzuqlo6dn7uaTSO9IigGUW5k9xgIA95ncbw6OFvsfLHM9E/s200/IMG_0839e.jpg" width="126" /></a> Quarters were still a bit cramped in the hanger at the Hall (due to some unpacking procrastination on the part of Mrs. Hall) but since Winston had been spending so little time in there anyway, it mattered very little. Serendipitous random dialing on the car radio provided them with news of a huge airshow at Nellis Air Force Base over the weekend and the Halls were off again.<br />
If Mrs. Hall ever manages to bottle the pungent aroma of diesel fuel and black smoke, there won't be a pilot around that could resist her. Mr. Hall strained at the bit like an old fire horse, and it was all Mrs. H. could do to keep up with him as he sprinted from the shuttle. The program was well padded; from the national anthem onward, the day never lagged or wore on. For nearly five hours, the sky was alive with aerobatics and song and despite the unseasonably chilly temperatures, there seemed to be nothing but smiles and exuberant faces in the crowd.<br />
Several stationary displays enlivened the show, and at one point, Mr. Hall looked over and spied a<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/rucPWkUJFZg" width="420"></iframe><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq7kfKj3lZyPER4TwZQkYq21ukNHSZWsAfyqjkWa7KaQCWKdgo9iAPU6vwUO3-_SJozNFpr3NiBejfsW5WI3tDuADHT7FXJ7f1L7RxD_plmCEOtMk7zENGdtI4u_iZYwkW0lqiQclCyqLA/s1600/IMG_0825.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq7kfKj3lZyPER4TwZQkYq21ukNHSZWsAfyqjkWa7KaQCWKdgo9iAPU6vwUO3-_SJozNFpr3NiBejfsW5WI3tDuADHT7FXJ7f1L7RxD_plmCEOtMk7zENGdtI4u_iZYwkW0lqiQclCyqLA/s200/IMG_0825.JPG" width="200" /></a>small child, having mastered the intricacies of working a mortar, zeroing in on the MIG parked just across the way. "Just a minute," replied Mrs. Hall. "I'll handle this-" and she picked up a rocket launcher. The usual hilarity ensued until Mr. Hall intervened and soon they were back on their way.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-pLcfSSLWtpOfUGYF0swa307o5nz0P73qmP-TYHYbONHoi6uQUhvY3FmO9Yxcb7p065S1LKFElhnvhnhxwtj9EE8lmn8Wfu74wNWNmqtAhZKyketlQ0s6iRaBi4pPXIaufNSQ3gsu4EtP/s1600/0916121728.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-pLcfSSLWtpOfUGYF0swa307o5nz0P73qmP-TYHYbONHoi6uQUhvY3FmO9Yxcb7p065S1LKFElhnvhnhxwtj9EE8lmn8Wfu74wNWNmqtAhZKyketlQ0s6iRaBi4pPXIaufNSQ3gsu4EtP/s200/0916121728.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijjcQre8mGOuDWv9o_B8XztbDsT9NFcTmFmGPlevHoTRY1Jv2-jMIk5aXmula6lNCtKEhzaq34kPcynHlJ1hdwiOJiXPtERpbOUqptvCmLF1ga6MTJSh_F9BRgG310WQt54Sk8G_1Ms-x3/s1600/IMG_0890e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijjcQre8mGOuDWv9o_B8XztbDsT9NFcTmFmGPlevHoTRY1Jv2-jMIk5aXmula6lNCtKEhzaq34kPcynHlJ1hdwiOJiXPtERpbOUqptvCmLF1ga6MTJSh_F9BRgG310WQt54Sk8G_1Ms-x3/s200/IMG_0890e.jpg" width="187" /></a>Thrilling displays, patriotic zeal and lots of fresh air can really build an appetite, and as the Halls sped home, Mr. Hall announced that the only thing that would cut the chill in his bones was a strong infusion of that tonic known as tequila. They laid in a course for <a href="http://www.tivolivillagelv.com/" target="_blank">Tivoli Village</a> to check out the opening of the new <a href="http://www.cantinalaredo.com/location/las-vegas/" target="_blank">Cantina Laredo</a>. Syracuse's revamping of the old Carousel Mall into Destiny USA included a Cantina Laredo, and they had attended that opening in September; so it was truly surprizing for them to meet the very fellow that had served them there, in Tivoli. Handshakes and well wishes were given all around, and after a complimentary round of drinks, the Halls strolled, happily sated, back out into the cool night air.Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3657913079072771729.post-56399067849916477352012-11-04T01:02:00.000-04:002012-11-27T17:53:38.239-05:00Pick yer poison<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtZJOz7gy5dLfXE7CHjuDkjsCxFKzE9o0cIvGYCnNi6cDu6xoHgepEFS9pjjMc36-ZTA6dBxpKijdl_u1IZccGMRW5FuFOa0nvEM3_KmiIEpvxEYlCrCSwjN0Pt8FW4InmCqbZBQPUPBFY/s1600/IMG_0592e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtZJOz7gy5dLfXE7CHjuDkjsCxFKzE9o0cIvGYCnNi6cDu6xoHgepEFS9pjjMc36-ZTA6dBxpKijdl_u1IZccGMRW5FuFOa0nvEM3_KmiIEpvxEYlCrCSwjN0Pt8FW4InmCqbZBQPUPBFY/s200/IMG_0592e.jpg" width="143" /></a>Considering that only about half of the ceramic tile flooring could actually be seen through the maze of boxes and tubs still lining the hallways, the guest room in the Hall was abuzz with activity. First Master Ian, and then Master Chris flew in, and for awhile Mrs. H. doubted if she was ever going to be able to keep the refrigerator stocked.<br />
It was the occasion of Ian's 21st birthday, and brother Chris' arrival in town had been a well kept secret; when the boys finally reunited, Ian nearly knocked Chris over with joy.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPgtKIb2wmHXXhm5nzWeYehkF39NVhXsVXs3ILEZrCMWpAGbhX5opBCdL9PRCoI8ik-9Z892L0ej1zc5pGHigBi2bg0Sj9l4E6IadfHW1Gc1M3wECRttNr1LYNdQ8eON2jM00rbHGj2-eV/s1600/68720_536626656353905_353375221_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPgtKIb2wmHXXhm5nzWeYehkF39NVhXsVXs3ILEZrCMWpAGbhX5opBCdL9PRCoI8ik-9Z892L0ej1zc5pGHigBi2bg0Sj9l4E6IadfHW1Gc1M3wECRttNr1LYNdQ8eON2jM00rbHGj2-eV/s200/68720_536626656353905_353375221_n.jpg" width="119" /></a> Having purchased advance tickets to a huge <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Airsoft" target="_blank">airsoft</a> competition in Corona, California, Ian unpacked several of the airsoft rifles Mrs. Hall had been holding for him and choosing a couple of hefty weapons, he invited Chris to do likewise, and the two of them drove down for the mock battle. The event was attended by over 300 people, who were divided into two teams and then staged a full battle in lifelike conditions. Late into the evening, they returned exhausted, but victorious.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVct4rYkafSkQnmUmVOv_n9XI4DyLTBktFuQIZMZgqcXFKaAh0yv07TUR3dt_i3vrenmUgX5JpIoX0_hYf42Oz0nksDZ395dP4zpGIb33wUFRBibO3nWGgYBApCIz_Y_tSksgkR5-nrGqh/s1600/BellagioFountains-800.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVct4rYkafSkQnmUmVOv_n9XI4DyLTBktFuQIZMZgqcXFKaAh0yv07TUR3dt_i3vrenmUgX5JpIoX0_hYf42Oz0nksDZ395dP4zpGIb33wUFRBibO3nWGgYBApCIz_Y_tSksgkR5-nrGqh/s200/BellagioFountains-800.jpg" width="200" /></a>After a hearty breakfast of their favorite lox and bagels, it was decided the little group would take Ian around the suburbs during the day, bring him home for a breather and then hit the Strip for a wow finish. Since Chris could only get four days off for the visit, they had to set a land speed record for sightseeing, covering as many of the big casinos as they could humanly manage on two feet. By the end of the night, the boys could be seen leaning against the balustrade, taking in the last two shows of the famous dancing fountains in front of the Bellagio just ahead of midnight. Moments later they dropped off to sleep in the back seat of the car, as Mr. Hall ferried their tired little selves home.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPtv5Yd2hwG5Oa-JFt93pYXPxrzyRI7ekqWHIQpVfbAZ3w51zWTbGe7e2TwSGYyCjsmdXUBckAbRuww7SU6vD6odzea6rJZEuJuzLvbVESa-flPL8dnIrR9KGyPHeSCy7vxNMa6k73jSBk/s1600/IMG_0695.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPtv5Yd2hwG5Oa-JFt93pYXPxrzyRI7ekqWHIQpVfbAZ3w51zWTbGe7e2TwSGYyCjsmdXUBckAbRuww7SU6vD6odzea6rJZEuJuzLvbVESa-flPL8dnIrR9KGyPHeSCy7vxNMa6k73jSBk/s200/IMG_0695.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBksguCfPSkpKlirJQjFnCro7tnaLDZxdqsSP7-NV_qwG5bNaAYE9KosotgubEp9V6S0mpO1D_irmUZyTwR8-rphUT8LtPw1Eas9UChTt3dfZ_2Vpcq5Fzmk74FqFiarg1-ECHsT9lsD3w/s1600/2012-Ford-Mustang-GT-5.0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="101" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBksguCfPSkpKlirJQjFnCro7tnaLDZxdqsSP7-NV_qwG5bNaAYE9KosotgubEp9V6S0mpO1D_irmUZyTwR8-rphUT8LtPw1Eas9UChTt3dfZ_2Vpcq5Fzmk74FqFiarg1-ECHsT9lsD3w/s200/2012-Ford-Mustang-GT-5.0.jpg" width="200" /></a>After Chris took off back to Montgomery, the merry band attempted to settle into something resembling a routine, but the lures of the city called to them constantly, and so each day became another adventure.<br />
