You know you're from Wolcott...

At a recent Christmas gathering with friends (in which all of us have known each other since 3rd grade), the topic came up why a significant portion of the town’s population has been born and raised in Wolcott. Some, like me, grew up here, moved around and came back home. Others have called our town home from day one. The idea of hometown pride has been further resonated with the start of a Facebook page called You Know you’re from Wolcott, if… The page is part class reunion, town history lesson and part happy hour chatter (minus the bar bill). It was the brainchild of Dawn Barzda Stevens who, like many of us, love what our little town has to offer and wanted everyone to have a chance to chat about it. To date the page now has 200+ members, and there is not a day when my Facebook notification does not ring with an inquiry or comment from someone who grew up here. Let’s see, today someone posted about the three swimming areas off of Chestnut reservoir. What where the names? This lead to further comments and childhood memories including a comment from one who mentioned she met her future husband there. For the record it was Arrowhead, Bucks Hill, and Sandy Shore. I also see we are now going down memory lane of teachers in town. Who had this person, and what was the name of the Wakelee School Principal. The cool part about this is that it is being used by people who moved away years ago and want to reconnect with the town. One person was struggling with street names so someone else jumped in to lend a hand with the streets and their faded memories. Food and drink are always a big hit too. Someone recently posted if anyone remembered the “Night Owl,” while others mentioned the original Me-Ma’s or LaQunita’s or even the Long Acre Inn. I had my first battle with a lobster at Long Acre…the Lobster won. Of course the Mickey Mouse rock was brought up, as was the little league field by the golf course, Lewis School, Chris the Ice Cream man (featured here last year by the way), and countless other tid-bits about our town. Two things of note, if you are not from here, you will have trouble with this page, but if you grew up here this is a history lesson that truly brings you down memory lane. One more thing, the page is a bit addictive. I can’t play Candy Crush or other similar mind traps, but put up a posting about Diamond Oil from 1972 and you have my attention. Throw in a side order of memories about the original A&W restaurant on Wolcott Road and I can safely say you had me a Root Beer. All kidding aside, this is one page worth checking out. It’s by email invite only, but search it and one of us will let you in. After all, you must be from Wolcott.

THE CARD...

In our life we receive many cards. We start out with happy birthday cards, holiday cards, special event invitation cards and more. As we get older, we move to a different kind of notice complete with school acceptance cards, wedding invitations, and graduation cards. And then in adulthood, we morph to a whole other category of card. Gym membership cards, store courtesy cards and airline frequent flier cards. And this is where the story begins. First a little background information. I have a small family. One teenage son and a wife. That’s it. The dog and cat never get mail so they are out of the equation this time around. In the spirit of fairness, I will not mention which family member the rest of this story is about. Recently this family member received a note…and a temporary card welcoming them to the “club.” It’s a club that only certain people can be a part of, and while I am sure there are rules to this club, after awhile everyone can get in. It’s like the worst kid playing hide and seek, after a few hours you have to come out and say “Hey, I’m right here…duh!” Back to the card story. So anyway this family member was not happy to be a prospective member of the club. I on the other hand thought it was sweet of them. It included a pretty gray and red courtesy card and had 4 letters on it. It also talked about all of the wonderful things you can do while being a member of this club. There were discounts, and a free tote bag and information, lots of information about medicine and insurance. That was the area that my family member groveled the most about. For me the 10% off at every Hampton Inn was a deal breaker. Sign me up. Ahh, but there was the rub. I cannot be a member of this club. I am not eligible yet to be a member of this club, maybe next year. Oh wait, nope not next year either. I am assuming that is why my family member is not happy. I can’t be in the club, but they can. How sweet. I just don’t get it. This month’s article about the wonderful advancements of knee replacement was fascinating. And the one on one with the last surviving member of Teddy Roosevelt’s cabinet was pretty interesting too. The other member of the family is indifferent about this membership offer. If it can’t be used in combination with a GameStop gift certificate, then it’s useless. So here we are right in the middle of the holiday season, and our first card is an offer to join the club…for free no less(if we act soon), and my family member is not happy about this. I am trying to be understanding of their angst, but maybe it’s immaturity on my part. Yeah that’s it immaturity. I’ll keep you posted on how this turns out. It’s 5pm and if we get to the local restaurant before six we get an extra 10% off. It says so right on the card. Happy Holidays everyone.

Looking for Mr. Goodbar!