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For some time Ian had been diligent in squirreling away a considerable amount of scratch towards the purchase of a new car, and while he was still far from his goal, he felt he was sufficiently along in the schedule to look at some new representatives of his choice. Searching out a nearby Ford dealership, he struck up a conversation with one of the salesmen, and before Mrs. H. knew it, Ian had talked him into letting him test drive a brand new Mustang 5.0. and was seen careening out of the lot. Approximately 45 minutes later, a young fellow with a smile so large it threatened to swallow his whole head, reluctantly crawled out of the vehicle and floated on over to the Halls. "That was just so much fun!" he continued to say for the better part of the next hour.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg__yS9-V-X1wefScl0DEV-o5aqTOk1Mv87vflZonUOf7Qiy1QYAZlwVXs-r4vBAQ_Fqf5fpsd41kF5fd6jDYYdpcVoN7OSoxcX61dL8ehqD4tz_-VvwKCr3XsS0WdWMWS6qoG592MeoKKh/s1600/IMG_0756e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg__yS9-V-X1wefScl0DEV-o5aqTOk1Mv87vflZonUOf7Qiy1QYAZlwVXs-r4vBAQ_Fqf5fpsd41kF5fd6jDYYdpcVoN7OSoxcX61dL8ehqD4tz_-VvwKCr3XsS0WdWMWS6qoG592MeoKKh/s200/IMG_0756e.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTKCt0Yw-oja8ECb7uOcb2iQ5zfz-sw21m7EgQExnshczTFPOERSgNGWKiuM2nMGOf6Csegdg9XYpPwjMgQIgKxnx055Lcdt9uKoDvbDZ8ce8a_PUlvM6TXrS0qebJp2Gcgzx0TR-aFQ46/s1600/IMG_0762.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTKCt0Yw-oja8ECb7uOcb2iQ5zfz-sw21m7EgQExnshczTFPOERSgNGWKiuM2nMGOf6Csegdg9XYpPwjMgQIgKxnx055Lcdt9uKoDvbDZ8ce8a_PUlvM6TXrS0qebJp2Gcgzx0TR-aFQ46/s200/IMG_0762.JPG" width="150" /></a>Sometime nearer the end of his leave, Ian mentioned he hadn't hit a rifle range yet, and as that had been one of the items on his to-do list, he thought they had better start investigating his choices. Some short research later, they found themselves at American Shooters indoor range, gazing at a wall of rental firearms and watching Ian drool. "Mom, mom- look at this one~! Oh, man, I have to try this!" Ian was absolutely beside himself, but not so consumed that he didn't forget his usual generosity- he graciously offered to set both Mr. and Mrs. Hall up with ear/eye protection and some rounds of their own to fire off. It was indeed a fun afternoon. They started off by firing a FN FS 2000 semi-automatic, and having purchased 40 rounds, both the Halls were able to get into the action. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5s_rO0gNOnHwKNSNf_KtN7JMED3YoMCO6Le0zW_y2FvObzKP_NfCXsojmveQM86j9eu5q2EW1sGvdIRrBGQ2fIPz7ZJmuN5d1re2_Aw3JBjrj2H-1M08PjKDz2wfOzfF-ul1_wL3dyjmn/s1600/IMG_0767+Mom+got+the+bullseyes+edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5s_rO0gNOnHwKNSNf_KtN7JMED3YoMCO6Le0zW_y2FvObzKP_NfCXsojmveQM86j9eu5q2EW1sGvdIRrBGQ2fIPz7ZJmuN5d1re2_Aw3JBjrj2H-1M08PjKDz2wfOzfF-ul1_wL3dyjmn/s200/IMG_0767+Mom+got+the+bullseyes+edit.jpg" width="144" /></a>It had been nearly thirty years since Mrs. Hall had graced a pistol range, but happily, she managed not to embarrass herself; when the target was rolled to the front and examined, it was Mrs. Hall's shots in the bullseye. Ian headed in to rent a huge Desert Eagle .44 Mag at the desk, but at that point, Mrs. H. begged off, explaining it was time for her to return to the role of videographer, until such time when she could acquire a tad more upper body strength. Mr. Hall did not demur, however, and showed off some fairly considerable skills with a firearm himself. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ppRQjnyqkDLFx_Zw2nYmgGb2SAz9z3z4-vEsdfoqWAMiOpgnpa4LScr8qxdvhlRPZcWf6dysVJxYD9cEk6JsZp9PELdXrzaenC8rxjEC6W1wfgo7kMU4u5BuFpbou9877P9AtXI_GbGx/s1600/IMG_0751e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ppRQjnyqkDLFx_Zw2nYmgGb2SAz9z3z4-vEsdfoqWAMiOpgnpa4LScr8qxdvhlRPZcWf6dysVJxYD9cEk6JsZp9PELdXrzaenC8rxjEC6W1wfgo7kMU4u5BuFpbou9877P9AtXI_GbGx/s200/IMG_0751e.jpg" width="148" /></a>Between exploring all the outlying casinos and blowing up paper targets, and running errands and moving furniture, the Halls managed to exhaust the better part of a Ian's leave, and before they knew it, his time was up. Halloween was his last night in town, and after sampling some well-reviewed (but scarily named!) vintage, Ian and Mrs. Hall attended to the trick or treaters at the door and then called it a night. Several heartfelt and much too brief hugs later the next morning, he was gone, winging his way over the Pacific and back to Okinawa again.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC5wmAeuVcql4pjjWWZmtNPF2pXqxwNAhh6csb6bFS647hUDHl1CaB6JjNRYFtBstTdIHZa_1fi4tTFLOYZ_yGVXu_EUF4JgRsd8gErMBjXKElyZpdsuqhn8RA-j5cP5HNL2aj9GJpEWYF/s1600/IMG_0786+How+we+decorated+this+year+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC5wmAeuVcql4pjjWWZmtNPF2pXqxwNAhh6csb6bFS647hUDHl1CaB6JjNRYFtBstTdIHZa_1fi4tTFLOYZ_yGVXu_EUF4JgRsd8gErMBjXKElyZpdsuqhn8RA-j5cP5HNL2aj9GJpEWYF/s200/IMG_0786+How+we+decorated+this+year+2.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<i>(Editor's note: Regarding the banner photo at left: one of the more fanciful decorator touches purchased along with the house was a grouping of large apothecary jars in the kitchen. Thanx and a hat tip to Martha Stewart Magazine, October 1996, for the wonderful idea of filling them with what could truly be called ardent spirits. "A sound idea for any occasion," remarked Mrs. H.)</i>Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3657913079072771729.post-286814662133796072012-11-03T21:18:00.000-04:002012-11-03T21:18:16.350-04:00Jenny We Hardly Knew Ye<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb-iQIZsLvnDTQHntuBtJGhdtcBUi2Menc_e20VPKbc8x6Ocq6LSyG1mlBl3qTwn7ZsKW79MUocjq4T6joMVYkzmjheizNCwQKeQvxboyg0KEbk1tSmFA2JuEr_rZxayFOcg2uPH3y7BV0/s1600/RIP+Jenny+Wysocki+Oct+17+2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb-iQIZsLvnDTQHntuBtJGhdtcBUi2Menc_e20VPKbc8x6Ocq6LSyG1mlBl3qTwn7ZsKW79MUocjq4T6joMVYkzmjheizNCwQKeQvxboyg0KEbk1tSmFA2JuEr_rZxayFOcg2uPH3y7BV0/s200/RIP+Jenny+Wysocki+Oct+17+2012.jpg" width="135" /></a> Everyone had exchanged goodbyes just three weeks earlier. Glasses were clinked, hugs were given all around, the chefs at the Lake Shore Yacht Club had outdone themselves with some off menu treats, and the Halls were allowed to escape the dreary expectations of an upstate autumn looming before them only on the strictest promise that they would return with the tulips and all would be cocktails and laughter again. Little did anyone realize it would be the last time they would see Jenny Wysocki hold court over a table again.<br />
Mr. Iltsch let Mr. Hall sleep in an hour or so Wednesday morning. It was almost 8:00 am before the phone started ringing off the hook at the Hall, and poor Killer, dodging anxious steps, realized this was not going to be just another day of unpacking. "Are we going back?" asked Mrs. Hall gingerly- she had been finalizing the grocery list for the following week. "No." answered Mr. H. slowly but firmly. "This is Stevie's show now. I'd only be a distraction." She nodded in agreement. Still, thought Mrs.Hall, she would have liked to have said one more goodbye. Mr. Hall scrolled through the index on his phone and mentally ticked off all the chores he would be attending to right now. If he were still there.<br />
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Father Gleba- gone. Father Matula, gravely ill when he relocated to Poland to be with his family- gone. Father Dudkiewicz, removed after an unfortunate display of misplaced frustration with old age and a rapidly changing society around him- removed to a nursing home and gone for all intents and purposes. All in the course of a year and a half. And now Jenny Wysocki, matriarch and keeper of the proud columned funeral home that had stood as a shrine to her deceased husband, across the street from the Basilica of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and it's dwindling Polish neighborhood- gone.<br />
The plastic pink roses still bloom in the lobby. The classical statues still stand mute at attention and gaze lovingly towards the deceased. The liquid gold curtains in the small chapel rustle softly in the air conditioning and the sad stained glass faces of those familiar characters from the Last Supper still look on as people queue past a casket and pass into the night.<br />
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Wysocki's Funeral Home still stands and serves, but the hands that tended it so lovingly for so long are finally at rest.Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3657913079072771729.post-86339890130476753322012-10-01T15:02:00.000-04:002012-11-27T17:56:05.138-05:00Greeley really knew his stuff<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtDXDimg6OExL4yrlM23K7Xv-Obl3_RZBR261HHbcf32t3zEdiSR7N2LFd82VvbLWGLrV3Ut-CgqffSgcwY6XX6NwFYoqB2qeLZm0aFYa1s8HshvSS-_4gJfGBeiMBOthZ0sMA2lbd7pz3/s1600/IMG_8370.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtDXDimg6OExL4yrlM23K7Xv-Obl3_RZBR261HHbcf32t3zEdiSR7N2LFd82VvbLWGLrV3Ut-CgqffSgcwY6XX6NwFYoqB2qeLZm0aFYa1s8HshvSS-_4gJfGBeiMBOthZ0sMA2lbd7pz3/s200/IMG_8370.JPG" width="200" /></a>Mr. Hall closed the hanger door and shuddered. A cold wind was blowing the leaves across the freshly mown back forty and he knew what that meant. It wouldn't be long now, he thought.<br />
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"Check the levels and load up the travel bar." he said, "I'll lay in a flight plan for warmer climes. If all goes according to specs, we should be at the western annex of Penguin Hall by the end of the week."<br />
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The veterinarians in New York assured Mrs. Hall that if she just sprayed a little bit of the "Quiet Moments" herbal essence into her cat carrier (a dog crate, actually- the cat ones being much too small for Killer's ample proportions) her little precious would as calm as a plastic plant, a simile Mrs. H. found not a little unnerving. Mr. Hall examined the contents of the atomizer, wondering aloud what the effects would be upon any other attendant occupants of the cockpit; but the office help convinced him it would only make little kitties mellow, not their hyper-caffeinated owners. Killer thus being as pharmacologically relaxed as was legally allowed, they sped off into the night.<br />
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After a quick visit with Mr. and Mrs. Leo Pranitis, host and hostess extraordinaire, in Chicago for some unparalleled dining, they were back on their way. Mrs. Hall had insisted on dragging both vehicles out, so for nearly 2400 miles, Winston wore a shadow a scant 10 or 12 feet behind him, zipping along at about 80-85 mph.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxB5Jlm6hUmhQS8lBQKDPMhrLdY-DSEW7mbrfjSdZYPke0U3Q3ADYcC9Bjck7-vF6fLsx9aOmsmSsdE7vmOo4l2NFcEv-V27ury0WM2pTxtx5t5AhN1HI5O-A6eZOGkcVhveCux9aR8wpt/s1600/IMG_0547.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxB5Jlm6hUmhQS8lBQKDPMhrLdY-DSEW7mbrfjSdZYPke0U3Q3ADYcC9Bjck7-vF6fLsx9aOmsmSsdE7vmOo4l2NFcEv-V27ury0WM2pTxtx5t5AhN1HI5O-A6eZOGkcVhveCux9aR8wpt/s200/IMG_0547.JPG" width="200" /></a> Dusty and dry, the little band rolled into a freshly painted hanger late Saturday evening. "At last!" sighed Mr. Hall. He was still stretching his legs and unfolding himself to get out as Mrs. H. sprung into action and started retrieving bags. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLXaeoS1DV_dRUN6z9daJw0ePzGosGCS-_htiKO4OcSHHbEoB7vivf9KwH3tZNj1Wu44hsnDKgczb_5RnA25pBnSj_IJcxUzHGl_XJF9y1wWfQhOVF-IeGp8l7YEFLNzlwiKscCk26pqv6/s1600/IMG_0549.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLXaeoS1DV_dRUN6z9daJw0ePzGosGCS-_htiKO4OcSHHbEoB7vivf9KwH3tZNj1Wu44hsnDKgczb_5RnA25pBnSj_IJcxUzHGl_XJF9y1wWfQhOVF-IeGp8l7YEFLNzlwiKscCk26pqv6/s200/IMG_0549.JPG" width="200" /></a>"Hold it right there!" he exclaimed. "There's only one bag you need to unpack at the moment." and he handed her a small canvas picnic satchel. Mrs. Hall smiled; she understood immediately. "Find a comfy spot, my love." she soothed, and began to measure the gin.<br />
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<br />Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3657913079072771729.post-28290887829517037822012-10-01T13:02:00.000-04:002012-10-01T13:02:58.018-04:00We Always Suspected As MuchHow they choose candidates in Syracuse New York: (Note large amount of write-ins....)<br />
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Oddly enough, this is exactly how the RNC chooses Vice Presidents.Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3657913079072771729.post-2828353282397095992012-08-20T13:28:00.001-04:002012-08-20T20:08:41.903-04:00Penguins Progress<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZXsavgCE5lGmLzrzqXvUgITJ3oiXtRf3SqX5yGFse1zVmkj4oHOMG8S9P2YBk5F6mmt5NkObGd6UQNXXrCzHgtiY4vCt8SVz3af6jZ5rN3vQ3zIRb2jwU0-wfr6ALR2SoVtj_Fpf6EDdC/s1600/Ron+Santo+Hall+of+Fame+2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZXsavgCE5lGmLzrzqXvUgITJ3oiXtRf3SqX5yGFse1zVmkj4oHOMG8S9P2YBk5F6mmt5NkObGd6UQNXXrCzHgtiY4vCt8SVz3af6jZ5rN3vQ3zIRb2jwU0-wfr6ALR2SoVtj_Fpf6EDdC/s200/Ron+Santo+Hall+of+Fame+2012.jpg" width="147" /></a>Last month had had its ups and downs for the Halls. What with facing the bittersweet induction at Cooperstown, and the untimely passing of design virtuoso Sergio Pininfarina, it was only fair to expect that Mrs. H. was not her jovial self as they continued to rummage through the remaining boxes. She sighed theatrically as Mr. Hall carried a worn container bearing the legend "Lunchbags- do not discard!" up the stairs.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHwkm2za2WzqH0XAmQN3EmtFXgOQHAjscodUQDXfKa7Cj3Lzw4JUNIPCkOXjRRbfxf7Ypz1P3Uimi1KLqszC5QxKLjkXwVd6yJHWe9K4rznhZAAk0BvPqFdoI1Gze5ENIdQ-T4fAazj_VL/s1600/Ferrari-246-GTS-Dino1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHwkm2za2WzqH0XAmQN3EmtFXgOQHAjscodUQDXfKa7Cj3Lzw4JUNIPCkOXjRRbfxf7Ypz1P3Uimi1KLqszC5QxKLjkXwVd6yJHWe9K4rznhZAAk0BvPqFdoI1Gze5ENIdQ-T4fAazj_VL/s200/Ferrari-246-GTS-Dino1.jpg" width="200" /></a>"The golden sunlight of the Tuscany hills glows slightly less bright this week," she said, wiping a tear. "First Carroll Shelby in May, and now this. There must be one heck of a race going on in the Great Beyond." Mr. Hall was focused on the task at hand. "Why on earth would you save lunchbags?"
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnSh2qqDW0iBzZKLTZ0MBkUMmAL8Aq8th1yCwxaEMwu6nhyphenhyphen7vaEhGIvGe2l0t_m0wuy7Q_SHYnt7exDWCIRUYDpLmX0SzIQ19isZtKHcQRpsBOvkzdL0btcFLLysWSs9PJJSuXM3uQzsbs/s1600/IMG_0397.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnSh2qqDW0iBzZKLTZ0MBkUMmAL8Aq8th1yCwxaEMwu6nhyphenhyphen7vaEhGIvGe2l0t_m0wuy7Q_SHYnt7exDWCIRUYDpLmX0SzIQ19isZtKHcQRpsBOvkzdL0btcFLLysWSs9PJJSuXM3uQzsbs/s200/IMG_0397.JPG" width="200" /></a> She brightened immediately. "This is wonderful! I thought they had been thrown out." She tore open the box and a mass of wrinkled brown craft paper poured out onto the living room carpet. "Every morning when the kids went to school, I would pack a bag for them to take to lunch. First for Chris and then eventually for Colleen, I would draw little cartoons on their bags to cheer them up. At first they were just little sketches, but after a while they turned into actual cartoons; even the teachers in the lunchrooms would ask to see the bags. They were usually done the last ten minutes before the bus came- whatever came to mind went on the bag. And it had to be right the first time- all I ever used to draw was a black Sharpie."
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Funding for the art and music programs at the elementary school level in their old neighborhood had been in peril for some time and Mrs. Hall was well known as one of the volunteer "Art Moms" in the district. Her classes for the youngsters often had other teachers sitting in along with the regular students in the room. "There must be over a hundred of them here," she mumbled, as she carefully smoothed each bag out and placed them in a pile, "Don't tell me... don't even begin to think you're going to actually <i><b>keep</b></i> all that trash?" sputtered Mr. Hall. Mrs. H. looked pained. "Well, how 'bout this? I'll just cut out the drawings and over the course of the next month or so, just scan them in so we can keep digital copies of the work instead- would that make you happy?" Compromise being the cornerstone of all happy relationships, Mr. H. acquiesced and the box was spared the dustbin. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc0gq8EVJKs85X3vrUDnCr-1TMSPOmd20vu4Wi6OdXd562GdvNhSLS5jVqpBuk5g_4zBmNpSaMWmFz27CjZpPz89UModnzjazQ4nO2gesLLZhS_dP952WUbbRs5_1YdD6l3-yK-mC4NjiC/s1600/Pagertini.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc0gq8EVJKs85X3vrUDnCr-1TMSPOmd20vu4Wi6OdXd562GdvNhSLS5jVqpBuk5g_4zBmNpSaMWmFz27CjZpPz89UModnzjazQ4nO2gesLLZhS_dP952WUbbRs5_1YdD6l3-yK-mC4NjiC/s200/Pagertini.jpg" width="144" /></a>Flying down the highway the following week in Winston, Mrs. H. looked across the cockpit and watched as Mr. Hall navigated rush hour traffic with ease. "Just think, darling- in six short weeks you'll be able to unhook that ungodly leash you call a pager and throw it off a bridge or something. I think we should have a ceremony to celebrate- any ideas?" Mr. Hall stared off into the blue for what seemed to Mrs. H. an inordinate amount of time and then replied, "I think we should make a big batch of martinis and then I should get out my .38 and put several holes in the damn thing. What do you think?" <br />
"Alcohol <i><b>and</b></i> firearms?! Go on- I'm listening!" she answered, over the purr of the engine.Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3657913079072771729.post-13278794987250463952012-07-23T17:05:00.000-04:002012-07-23T17:05:01.614-04:00Safe at Home<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Qxz8p8AQELBxzi4WvxOCEdWya2QCzzD4o1kJubUjk6vzsgmYbkumBHBq6-1IvlJaz7fKPSAjE7m7SR82m5yMQfQsFaawdVsQpDNcTewc96rqf_ZO5ju2G0wmRb2ay9on-DZbOM3ZPvMb/s1600/IMG_0304.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Qxz8p8AQELBxzi4WvxOCEdWya2QCzzD4o1kJubUjk6vzsgmYbkumBHBq6-1IvlJaz7fKPSAjE7m7SR82m5yMQfQsFaawdVsQpDNcTewc96rqf_ZO5ju2G0wmRb2ay9on-DZbOM3ZPvMb/s200/IMG_0304.JPG" width="200" /></a> It had been a beautiful afternoon. The weather could not have been lovelier; the breeze was light, the grounds inviting and the crowd as gracious and polite as could be. Little kids in royal blue number 10 jerseys played baseball with their parents on the periphery of the field while oldtimers clutched their programs and wiped a tear. All in all, a perfectly splendid day for an induction into the Baseball Hall of Fame in beautiful Cooperstown, New York. And that's what made it all so sad. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivgOqC2kUyEltwlY8TfMEDWNX1ITo810Mu7CYEFV8RPdP2yyGiMqHlHX6l6v593t6Q2xv5WwP6Aw5s5Mxqjq8NqlXQysLCx7IqfSQ9aPxgbrPo4R2zpAj9CQtHxqGefqigfTHrZKCJTqNg/s1600/IMG_0332.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivgOqC2kUyEltwlY8TfMEDWNX1ITo810Mu7CYEFV8RPdP2yyGiMqHlHX6l6v593t6Q2xv5WwP6Aw5s5Mxqjq8NqlXQysLCx7IqfSQ9aPxgbrPo4R2zpAj9CQtHxqGefqigfTHrZKCJTqNg/s200/IMG_0332.JPG" width="200" /></a> Maybe it was the Hall of Fame's traditional indifference towards third basemen. Maybe it was the flexibility of the rules regarding inclusion before the Veterans Committee took over; maybe it was because his stats were incorrectly evaluated. Maybe he ticked off the reporters, maybe he called 'em as he saw 'em one time too many. You might as well blame it on sunspots.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrbsBHQiqhYmc6gG-sS4EJRo8x4gPPcOJTcImqev-VGKOt1yZjZD-yIF2eKkW4AW_AsXHqPI_lhywIso0SkhqTgBv4SjKEfHSnu_snhaHjx58qHOidm8b6TVj9loaaQGg7-KtA6IO_nBvJ/s1600/IMG_0329.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrbsBHQiqhYmc6gG-sS4EJRo8x4gPPcOJTcImqev-VGKOt1yZjZD-yIF2eKkW4AW_AsXHqPI_lhywIso0SkhqTgBv4SjKEfHSnu_snhaHjx58qHOidm8b6TVj9loaaQGg7-KtA6IO_nBvJ/s200/IMG_0329.JPG" width="150" /></a> Ron had been unfairly overlooked and no matter how brightly the sun shone down in Cooperstown on the 18,000 plus fans and 43 current Hall of Famers that attended, including Sandy Koufax, Juan Marichal, Yogi Berra, Willie Mays, Johnny Bench, Ryne Sandburg, Bruce Sutter, Andre Dawson, Billy Williams, Fergie Jenkins and God love him- longtime friend and teammate Ernie Banks; who was barely holding it together and struggling to find something positive to say about the HOF that day; a part of Cubbie loyalists everywhere still shook their heads in disgust and wished it could have been otherwise. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvD3iBlfCoNUSNV6nHSHqY3wgednuTVTX1c1WMtYtkfY9E3z69Vbd4bEG6JUfd3-WoHGAUOdOGpB1DiTNBee_ppzec1xgR6RiEF0Rrn9FYZK_y9-F5afSsecSTcWR-fthZuZR8ROAlezbx/s1600/phpYo3YtpVicki-Santo+edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvD3iBlfCoNUSNV6nHSHqY3wgednuTVTX1c1WMtYtkfY9E3z69Vbd4bEG6JUfd3-WoHGAUOdOGpB1DiTNBee_ppzec1xgR6RiEF0Rrn9FYZK_y9-F5afSsecSTcWR-fthZuZR8ROAlezbx/s200/phpYo3YtpVicki-Santo+edit.jpg" width="141" /></a></div>