It’s Halloween night and the last of the kids has trick or treated their way from our home. A light mist kept the overall kid count down this year as maybe 40 or so children and a few big kids showed up. Like most, we handed out the fun size version of candy bar, with each child getting 2 “minis.” It’s a standard giveaway these days, or is it? While looking at my son’s catch of the evening, complete with dumping it on the kitchen table, I noticed two things. People give out more than candy, and “Where in the world did Mr.Goodbar go?” For those of you who don’t know about Mr. Goodbar, it was my dad’s favorite candy bar and really nothing more than a chocolate bar with peanuts, pretty pedestrian by today’s standards. The reason it carried such weight in our household was that it was a great bargaining chip. If I handed over all my Mr.Goodbars, then I knew I could cash this in at a later date. Let’s keep in mind the negotiating skills of a nine year old usually consisted around being able to stay up to 10pm on a given night, instead of 9pm. Even still, having a Mr. Goodbar was gold in these parts of town. Back to the treats that were littered across our kitchen table, a deadliest catch of candy. There were eye balls, key rings, wrist bands and other knick knacks. It was a cross between a candy store and the check-out of a dollar store. My favorite was the candy eyeball which was popped into my son’s mouth without hesitation. “It’s just bubblegum dad.” No, it was icky and not going anywhere near my lips. He lamented over the fact that someone gave him pretzels. Hey, I’ll take that over an eyeball any day. The other thing I noticed was the absence of full size candy bars. In total there was one sitting in the middle of the table. A Baby Ruth, sitting there all proud, standing out like a six foot fifth grader during an awards ceremony. I negotiated for it, but kids today are different. I was offering items like a ride to school in the morning. He countered with a new video game. Enjoy the Baby Ruth kid. So here we sit, the day after another Halloween, a mini pile of treats await us as we try and figure out how to ingest these little treats while tricking our minds that there are no extra calories associated with these tasty snacks. It useless as the holiday snacking period has officially begun. Even without Mr. Goodbar!

The Other Colors of Autumn!

As temperatures drop and days shorten, the next natural occurrence of nature is to have leaves fall from their trees. Of course before then, we are invited to watch a truly awesome visual display of colors. I offer up that poetic introduction as I recently did another time honored tradition, that of chopping wood. Actually I was splitting big sticks to start a fire, but the thought was there. As I was doing this manly chore I got a splinter and as most manly men will do, I attempted to remove the splinter by biting on my finger, hoping the pressure would push the mini tree back to the outside of my skin, and all will be right with the world. After several attempts of biting my finger, complete with walking in circles while attempting this medical treatment, I realized that all was lost and I was going to need medicine. And for those of you who are saying, just get a needle and stab is out, you have sadly mistaking me for that other type of manly man, the one that endures pain. In the medicine cabinet there used to be three colors of medicine. Black, Pink and Red. All I could find was a bandage with antibiotic on it. Perfectly fine, but not what I needed for this medical emergency. This job called for something slimy, heavy duty and painless. This was a job for Ichthyol. For those of you may not be familiar with this salve, it comes in a small tube and has the consistency of used oil sludge. Its job was to make the particle loosen up and slide out. It also smelled like used oil sludge. In either case, we did not have any, and probably have not had a need for it in 30 years. In we have no black, we’ll move onto the red. This will help sterilize the area while I figure out what to do next. The red in question is Mercurochrome. A red substance that would help with the bacteria and this too had no pain attached to it. Upon further review, we also had no Mercurochrome. It appears it was taken off the shelves like 25 years ago due to concerns about Mercury poisoning. A bit over the top for me, but whatever… The third color in the arsenal of preventative medicine was pink, and we all know what that is; Calamine lotion. For any person on the losing end of a poison ivy attack or sunburn, your mom would lather you in pink. Here is the kicker. In 2002, the FDA issued a report saying that they cannot find any reason to list Calamine lotion as an effective remedy for skin issues of any kind. Thousands of kids…and adults…every year looking like cotton candy. Not sure how this was allowed to happen, but the Calamine lotion sales guy is feeling pretty good about things. So, here I stand, still walking in circles, biting my finger and hoping the mini tree lodged in my skin pops out. I have no red, no black and no pink. Just something called Neosporin. Sure it works, but it’s clear, and boring…What’s the fun in that.

The Other Woman.

Sadly it happens with many couples. Out of nowhere an intruder comes into your life and without warning, nothing is ever the same again. It happened in the Beland household. It’s true. The other woman, we’ll call her Elise. She’s wonderful, patient and oh so even tempered. Elise is the name I gave my GPS system by the way. And without her, I still might be driving around Washington DC, muttering to myself “There’s the Capital…again.”

There are certain traits I took from my father; a love of nature, a lack of hair, and a usually keen sense of direction. That all comes to a halt when I have to wander between Baltimore and Northern Virginia for work. They have inner loops, outer loops and loopty loops. There’s the occasional north-south parkway that runs east and west, and then my favorite road, the Baltimore-Washington Beltway. I have yet to find Baltimore or Washington on this road. In defeat, I broke down and did something I thought I would never do, and that is I bought a GPS system.