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Mrs. Hall was one of them. Standing in the shade from a nearby bank of maples, she watched the crowds ebb and swell, waiting for the proceedings to begin. For a while there seemed to be a large contingency of Cincinnati fans taking over, but a wave of blue appeared as the fans stood for the national anthem, and its overwhelming allegiance was immediately clear. (The Reds' Barry Larkin was also being inducted at that time; in a move exemplifying the Santos family's graciousness, Vicki began her speech with congratulations to Mr. Larkin first.) <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7kNS5lJFlUpTsJUBxCoyPs38mFV3OGSdDQnJmEHnPlFLhBk0VM9LL-qj2fReF9O8In6Itz7prymCf4d9nngCTSaGUbKwmjhb-8Efyo2kgy9zxDvdaPlgkyGpEsKhyphenhyphenK02OM-kVkSUW0yG-/s1600/IMG_0312.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7kNS5lJFlUpTsJUBxCoyPs38mFV3OGSdDQnJmEHnPlFLhBk0VM9LL-qj2fReF9O8In6Itz7prymCf4d9nngCTSaGUbKwmjhb-8Efyo2kgy9zxDvdaPlgkyGpEsKhyphenhyphenK02OM-kVkSUW0yG-/s200/IMG_0312.JPG" width="150" /></a>Earlier that day, Mrs. Hall had raced over to the HOF just in time to catch Andre Dawson signing copies of his memoirs, "If You Love This Game". The streets were just filling up with fans, and the hawkers for the ex-players and managers signing autographs (for a small fortune) along the strip were out in full force and good lungs. As far as Mrs. H. could see, the only thing missing to make the fun complete was a chuck wagon selling Vienna Beef Hot Dogs alongside a pile of heartstoppingly greasy fries.<br />
Everything appeared to go off without a hitch. Afterwards, the crowds dispelled as leisurely and congenially as they had emerged. The ribbons came down, the press reported and moved on, the historians and record keepers marked their books and records and the family watched as they hung his plaque in that golden hallway with all the others. It was all so perfect.<br />
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It's just a crying shame Ron wasn't there to see it happen.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiUPQ2yseAgIED7r2raQ_aPFeMMr9ozdSnkxpPKgCVYLVoO4LieC441OGKiLsvvnsHW9UXMMuKLBQgkPFDBJ9r_PTVEYGb_gByUaJ-lZmD6LcLBcEKFCNssVCu34_I_rxw-JnlgKetLPZL/s1600/ron_santo_headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiUPQ2yseAgIED7r2raQ_aPFeMMr9ozdSnkxpPKgCVYLVoO4LieC441OGKiLsvvnsHW9UXMMuKLBQgkPFDBJ9r_PTVEYGb_gByUaJ-lZmD6LcLBcEKFCNssVCu34_I_rxw-JnlgKetLPZL/s200/ron_santo_headshot.jpg" width="156" /></a><br />
<br />Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3657913079072771729.post-18317910291422108832012-05-14T12:10:00.000-04:002012-05-14T12:10:00.319-04:00Remodel we must<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWZCM0SaCxACbvm5heidaG9cwg8XrQQXz0KseegdsA40DAnOsa5MWUedluKwOwoBLn1hwkho2R8cnDBJvxeiTpNOQWOr8X03XW64vU2R4UNagh4fGH-z5fn3a27S9k2g8A_4SrFKTQubJa/s1600/IMG_9380.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWZCM0SaCxACbvm5heidaG9cwg8XrQQXz0KseegdsA40DAnOsa5MWUedluKwOwoBLn1hwkho2R8cnDBJvxeiTpNOQWOr8X03XW64vU2R4UNagh4fGH-z5fn3a27S9k2g8A_4SrFKTQubJa/s200/IMG_9380.JPG" width="200" /></a>"I can't possibly move another inch. I've repositioned every rock and boulder on this property and planted every planter. Don't ask me to do another thing." Mrs. Hall slumped onto the white leather couch in the living room and slid slowly prone. Mr. Hall called out to her as he descended the stair.<br />
"Get up and get dressed- we're due at a 50th wedding anniversary party this evening and I promised we'd be there. Scrub up quickly and present yourself beside Winston in 25 minutes." He adjusted his tie and slipped into his saddle shoes; no mean feat in itself considering the work he had recently performed on the eves troughs earlier that day. Mrs. H. groaned and began sandblasting the remains of the Hall left under her nails.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjclVna1QFQE560NRSV6OI1Q95lQaSRRIQSSZbVZc1cTvIT4AQot9emCxPpPw6Hpi3sgVrHu4_IOyX-6vHQBGuhrs3ytkVyTJ5ya7KO8UR__k8D27QiY6gYiPkgjySb1E4Svskk0epoNYdJ/s1600/IMG_9340.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjclVna1QFQE560NRSV6OI1Q95lQaSRRIQSSZbVZc1cTvIT4AQot9emCxPpPw6Hpi3sgVrHu4_IOyX-6vHQBGuhrs3ytkVyTJ5ya7KO8UR__k8D27QiY6gYiPkgjySb1E4Svskk0epoNYdJ/s200/IMG_9340.JPG" width="200" /></a>The boxing and removing of decades of debris had consumed their lives for the last several months, but things were coming down the wire in earnest now. Just thinking about the prospect of moving filled Killer with unknown anxiety and dread, and it was all she could do to get her requisite fifteen hours of sleep a day. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQUUtdnOlixPMA_ZkzuM8Jxxe4rhn0kI-Tsz-oxnTXyeL562dQlQTE_icDau15SJPlWqJ8u1VuhykdSJVpUHasvvaq8trMH3FetVK_N1yJO7OfmaxaLkfeD38qu4Whr15wep1l-gAwF564/s1600/IMG_9375.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQUUtdnOlixPMA_ZkzuM8Jxxe4rhn0kI-Tsz-oxnTXyeL562dQlQTE_icDau15SJPlWqJ8u1VuhykdSJVpUHasvvaq8trMH3FetVK_N1yJO7OfmaxaLkfeD38qu4Whr15wep1l-gAwF564/s200/IMG_9375.JPG" width="200" /></a>The previous evening, after a hard days' efforts, when asked what she was preparing for dinner, Mrs. Hall petulantly replied that they were having <a href="http://penguinhall.blogspot.com/2011/01/dutch-treat.html" target="_blank">Dutch babies</a>, and liking it; to which Mr. H. quickly nodded and backed out of the kitchen.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqLC9vAeqRvFdwrq6F4BJPWQhJqEalQ9Sd9h0blfYKzMajYxMKeg76VbODGYYjxLJYKwtTVbhyy5AXwLWOYgDXU7tVYwRXhKI_q5Mup6dJjJP7gpgpUvNDBpSx7j3t88yPfk9nKuIsXBjO/s1600/IMG_9333.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqLC9vAeqRvFdwrq6F4BJPWQhJqEalQ9Sd9h0blfYKzMajYxMKeg76VbODGYYjxLJYKwtTVbhyy5AXwLWOYgDXU7tVYwRXhKI_q5Mup6dJjJP7gpgpUvNDBpSx7j3t88yPfk9nKuIsXBjO/s200/IMG_9333.JPG" width="200" /></a> There were a few bright moments. Mr. Hall's daughter Katie came up from Washington D.C. over the weekend, and joined them for their weekly splurge at Daniel's Grill. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSVGueLLcmKeoCoUENvRyZ4bYYZx35lqdwmB38vkgXP5PBxQvbgHClyYyAun0p1Dhyphenhyphen4vS6HuT3F0pbj9QbgxQoG-ZuVFa27BFq0H66b_YrvbC5ftP1YsErBq4pY9RzJCAVdDltSoRzZ0ei/s1600/IMG_9336.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSVGueLLcmKeoCoUENvRyZ4bYYZx35lqdwmB38vkgXP5PBxQvbgHClyYyAun0p1Dhyphenhyphen4vS6HuT3F0pbj9QbgxQoG-ZuVFa27BFq0H66b_YrvbC5ftP1YsErBq4pY9RzJCAVdDltSoRzZ0ei/s200/IMG_9336.JPG" width="200" /></a>The following week after a particularly grueling day, Mr. H. insisted they go for ice cream, and driving over to Skaneateles, they sat on the shore and watched that month's "supermoon" rise over the calm waters of the lake.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTQWTBSzGbq5hGh3sJNeOS3FHPJKaG99OF7RSNnFb8Trwc_bA7V0ud5oAinoV2GXIbnt73gZd15umw-92elHYwDiSTbGCN2DyOk2BcLlvkIZYSg4QhailXjdIHHgKM9zBBui4AxLDJpiPG/s1600/Calliope+Dark+Red+Pot.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTQWTBSzGbq5hGh3sJNeOS3FHPJKaG99OF7RSNnFb8Trwc_bA7V0ud5oAinoV2GXIbnt73gZd15umw-92elHYwDiSTbGCN2DyOk2BcLlvkIZYSg4QhailXjdIHHgKM9zBBui4AxLDJpiPG/s200/Calliope+Dark+Red+Pot.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
Dressed for dancing and displaying as much bonhomie as she could muster, Mrs. Hall hopped into Winston and beckoned him to drop the top. As the little sports car pulled out of the hanger, circling the acreage as they went, Mrs. Hall surveyed the grounds. Bright red geraniums waved to them from every pot and while in Mrs. Hall's mind she was nodding back approvingly, Mr. Hall suspected she was just nodding off.Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3657913079072771729.post-37922264926396033642012-05-14T10:45:00.000-04:002012-05-14T10:45:54.383-04:00The low down from down under<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-f-KoCKf89Ukj2ANAdsukdDjwr63z3HZ7ulg8Gz_5ie0IPIsalT0oK-FSTBnmWRBx__7pdp2TrXdV5-9fOMiDfxp_jzRTaaGtNMSjAE7WuQIT5p-AVb3pN9eDbMmFjXzChu4VG2nGL4LZ/s1600/Stylin'+Crocodile+East+Dundee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-f-KoCKf89Ukj2ANAdsukdDjwr63z3HZ7ulg8Gz_5ie0IPIsalT0oK-FSTBnmWRBx__7pdp2TrXdV5-9fOMiDfxp_jzRTaaGtNMSjAE7WuQIT5p-AVb3pN9eDbMmFjXzChu4VG2nGL4LZ/s200/Stylin'+Crocodile+East+Dundee.jpg" width="120" /></a>Master Ian had deployed to Okinawa some time ago with the Marines, but lately had been sending reports from Darwin and the Northern Territories in Australia. The Land Down Under had struck a chord with him and he felt immediately at home, though it was just his first time there. A picture arrived in Mrs. Hall's inbox of a young and very sunburned fellow sporting a jaunty chapeau made of some sort of hide, and it took her a moment or two to realize it was Ian. Despite the fact that the weather could best be described as extreme and every form of wildlife engaged in earnest pursuit of the title "Deadliest Creature on the Planet", Ian was delighted and lapped up the culture with a ladle at every turn.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivX9lxedP9XXBvUaWp6a5J5KQ2xNauL9PUk9br7B1JrlRT0Rf6g2OA37gexA_dU5Ea4JnElhevrsA8tW2_UT-phLWfeiDjRWHV-Jp8-AIKgSvuu81kM5E8skSVHNHh3hgyijSDaNZpTgnI/s1600/Photo+by+Ian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="110" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivX9lxedP9XXBvUaWp6a5J5KQ2xNauL9PUk9br7B1JrlRT0Rf6g2OA37gexA_dU5Ea4JnElhevrsA8tW2_UT-phLWfeiDjRWHV-Jp8-AIKgSvuu81kM5E8skSVHNHh3hgyijSDaNZpTgnI/s400/Photo+by+Ian.jpg" width="400" /></a> The climate indeed favored him; his skills with the camera grew by leaps and bounds, as this amazing shot from a motocross event attests.<br />
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Early on in his career, a fellow Marine filmed him passing his days working on his models, and the Monitor has acquired a copy of that short endeavour. Here, for the Gentle Reader's pleasure, is the resulting interview.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dz53CTf2QzdFWOBHniofWyzUSVdSmo5w0uWtMxg99hIIMFyz3BwWKknow0UthahnS19Kg1CIGAC7BdDkSjipQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3657913079072771729.post-37715078737992466042012-04-23T13:40:00.001-04:002012-04-23T13:52:00.987-04:00Pardon our dust"Hey look! I found some of my old catering menus!"<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBrcwxRPVaGUTaqH4zmCL7CEjAEiGIe_aithAdzwpP7z7udMYOdtZHAsOn1VpEt8ijbm7JQtchlNvTJ7TRVFiBkr7Pq4hlklPx7rQB6aZcMZ1rtXgfEf5ekAUR6Exn8nGbWDX_pZs4tPbi/s1600/IMG_9301.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBrcwxRPVaGUTaqH4zmCL7CEjAEiGIe_aithAdzwpP7z7udMYOdtZHAsOn1VpEt8ijbm7JQtchlNvTJ7TRVFiBkr7Pq4hlklPx7rQB6aZcMZ1rtXgfEf5ekAUR6Exn8nGbWDX_pZs4tPbi/s200/IMG_9301.JPG" width="150" /></a>Mr. Hall turned in the direction of the voice, but saw nothing but pile upon pile of boxes. "Over here-" came a cry, and from the floor of the catacombs next to the far wall, Mr. H. could see some movement. The basement of Penguin Hall was in complete upheaval as the Halls continued to prepare for their move.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ViEw-Q96uz9xNcoB6HfLsarh8npUPgtrnsvOggvvsW9ny8sMk8HPTS5JMjpE_QkQc8wB09RUhs0uxQDIbJEvHmIN-0__tb7Mf8uN671VVd1nKJAB5QSyEJOoCN27_HkX9obv6tQ-U4kJ/s1600/IMG_9225.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ViEw-Q96uz9xNcoB6HfLsarh8npUPgtrnsvOggvvsW9ny8sMk8HPTS5JMjpE_QkQc8wB09RUhs0uxQDIbJEvHmIN-0__tb7Mf8uN671VVd1nKJAB5QSyEJOoCN27_HkX9obv6tQ-U4kJ/s200/IMG_9225.JPG" width="150" /></a>"Look at the prices back then," sighed Mrs. Hall. Her dreamy smile was the vanguard of an approaching nostalgic coma; Mr. Hall cut her off in mid-flashback.<br />
"Don't even start! We've far too much to do. The hardware store awaits; but before we go- do you know where Killer is?" Poor Killer, resident cat and champion vermin-ator, had been taking the commotion in stride. She was weathering the renovation in her usual zen-like fashion by ignoring it completely. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzhsFoXu7eTZ11iQvfLLSQpct97RGSH7Tp3N9AZtObebPlBVRSnpof-HNMlRDMuw22ckAZRNzeQDTDn_TcqiwvM-sgL2VkpFRL5sRj9gDfCiJhcmbR38HOCOqx2-kJl9ksq5UH1PZ7u2Vr/s1600/IMG_9217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzhsFoXu7eTZ11iQvfLLSQpct97RGSH7Tp3N9AZtObebPlBVRSnpof-HNMlRDMuw22ckAZRNzeQDTDn_TcqiwvM-sgL2VkpFRL5sRj9gDfCiJhcmbR38HOCOqx2-kJl9ksq5UH1PZ7u2Vr/s200/IMG_9217.JPG" width="150" /></a>In fact, just to show how truly unaffected she was, she would purposely choose the most obstructive spot she could find for napping and steadfastly remain there for hours, much to the consternation of the constant flow of workmen parading through the Hall.<br />
The dings and scratches and bumps and scribbles that had dotted the bedrooms and the hallways were gone; to Mrs. Hall it was akin to washing the written history from the tombs of the pharaohs.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEwoIzGcoQK11R8GQ626uL4sInNIOiTZ2vGHZP2MKu3vVQZ8oL_e0egMxKVAAjGrsmnIQPHmUwxzKvPGxMBI9gTLkh3Dv2eJ3R3u5R8CWVuVBdUo-ZuA3hi6iKBq17wz0fyFkigvmoIb5e/s1600/IMG_9092.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEwoIzGcoQK11R8GQ626uL4sInNIOiTZ2vGHZP2MKu3vVQZ8oL_e0egMxKVAAjGrsmnIQPHmUwxzKvPGxMBI9gTLkh3Dv2eJ3R3u5R8CWVuVBdUo-ZuA3hi6iKBq17wz0fyFkigvmoIb5e/s200/IMG_9092.JPG" width="150" /></a>Every mark had a memory for her, and despite the fact that Mistress Colleen had drawn several cartoons on the wall behind her bed that Mrs. H. found charming, Mr. Hall insisted the new owners might feel otherwise. The paint and plaster flew and before you knew it, the Hall was well on its way to becoming a <i>tabula rasa</i> once more. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzcdJ789_kX0bMAZGcFBVcc91ZlST7wQQhJWB6qsWTlPamZwtZxWS3Uc1G0uykzL71SvKMPsx709DNZviDWz24RnG2GzbmZh_hrHWHEhIG5hYLbs2sD7zYmuixb7A6oHlo3gEDCLglJbAj/s1600/IMG_9196.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzcdJ789_kX0bMAZGcFBVcc91ZlST7wQQhJWB6qsWTlPamZwtZxWS3Uc1G0uykzL71SvKMPsx709DNZviDWz24RnG2GzbmZh_hrHWHEhIG5hYLbs2sD7zYmuixb7A6oHlo3gEDCLglJbAj/s200/IMG_9196.JPG" width="150" /></a>The front door was completely inaccessible for days. One of the porch posts hung unsupported from the canopy, looking remarkably like one of those confusing surrealists' paintings; Mrs. H. wondered aloud how it could be so. "It hangs aloft alone, my dear; to paraphrase Mr. Chesterton- because we take ourselves so lightly." Mrs. H. smiled and considered that as good a reason as any.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimaXRc0ZdQKL6qk8cLWsoT_J8MAJJNy0rOpCJOU24rA_ZvPB0UcLV3JCl-EBzBCjbAGjmD34cAG1sRJ9240yd8JmUrS7K8-Bp-9bzPEjrJX0hEQmHuTZLa3n_R3trrkWFwuE30sXiSp3_e/s1600/IMG_9222.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimaXRc0ZdQKL6qk8cLWsoT_J8MAJJNy0rOpCJOU24rA_ZvPB0UcLV3JCl-EBzBCjbAGjmD34cAG1sRJ9240yd8JmUrS7K8-Bp-9bzPEjrJX0hEQmHuTZLa3n_R3trrkWFwuE30sXiSp3_e/s200/IMG_9222.JPG" width="200" /></a>The tired old flagstone that marked the path to the door had long since given up the ghost, and when the cement truck and workmen showed up to pour a new walkway, Mrs. Hall outdid herself with coffee and peanut butter cookies to keep them full and happy. Long about three o'clock in the afternoon, the last remaining worker looked in on her.<br />
"Well, if you're going to do it, you'd better do it now. That mix'll set up tight in another hour or two." Mrs. H. looked up puzzled, so he continued, "You know- if you're going to sign your name. We're always catchin' 'em writing in the stuff." To be honest, she hadn't really considered it, but after a moment's thought, she fetched a chopstick out of the kitchen and finding a discreet little spot, made her mark.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL4gOgXcP6WnP_iJP_avjJm8xWimoZI9pnfteNT2YcJ1B1-6d5AZVn9bDL4a4ooeJ5SPIB2MJyI6Xkx9SKzC2SjCWTRR5-icKh4xZrEz15kJi75MAJ6SLlbD3CS4kNPUKECr0pwK6MooK4/s1600/IMG_9255.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL4gOgXcP6WnP_iJP_avjJm8xWimoZI9pnfteNT2YcJ1B1-6d5AZVn9bDL4a4ooeJ5SPIB2MJyI6Xkx9SKzC2SjCWTRR5-icKh4xZrEz15kJi75MAJ6SLlbD3CS4kNPUKECr0pwK6MooK4/s200/IMG_9255.JPG" width="150" /></a><br />
At the hardware store, they lingered over the shiny new kitchens and inviting great front doors. After a brief <i>contretemps</i> over the prevailing choice of a new porch lamp and matching post light, they finally settled on an old standard style and came home. Mrs. Hall, dazzled by Mr. Hall's electrical prowess in installing them, remarked he was still a man of undiscovered depths, and promptly rewarded him with a fresh round of martinis.<br />
Next episode; the renovation continues. Stay tuned!<br />
<br />Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3657913079072771729.post-61265374961801795012012-03-13T18:18:00.001-04:002012-03-13T18:18:13.694-04:00Westward, Ho! (part the second)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMPY8whqDLY65hK9XFtEU_m5lnXv43D6I1W4Z3MxQr5nm1oBLed8-kcUbi3Txr-MVEMxoGzMEcYzkusyQYHOqCSl1TRicUlqx83HyxcPlEFdjWZYs7-2kLWmdmR-eMihDxR3bjDmYuMoDx/s1600/101_0801.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMPY8whqDLY65hK9XFtEU_m5lnXv43D6I1W4Z3MxQr5nm1oBLed8-kcUbi3Txr-MVEMxoGzMEcYzkusyQYHOqCSl1TRicUlqx83HyxcPlEFdjWZYs7-2kLWmdmR-eMihDxR3bjDmYuMoDx/s200/101_0801.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
Fun as it was to party at the Pranitis' homestead, the Halls knew it was time to get a move on. Delivering a final birthday hug to Mr. Pranitis, Mrs. P. loaded all their paraphernalia into her little roundabout and headed for the Arlington Park station. "Call when you get in safely!" she waved, but knowing how Mrs. Hall felt about being in the city, she knew that wouldn't be for quite a while.