It was a low point in my directionally challenged journey. Then the voice appeared. Quiet yet confident, always two miles ahead of the next guy. Even when I messed up, Elise was there to softly add “make a lee-gel u-turn in .4 miles.” We got to really know each other while stuck on the Delaware Bridge, interspersing her road knowledge with the occasional “gas and facilities in 1 mile.” I must admit, I was smitten.

Of course like any new relationship, reality has a way of bringing you back down to earth. Somewhere around exit 16 of the New Jersey thruway, the phone rang. It was my wife, asking where I was and when might I arrive home. The conversation snacked with reality.
“Where are you?”
“I’m in New Jersey, and guess what?”
“What.”
“I have a new girlfriend.”
“I see…good for you. And she would be….”
“It’s my GPS system.”
“Well as long as she gets you home I guess. And maybe she could direct you to a place that sells milk. We’re out.”

I know, your reading this thinking “his poor wife.” Well she is not all sweet and pure in this relationship either. There are times when I travel for work and she is less than innocent. And it’s not just one name I might add, but two. Their names – Ben and Jerry. And I thought she was just being cute when she called me her “Chubby Hubby.” I started to become suspicious when she slipped and called me her “Chunky Monkey.” I hate monkeys and enough with the weight jokes.

There’s hope for us yet. I suggested she spend some time with Elise. Get to know her. Maybe miss an exit and really bond. Go for as long as you like. With a little luck the entire family can go on vacation together, and Elise can tell us where the local Ben and Jerry’s might be. Talk about an open marriage.

From Slovenia...With Love!

I received a rather interesting surprise tonight. In reviewing statistics for my fledgling blog, I found out that with the exception of the United States, I have generated more interest in the country of Slovenia than anywhere else.

Before I hire a P.R. agent, let’s keep things in perspective. The total number of hits from this small European Country…it’s in Europe right…is seven. Not 1,700 hundred but seven.

Seriously, why? I can see it now, some fur trapping family just waiting for my next blog. “Boris, American guy talking about Minute Rice…What is this Minute Rice?”

Here is what else I found. If I needed to go for a book signing, pending the writing of a book, I can fly from Boston (Hartford does not go to Slovenia direct) to a place called Ljubljana, Slovenia for approximately $1,600. This seems like a deal to me as I recently had to fly to Daytona for close to $900. Ljubljana is also known as the city of “Wine and Vine.” This means they were probably under the influence while reading my stuff.

I’ll let you know when the fan mail starts to come in. I’m not holding my breath though. I hear their mail carrier has the flu…I’ll stop. OK OK One more…Knock Knock..whose there…Slovenian guy…

Blame it on Minute Rice

At a recent concert, I had the fortunate opportunity to be within 20 feet of the stage. The band played, people danced and whooped it up, and the venue was pretty much a wall of sound. And then the second song started. Lesser amounts of whooping it up took place and countless concert goers felt the need to text, tweet, or email right there on the spot. Total attention time: 3minutes and 45 seconds. The remaining 120 minutes of the show was a combination of “Yeah, great song,” followed by “who in the world can I tell it’s a great song.” Of course, countless photos were added in for good measure. As I watched this, I realized that we are a country with the general attention span of a fire fly on coffee. How did this happen, and who started this sad spiral downward? After a night of pondering, I have found the answer. MINUTE RICE!

Yes Minute Rice. It was invented in 1949 and produced by General Mills. It is now owned by Kraft. Minute Rice, taste withstanding, was basically the Industrial World’s way of saying. “Your time is too important for yummy rice, and who needs to stand over a stove for 20 minutes.” The ironic part is that it takes more than a minute to cook it. What’s up with that? No matter, the sinister seed (or grain in this instance) was planted. Focus and concentration are no longer needed. I’m pretty sure the Kung Fu TV show in the 70’s had an episode about this, but my lack of focus is preventing me from researching this little known fact.

It gets worse. From there, Microwavable Minute Rice was introduced. For people who don’t have the time or focus power to boil water, you now can microwave your minute rice. Today’s leaders were the children of the Minute Rice revolution. Need I say more…

There are others in this conspiracy. In 1957, Zenith developed something called the “Lazy Bones.” It soon became what we know as the Television remote control. This allows us the opportunity to change the channel over and over, which is good because we have to do something with all the free time that Minute Rice has provided for us. Space constraints do not allow me to go further into the history of Jiffy Pop. If you think the two are not connected, you are sadly mistaken!

My other concern is what is expected down the road. You know when we look back and say nostalgically, “Remember the days when we had to wait just a minute or two for rice? Ah, those were the days.” This may be followed by “Honey. hook up the Minute Mental Telepathy Unit and create some dinner.” I could go on and on, but I need to now focus on something else. I’ve spent 17 minutes writing this, and I’m exhausted. Oh look someone tweeted to me. Got to go…