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyMVTUPa0hqZcF426uhAHTn3c0jj4rb5lYDT16uwdlJj9QurgBZj7wyy6gSj945hCjMIOV7iuxU3Ec6AD90HQvMRS0xvpEjYNwIgqSRiOjQBn9-lcvgzQiJdsY7H1X6YL44-48Csr5fl3o/s1600/IMG_8986.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyMVTUPa0hqZcF426uhAHTn3c0jj4rb5lYDT16uwdlJj9QurgBZj7wyy6gSj945hCjMIOV7iuxU3Ec6AD90HQvMRS0xvpEjYNwIgqSRiOjQBn9-lcvgzQiJdsY7H1X6YL44-48Csr5fl3o/s200/IMG_8986.JPG" width="150" /></a><br />
Arlington Heights has much to be proud of for a community as a whole, and not the least of which should be that when they admonish the local inhabitants of the illegality of alcohol on their trains, they immediately assume that the beverage of choice would be a martini. "Now, that is a progressive neighborhood," remarked Mr. Hall. They settled in for the trip and caught up with the latest news headlines in the paper.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr8nes6oJlz37FWOl9x8kOAsXuTdv65JiNrLEsKoKycUpLnUIBmIV9eagUr4ch5fqynjruz6S7AyTNTdB5Vl8hzzizQXLPm_LQc9zQEVTuapPMFuc6gaFlSpDV4-lJEfqaHP0E1WA-QKWK/s1600/IMG_8991.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr8nes6oJlz37FWOl9x8kOAsXuTdv65JiNrLEsKoKycUpLnUIBmIV9eagUr4ch5fqynjruz6S7AyTNTdB5Vl8hzzizQXLPm_LQc9zQEVTuapPMFuc6gaFlSpDV4-lJEfqaHP0E1WA-QKWK/s200/IMG_8991.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
The towns flew by in a blur and before they knew it, they were in the lower Loop. A very happy Mrs. Hall had noted that the Amtrak they had selected to convey them home was not scheduled to depart until much later that evening. "Let's check our bags at the Metropolitan lounge and hit the streets!"
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia-gmqOQcd5q-hXj5JnhLKrmoY4CeWPzvZDbJ1LGr9CTJ1IHnybwg4zG6WNEQZBZmwE1OFd3RKpEoXyXm0JgrVz0HdR486rAyXMIpuOjfLV89ayjXbRJSSJJh94bgnQS1ZaY3dT4SvLGwj/s1600/IMG_8998.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia-gmqOQcd5q-hXj5JnhLKrmoY4CeWPzvZDbJ1LGr9CTJ1IHnybwg4zG6WNEQZBZmwE1OFd3RKpEoXyXm0JgrVz0HdR486rAyXMIpuOjfLV89ayjXbRJSSJJh94bgnQS1ZaY3dT4SvLGwj/s200/IMG_8998.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
They managed to get about a half a mile down Canal Street before Mrs. Hall softly asked if Mr. Hall was hungry too. He looked at her incredulously; they had spent the better part of the last two days doing nothing but eating.
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvS04Kg4zpWa-cga_5nw8trMqXx4N7fZNZP33mEvidkHaHm7evcHsIQ7IvHlTv6IF6UBof2WRRxO0yFN4AvnhVZiaEp6VZ3cIZGUj9Pjeq189dLXxepOtK_AMhB5PipgWRBCi1aZPXvXbS/s1600/IMG_9000.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvS04Kg4zpWa-cga_5nw8trMqXx4N7fZNZP33mEvidkHaHm7evcHsIQ7IvHlTv6IF6UBof2WRRxO0yFN4AvnhVZiaEp6VZ3cIZGUj9Pjeq189dLXxepOtK_AMhB5PipgWRBCi1aZPXvXbS/s200/IMG_9000.JPG" width="200" /></a>But just to the right of them, impossible to miss, was the neon glow of Boston Blackie's, buzzing with activity and beckoning to Mrs. Hall's digestive juices. "Oh, all right." he said, " But only if we can sit at the bar so I can follow ESPN! " They turned in, and although the hostess offered to seat them in 30 minutes or so, a spot miraculously opened at the bar and they slid in.
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKEtjQg9qblT7CR_3hJeI76vOicXxO3PgT10Cl_bmnvHDkoKfP_rJtbJiUqQ97NTle_omc-dGLFpyt6jvQ_M3cQbbLq4cuGEqCK3OC7bjdyQgaVJExmvzK7Bo8cYWEVcmP_-fJhfJjEp0z/s1600/IMG_8996.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKEtjQg9qblT7CR_3hJeI76vOicXxO3PgT10Cl_bmnvHDkoKfP_rJtbJiUqQ97NTle_omc-dGLFpyt6jvQ_M3cQbbLq4cuGEqCK3OC7bjdyQgaVJExmvzK7Bo8cYWEVcmP_-fJhfJjEp0z/s200/IMG_8996.JPG" width="150" /></a> A couple of reubens later, Mrs. Hall was chomping at the bit to go. "But there's only four minutes of the game to go and W. Virginia's ahead of the Hoyas!" "Well, then we don't have to watch. Com'n, we're burning daylight!" The weather was unseasonably pleasant, so they toddled east to Michigan Ave. and decided to work their way north from there.
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNrdI5dXeYfYpHI3ESn0L-BigLDaF7CKYAdrgJ5svE7Y9PgOT_ydpzmia81i9q9rokMCqOKxHwd2W2xJN1aSqlf-kG1Gr0h8vMj5NT92WE9b_DTLl2gMgIWwmao-j-beOcXBJ9Mxt45x_n/s1600/IMG_9018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNrdI5dXeYfYpHI3ESn0L-BigLDaF7CKYAdrgJ5svE7Y9PgOT_ydpzmia81i9q9rokMCqOKxHwd2W2xJN1aSqlf-kG1Gr0h8vMj5NT92WE9b_DTLl2gMgIWwmao-j-beOcXBJ9Mxt45x_n/s200/IMG_9018.JPG" width="150" /></a>The weekend had flown by and it was Wednesday already, but that did not stop the God of Hilarity from striking; the one place Mrs. Hall had hoped to visit was the <a href="http://www.museum.tv/" target="_blank">Museum of Broadcast Communications</a>, and they were completely devastated to find out it was only open Thursdays through Saturdays. The Chicago Cultural Center had a marvelous collection called <a href="http://www.explorechicago.org/city/en/supporting_narrative/events___special_events/special_events/tourism/morbid_curiosity.html" target="_blank">"Morbid Curiosity"</a>, but Mr. Hall shuddered and remarked the last thing he wanted to think about was work.
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwrWYEMQ0P5narBV-b0zMb4L7NZZWprO20Ns5g81dkatYcmky1RfpG7eMhO4acBS21hyphenhyphenZ6_dy4-3Qv6qiwg6fBgX-lONyaUSUTWKvciq95_bpc-s56K7_wcphauKyJcoyRKxTNm1prEgtM/s1600/IMG_9030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwrWYEMQ0P5narBV-b0zMb4L7NZZWprO20Ns5g81dkatYcmky1RfpG7eMhO4acBS21hyphenhyphenZ6_dy4-3Qv6qiwg6fBgX-lONyaUSUTWKvciq95_bpc-s56K7_wcphauKyJcoyRKxTNm1prEgtM/s200/IMG_9030.JPG" width="150" /></a> Over the river, they noticed the new addition to Pioneer Plaza. Mrs. Hall giggled and waved Mr. Hall on; it was unlikely she could have quelled his interest anyway. No matter how maligned the Marilyn statue may be in the city, it must certainly be one of the most photographed. Scores of onlookers ( or is it underlookers?) gathered at its base. And indeed, so would have Mr. Hall, if he hadn't caught sight of the television screen in the Tribune Tower window. <br />
"Georgetown won? In overtime? And you made me leave the bar??" Mrs. Hall discreetly moved on along the magnificent mile.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbfNTV9E9aWdg6HMePxlOQ4WVv0w-d8DElT3KkYhvoQ1rDQ65MXWbed0XHMpFWiLlZFQRnlZH7q-yPD27UqDtIrFU1Oa7unsP31mvSeHAZGlbu0kdReE-3L0YyXSnSr2Ti7YmMvdGaF8or/s1600/IMG_9059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbfNTV9E9aWdg6HMePxlOQ4WVv0w-d8DElT3KkYhvoQ1rDQ65MXWbed0XHMpFWiLlZFQRnlZH7q-yPD27UqDtIrFU1Oa7unsP31mvSeHAZGlbu0kdReE-3L0YyXSnSr2Ti7YmMvdGaF8or/s200/IMG_9059.JPG" width="200" /></a> The shopping was delightful and Mrs. Hall nearly forgot the time entirely until Mr. H. inquired how much further north was the Hancock. A slow smile crossed Mrs. Hall's face, and she quickened her pace. They reached the lounge on the 96th floor just in time for happy hour. "Here's to the best view in the city!" he said, and though she assumed he was referring to the lovely waterfront, Mr. Hall seemed to only have eyes for her.
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The picker upper was much appreciated; a little giddy effervescence is the best way to take on the high end boutiques of North Michigan. Mrs. Hall stood poised to purchase several items, (and would have readily put the pinch to her wallet,) but for the quick thinking by Mr. Hall, reminding her she really wouldn't want to be weighted down dragging them around town.
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAcBD9hn2-I2WXf_uWoMO310V3FwmoMXtsmz4hT_jznLa1JtxwzQUsWemGocoECAY04PUoKrRy5aOW7n12U-TxA9HKg6vkUp6xuRK_j-16XiWUlp4lEpbGQxSDRhiYZXSceAVVN8lJBxrv/s1600/IMG_9075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAcBD9hn2-I2WXf_uWoMO310V3FwmoMXtsmz4hT_jznLa1JtxwzQUsWemGocoECAY04PUoKrRy5aOW7n12U-TxA9HKg6vkUp6xuRK_j-16XiWUlp4lEpbGQxSDRhiYZXSceAVVN8lJBxrv/s200/IMG_9075.JPG" width="150" /></a>They slipped onto the subway and made quick break back to the lower loop. At the corner of State and Adams, stood the dark empty shadow where the Court coffee shop used to stand. Mr. Hall could see Mrs. H. on the verge of falling prey to a nostalgic funk. He whispered to her, "You know, we still have time to make a short stop at the venerable old <a href="http://www.berghoff.com/history_photo_01.php" target="_blank">Berghoff's</a>," and she brightened immediately. "Too many favorite places, too little time." Mrs. Hall managed to muffle out, through the kraut on her mini thuringer sandwich.
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi52SIgCz4OPG6ibI6Co2Xsw0oqC6vRR9GNjuVrOc9TqT6ahlY_XaJsvAz-4CHzf0bvNf3RUA7VehOR98NaQlChkmqxsYWMMWrRPMHlZs7AG-o7vNUyGbpvsxyfxLcHFKH6MFfdbALgUnx7/s1600/IMG_9082.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi52SIgCz4OPG6ibI6Co2Xsw0oqC6vRR9GNjuVrOc9TqT6ahlY_XaJsvAz-4CHzf0bvNf3RUA7VehOR98NaQlChkmqxsYWMMWrRPMHlZs7AG-o7vNUyGbpvsxyfxLcHFKH6MFfdbALgUnx7/s200/IMG_9082.JPG" width="150" /></a><br />
The wind was picking up and with the construction over the canal, many of the detours took them through some rather fierce wind tunnels along the way.
But the views could not have been more beautiful, and when they finally settled back into their bunks, they could barely lift their heads to watch the train pull out of the station. "Wake me when we roll back into Syracuse," mumbled Mrs. Hall, but Mr. Hall was already asleep.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzMrFMAji1IBvgEa5eJolxSmLqi6KQ__tH6MWcZyzxv9GXWTIQQh0KtWF89aLq8UE_JQzgTUeGPckqW6s_VAwwn6-EGY4Xhdg5WH8FFzYaY3F7-2nNcv_4gJJyrTmHhaCNCjKf3Ej6APiD/s1600/IMG_9091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzMrFMAji1IBvgEa5eJolxSmLqi6KQ__tH6MWcZyzxv9GXWTIQQh0KtWF89aLq8UE_JQzgTUeGPckqW6s_VAwwn6-EGY4Xhdg5WH8FFzYaY3F7-2nNcv_4gJJyrTmHhaCNCjKf3Ej6APiD/s200/IMG_9091.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3657913079072771729.post-25979101048041843822012-03-13T13:39:00.000-04:002012-03-13T13:42:28.668-04:00Westward Ho!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjifTHs0qr5RSbbSgYmFt3qa3sYO1Byk7IaGkoEpT34Gn6l9RHOXNlsY-JEEBKKqCJ2tk4h-CwecVW7sb9bHZq5Nbxg3DWnJKvdn39VG2OYev5-MKsQ48gR49NRIbmX6XA5HVam2mL4O7SY/s1600/IMG_8850.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjifTHs0qr5RSbbSgYmFt3qa3sYO1Byk7IaGkoEpT34Gn6l9RHOXNlsY-JEEBKKqCJ2tk4h-CwecVW7sb9bHZq5Nbxg3DWnJKvdn39VG2OYev5-MKsQ48gR49NRIbmX6XA5HVam2mL4O7SY/s200/IMG_8850.JPG" width="200" /></a>Mr. Hall shivered. The Lakeshore Limited was running late that night- the first class passengers with rooms had to wait for the front half of the train to load and then move forward because there were so many cars the station platform couldn't accommodate them all at once. When they finally settled in, Mr. Hall heaved a deep sigh of relief. "I'm going offline for a little while," he said peacefully. "Make me a martini." Mrs. Hall happily obeyed, and just to be hospitable, made one for herself as well. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaHMtVnmxx-lJyrM5Lhw69hKT0We_nqaRlBxUG6zPHv07KHU1QeUdEw-l5PreUVHXElcws5jwabdRnVkDoTxdO7YPun-V1LPoX6nftowBeRFZRDfg9R7me1GXdBsdNB907bGZ6rhQLv8dI/s1600/IMG_8858.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaHMtVnmxx-lJyrM5Lhw69hKT0We_nqaRlBxUG6zPHv07KHU1QeUdEw-l5PreUVHXElcws5jwabdRnVkDoTxdO7YPun-V1LPoX6nftowBeRFZRDfg9R7me1GXdBsdNB907bGZ6rhQLv8dI/s200/IMG_8858.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzZMKU69JsSph9k-IgisWzLlWRk_idrm5VzseN-mPW9ETYcMi1XW2RS-0qT6IkyUCSmTCYRH9nGNE0kx276Td-y6eS4hA4KMGDf1mm2sf6T0Sh3A-U8RntC1BSSZ-SgKooXdwRgeCo2RCI/s1600/IMG_8946.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglJVc9h_yaUQGZR9GeQI6rWKDnPkeRjjcPqk6V0x3HORQ8MLEX7vPD17ilPUtmFn0TIzcgNacjsrIRK9TcJJKn2cEMABoHaACCp-vAIhmdFVBCN9prMKvJdIgDnpe2GB6MTPuh9ig8o-uX/s1600/IMG_8881.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglJVc9h_yaUQGZR9GeQI6rWKDnPkeRjjcPqk6V0x3HORQ8MLEX7vPD17ilPUtmFn0TIzcgNacjsrIRK9TcJJKn2cEMABoHaACCp-vAIhmdFVBCN9prMKvJdIgDnpe2GB6MTPuh9ig8o-uX/s200/IMG_8881.JPG" width="150" /></a> The next morning, bright sunshine poured into the roomette. "I slept like an angel" cooed Mr. Hall. He finished his ablutions. "Must be your clean conscience," muttered Mrs. H. through the lifting haze. Mrs. Hall was generally not conversational until she had tossed back a cup or four of the black stuff. "I'll meet you in the dining car." The train zipped along at a fairly brisk pace as the Halls enjoyed their morning repast, and it was no time at all before they were gathering their bags and heading down the platform into Union Station. The air was warm and bright, with a southwest wind blowing at what appeared to Mr. Hall to be about forty knots. It blew the happy travelers into Ogilvie Station and onto the northwest commuter. <br />
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Their hostess for the weekend, Mrs. Pranitis, met them at the track. "Welcome, welcome, welcome!" she said as they piled into the family runabout. The old homestead never looked so good. The occasion of their visit was to celebrate with Mr. Leo Pranitis, raconteur and host extraordinaire, his natal anniversary; and having determined he first graced this terrestrial plane Anno Domini MCMXXVIII, it was decided this was No Small Event.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzZMKU69JsSph9k-IgisWzLlWRk_idrm5VzseN-mPW9ETYcMi1XW2RS-0qT6IkyUCSmTCYRH9nGNE0kx276Td-y6eS4hA4KMGDf1mm2sf6T0Sh3A-U8RntC1BSSZ-SgKooXdwRgeCo2RCI/s1600/IMG_8946.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzZMKU69JsSph9k-IgisWzLlWRk_idrm5VzseN-mPW9ETYcMi1XW2RS-0qT6IkyUCSmTCYRH9nGNE0kx276Td-y6eS4hA4KMGDf1mm2sf6T0Sh3A-U8RntC1BSSZ-SgKooXdwRgeCo2RCI/s200/IMG_8946.JPG" width="150" /></a>While Mr. Pranitis attended to his daily routine, Mrs. P. and the Halls hit the local shopping center, Woodfield Mall. "I have no idea what to get for him, and you've given me no help at all!" cried Mrs. Hall. "I'm really at my wit's end." ("A short run to be sure," whispered Mr. H.) As is usually the case when this happens, they ended up looking at all sorts of things that would be simply wonderful for the Hall, and entirely inappropriate for the occasion at hand. "How about a little heavy reading?" said Mrs. P. as she hoisted a ceramic book. They toddled on home empty-handed.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-zDVstW0Y5VjKamjGVDv-lzeTAs1bff8qR4dwXV_qDl-BcNdJeanMKwCUa-kYidDquXUXoa94bnNDRW5yvPWxpiQeCQRVmQU93xW1T20Wi3Zbr1kuK_lJaLkK3uLYyew-zdHlN3N9Y5ZE/s1600/IMG_8949.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-zDVstW0Y5VjKamjGVDv-lzeTAs1bff8qR4dwXV_qDl-BcNdJeanMKwCUa-kYidDquXUXoa94bnNDRW5yvPWxpiQeCQRVmQU93xW1T20Wi3Zbr1kuK_lJaLkK3uLYyew-zdHlN3N9Y5ZE/s200/IMG_8949.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
Right on schedule later that day, Mrs. Hall's brother Rick and his charming wife Gail Perry, showed up. Chock full of good cheer and a huge basket of individually wrapped delights (much to Mrs. Hall's very obvious chagrin!) they descended on the little troupe and the birthday really started to liven up in earnest.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV4kB_tswI4bPJ5uEeIwCsA2Q3ceNYz3I95HAyTOtKSDgYbRbGwncwsIiNw6ySRcBZSglrtVJHY4z-VGyT0rBxkYWl6kySI21smeUjdzq_5bf6plmRLd3wKVuRireYxHQ4tqmpcAyUxlz-/s1600/IMG_8955.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV4kB_tswI4bPJ5uEeIwCsA2Q3ceNYz3I95HAyTOtKSDgYbRbGwncwsIiNw6ySRcBZSglrtVJHY4z-VGyT0rBxkYWl6kySI21smeUjdzq_5bf6plmRLd3wKVuRireYxHQ4tqmpcAyUxlz-/s200/IMG_8955.JPG" width="150" /></a> As the evening wore on, Mrs. Hall asked if Mr. Pranitis would like to try one of their signature martinis. In a jiffy the travel bar was produced, strips of lemon peel appeared and in a moment, the glistening pale golden beverage was before him. He sipped, a look of contentment washed over the pater's visage, and he dissolved happily into the fabric of his recliner. Mrs. Hall swung around to Mr. Hall and whispered, "Lightbulb!"<br />
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The next morning was the Big Day. Mrs. Hall grabbed Gail's arm (and her attendant vehicle) and excusing themselves on a pretense, flew out the door to the nearest liquor emporium. Rows of bottles usually overwhelm Mrs. H.- not a few times she had to be drawn back away from the flashy labels and exotic distillates, to the task at hand. But with luck and a little bit of cunning, they were able to secretly squirrel away the bootle in the bar, just ahead of the dinner gong. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoFG55sGQ_Lx1JHF-cXxpDAQUZ0ET3s2oZ6rpGpCrIxbmc2cND53IBPsGEUOPL2cyg7QvfHdx6in-fmnihuieNXZ1Qx5lumL5OcoRT5dgHMr6T9jkeiHPuvnmB1VAIbtn6VrwMnfTpEANm/s1600/IMG_8963.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoFG55sGQ_Lx1JHF-cXxpDAQUZ0ET3s2oZ6rpGpCrIxbmc2cND53IBPsGEUOPL2cyg7QvfHdx6in-fmnihuieNXZ1Qx5lumL5OcoRT5dgHMr6T9jkeiHPuvnmB1VAIbtn6VrwMnfTpEANm/s200/IMG_8963.JPG" width="200" /></a>Seafood had been the request of the evening, with the only indecision facing them being whether to get one dozen oysters or two to begin.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB668hCsyEdHVG8A-7iV-0pNFmrACpSwbe-gordUst42dUYRz4jV3xkDtKmqiklkJ3Ym2cYH29CpoWhTeeFLkbXri9IFF13Wck6qvNzqtV-Py5o0PeP8ufmIz5YfEYqNuDsj7DmM1PKKwA/s1600/IMG_8966.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB668hCsyEdHVG8A-7iV-0pNFmrACpSwbe-gordUst42dUYRz4jV3xkDtKmqiklkJ3Ym2cYH29CpoWhTeeFLkbXri9IFF13Wck6qvNzqtV-Py5o0PeP8ufmIz5YfEYqNuDsj7DmM1PKKwA/s200/IMG_8966.JPG" width="200" /></a>(While photographic evidence could not reveal how sweet the oysters actually were, it did manage to capture the neighboring diner's opinion of patrons slurping bivalues by the cartload.) An hour later, all that remained were empty carcasses and full tummies.<br />
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Wiping the lemony residue off their faces and hands, the merry band broke out into "Happy Birthday" and a good measure of the restaurant and staff chimed in.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuVIwQERTAti3wnYAPN4KHmvv1xC4YcGSbyxpGHzd892h1Ms1u_V86Lz32awsF9uWBdkKIowLCorkfD4-7QD9-HRt0dEAOe0qGC1Bw8pL6Z4YJbNecatq6M7YBsVMqWfy8SUVSv1EafSrP/s1600/IMG_8981.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuVIwQERTAti3wnYAPN4KHmvv1xC4YcGSbyxpGHzd892h1Ms1u_V86Lz32awsF9uWBdkKIowLCorkfD4-7QD9-HRt0dEAOe0qGC1Bw8pL6Z4YJbNecatq6M7YBsVMqWfy8SUVSv1EafSrP/s200/IMG_8981.JPG" width="150" /></a> Their chariots deposited them back and it was time for Rick and Gail to hit the road home. Hugs went all around, and as soon as everyone got out the door, Mrs. Hall piped up now would be a good time for a soothing cup of tea. Mr. Pranitis rose to get some, then thinking better of it, decided instead to go to the bar. There followed a brief happy exhortation from that direction of the house, and the Halls, in the other room, chuckled and patted themselves on the back.<br />
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Next episode: revisiting old places and new faces. Stay tuned!Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3657913079072771729.post-81674519595100514342012-02-24T14:42:00.000-05:002012-02-24T14:42:20.219-05:00Neither wind nor snow nor rain nor gloomMrs. Hall looked out over the bleak expanse around Penguin
Hall. Puddles were growing so rapidly
around the perimeter she momentarily considered the advantages of advertising
their little plot as waterfront property.
This time last year they were sitting in a glorious bar on <st1:street><st1:address>Fifth
Avenue</st1:address></st1:street> trying to decide whether to go to <st1:place><st1:placename>Rockefeller</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype>Plaza</st1:placetype></st1:place> or the Plaza Hotel. Mrs. Hall nursed that vague feeling one gets
when it seems like the house is closing in around you and she sighed heavily.<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="250" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/cteyswg5yyQ?hl=en&fs=1" width="325"></iframe> “Perhaps we shouldn’t have been so hasty about selling your old boat,” she said. Mr. Hall wandered in. He looked out the window. “The tide does seem to be coming in a bit early today. Maybe looking at some new boats would cheer you up,” and he pulled a pair of tickets to the boat show out of his Learjet jacket. She brightened up immediately.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQpu_4I5E3ae_he5EoO59ivNj9m7ZRc3blU-nXeAaQqT80_L39pB-zrypA2kiPVDSr2LzGQlaMBJralGE6o12b3BDZQJofTaIPY2bA2cVuouesihT9cnvNoivgXqTiGIUyll2mrGIJzQPU/s1600/IMG_8756.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img "="" border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQpu_4I5E3ae_he5EoO59ivNj9m7ZRc3blU-nXeAaQqT80_L39pB-zrypA2kiPVDSr2LzGQlaMBJralGE6o12b3BDZQJofTaIPY2bA2cVuouesihT9cnvNoivgXqTiGIUyll2mrGIJzQPU/s200/IMG_8756.JPG" width="200" /></a> <span style="font-family: inherit;">Going to the Boat Show has always been a sort of seesaw affair for the Halls. While Mrs. Hall was used to rigging and sailing (and generally terrifying the local populace by cleating up the sails so hard in the pursuit of speed that she frequently turtled the craft), Mr. Hall was more accustomed to allowing Mr. Evinrude’s horses to propel him effortlessly, if not a little recklessly, around the lake. They had long since made peace with this division and if there could be any common ground between them at all, it was their mutual disdain of that Winnebago of the waterfront- the pontoon boat, or as it is more commonly known; the Party Barge. </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitrX2-hGwCdJ_m2zGYgHjoHkSOmvCyBpG3I-e_MiJrSPYSh9YWYhY8CHfJeRh__59Ra1ITLV9ni4tDbXs9prJb-afgyUNyoeLptaMNo8zLboplZkWZcx4io9u8a2tEgV3VHzEby0XEv8Tp/s1600/IMG_8758.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitrX2-hGwCdJ_m2zGYgHjoHkSOmvCyBpG3I-e_MiJrSPYSh9YWYhY8CHfJeRh__59Ra1ITLV9ni4tDbXs9prJb-afgyUNyoeLptaMNo8zLboplZkWZcx4io9u8a2tEgV3VHzEby0XEv8Tp/s200/IMG_8758.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQtE5NitEQKvbHDng6QnY0RiTFJsrXA3Bl2ze4AzTOqeohOrudz2a1xR2r4WecwGu_60Rr2r4HGzXkFWgOpjeVevC2oXVSe9J58GCmWYr0vPyZcZEv2gg0ouEvcKbnCxihUKBweIXt8X6a/s1600/IMG_8760.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQtE5NitEQKvbHDng6QnY0RiTFJsrXA3Bl2ze4AzTOqeohOrudz2a1xR2r4WecwGu_60Rr2r4HGzXkFWgOpjeVevC2oXVSe9J58GCmWYr0vPyZcZEv2gg0ouEvcKbnCxihUKBweIXt8X6a/s200/IMG_8760.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> There seemed to be a number of sailing vessels in the first building and the show looked as if it was getting off on the right foot. However, soon on, it became increasingly apparent the toll the economy had taken on the sport. "Wow," stared Mrs. Hall in surprize. "I guess what they say is true; it's never too soon to show yer kids how to play 'Beer Pong'". They wandered past the all too paltry assortment of yachts and suddenly, it appeared the entire west end of the building was turned over to nothing but pontoon boats. One story, two story, boats with kennels and disco lights and boats with massive sound systems blasting over the din.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMpaoZQE2Q1OJGLkt9J5_UR2iOOKerlAeURXixLplvyNTEwINLPW0XEgRcIH1e5H98CJV1TOpc2MZsB2sIufHLnucfVSyyUuUHk6aQEYZxQQZT5twrYfX7cttTJ5M9emtphKYBKVoNWs2W/s1600/IMG_8761.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMpaoZQE2Q1OJGLkt9J5_UR2iOOKerlAeURXixLplvyNTEwINLPW0XEgRcIH1e5H98CJV1TOpc2MZsB2sIufHLnucfVSyyUuUHk6aQEYZxQQZT5twrYfX7cttTJ5M9emtphKYBKVoNWs2W/s200/IMG_8761.JPG" width="200" /></a>"Here's what I'm talkin' about!" piped up Mr. Hall. Drawing a goodish size crowd around it was a particularly well turned out 26' boat with it's own dedicated lounge and barbeque grill. "Now that's putting the BAR back in Party Barge!" he said. He slid onto one of the barstools and sat back. The idea of a floating cocktail lounge had certainly rung true with the showgoers; there seemed to be no end to their fascination with the extraordinary craft.
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH7Mw_nXf_PSvjxTBmpmMoe0l6h9pWHVPx-cfgp9S0T4eRh52kiIuOARofUz5kOdg1zBtd0qi19E9cSGYX_SWIYBP8vHA9OwO66fvlZg9IQDnEFwDXJ1dOcOEzQLZJYrd2wlfVh0bhG2Db/s1600/IMG_8763.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH7Mw_nXf_PSvjxTBmpmMoe0l6h9pWHVPx-cfgp9S0T4eRh52kiIuOARofUz5kOdg1zBtd0qi19E9cSGYX_SWIYBP8vHA9OwO66fvlZg9IQDnEFwDXJ1dOcOEzQLZJYrd2wlfVh0bhG2Db/s200/IMG_8763.JPG" width="200" /></a></span></div>
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Dotting the seats around it were all manner of faux beverages, no doubt to drive home the idea to anyone addlepated enough not to notice- the industry had finally figured out that second only to the monumental guzzling of petrol that these beasts required, was the massive amounts of alcohol guzzled by the boats' occupants. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirN67m6NnrQquuaT-PRG0HzYUSu9hXs8AEryz3cLmPQJdUKN03cTlBsVbYqDPUwMRUyOXBf7EFEJc7fjb3bUaz5sAVmqf-DAt8AxTnferLWzCNtFDjJfSkT2m-9UqkQnFn3r4eybqYMY06/s1600/IMG_8764.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirN67m6NnrQquuaT-PRG0HzYUSu9hXs8AEryz3cLmPQJdUKN03cTlBsVbYqDPUwMRUyOXBf7EFEJc7fjb3bUaz5sAVmqf-DAt8AxTnferLWzCNtFDjJfSkT2m-9UqkQnFn3r4eybqYMY06/s200/IMG_8764.JPG" width="150" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">Why not stop being so squeamish about admitting this and get down to brass tacks- </span><a href="http://www.boattest.com/boats/boat_video.aspx?id=2615" style="font-family: inherit;" target="_blank">stick the bar right out in the open and let's get this party started</a><span style="font-family: inherit;">. </span></div>
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"You looked quite at home on that thing," remarked Mr. Hall as they slid on over to the next building. "It's true, that is one amazing boat," she said. "But I'm still a traditionalist at heart. Com'n, let's check out the powerboats."</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFmDIpTaYG8qQ3nxNTjL8V62Rn_h5OY_dg52pAQ4eRer_a8qt5Hz8mQzT5lihacXBOffgsfY_ltn6Ggh9pdPMB5yiDqhXxSciS19lC67lhaPBc6kcN4JfJI7f6PV2u_KVLa5_Jcbhv5YOG/s1600/IMG_8773.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFmDIpTaYG8qQ3nxNTjL8V62Rn_h5OY_dg52pAQ4eRer_a8qt5Hz8mQzT5lihacXBOffgsfY_ltn6Ggh9pdPMB5yiDqhXxSciS19lC67lhaPBc6kcN4JfJI7f6PV2u_KVLa5_Jcbhv5YOG/s200/IMG_8773.JPG" width="200" /></a> Apparently the coliseum used a shoe horn to fit the larger powerboats inside; several of the exhibits looked like a road show version of that wonderful scene from <i><u><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MVL4wKnpx2U&feature=related" target="_blank">Caddyshack</a></u></i> with Ted Knight and Rodney Dangerfield at the yacht club. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikNECHIVPb5KeWEZPM1PjXnXyOmSE5W7bn4l_VNb6yJLkl0S0Q7CkrFANawXl9oIns5ovaI7T-NhEFEfz77cHyKNdWXNcl06AMr0DBDPiPBfHCXhhUTfG0quA1FV1feemNHuK9d8RFCE07/s1600/IMG_8766.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikNECHIVPb5KeWEZPM1PjXnXyOmSE5W7bn4l_VNb6yJLkl0S0Q7CkrFANawXl9oIns5ovaI7T-NhEFEfz77cHyKNdWXNcl06AMr0DBDPiPBfHCXhhUTfG0quA1FV1feemNHuK9d8RFCE07/s200/IMG_8766.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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"Very nice; very nice indeed," mulled Mr. Hall. He surveyed the interior of a 37' Searay with a critical eye until he heard a strange noise overhead. He came up out of the cabin to find Mrs. Hall making engine sounds in the cockpit. "Look at me!" she said. "This thing is so automated, I can drive it with my eyes closed!" Mr. Hall shook his head. "Oh, for heaven's sake! Get out of there! You've got all the nautical sense of a navel orange. Besides, it's time we should be going."</div>
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They waved goodbye to the glittering tangle of chrome and ABS plastic, strolled out the parking lot and out to the gray winter skies above. It may have been dreary outside, but all the way home, visions of breakers splashing off the gleaming blue hull of a shiny new Chriscraft carried them away from the gloom.</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAPe5b9U-B-zlz4dlcIegkhQdj9n5LjfPQVfJ52LcHSOWFa8di-i7uVJSuMo1vyZM55K1lAWQuvIpuZhPzWC2s6MM9b32WxljsEvpVdQX_thJ9PmyFqiPeC2XaGI7dGwv8sWQN7fEk85FQ/s1600/IMG_8776.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAPe5b9U-B-zlz4dlcIegkhQdj9n5LjfPQVfJ52LcHSOWFa8di-i7uVJSuMo1vyZM55K1lAWQuvIpuZhPzWC2s6MM9b32WxljsEvpVdQX_thJ9PmyFqiPeC2XaGI7dGwv8sWQN7fEk85FQ/s200/IMG_8776.JPG" width="200" /></a></span></div>
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Side note: Earlier this month Mrs. Hall escaped Mr. Hall's usually stern surveillance, and had ordered herself another toy online. It came Wednesday via the post, and for the better part of an afternoon distracted Mrs. Hall just long enough to allow that window of opportunity for cleaning the bathroom to slip out of her fingers for another day. </span></div>
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<embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/B7sKqlM4LZg&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" width="325" height="250"></embed></object>Penguin Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17100059264413829899noreply@blogger.com0