Bruce the Blog

As we prepare for the last year of the first decade of the 21st Century (regular readers of this space will know I’m a stubborn little cuss who refuses to understand, let alone acknowledge, how a year ending in -9 is the end of a 10-year period. Makes no sense to me. (In all fairness to other wrong-headed points of view, I must admit my friend Bob Kleinman of Somers pointed out to me recently over sushi at Hanake Sushi in Yorktown — a great sushi place, by the way — that the first year of life begins at 0 and ends with a first birthday. So, the first day of life is 0, analogous to the first day of the first year of a decade, and when you count 1, you’ve already used up a year. OK, point taken.

On the last day of the year, running on the treadmill today at the gym, listening to my iPod, my thoughts turned to, of all strange people, Jim Morrison, lead singer and muse of The Doors. You know, the guy who reminds some people of Val Kilmer and who Oliver Stone has a thing for, like JFK.

Morrison sang about The End and, apropos of today, “You know, the day divides the night, the night divides the day, try to run, try to hide, break on through to the other side, yeah!”

That’s what we’re doing today and tomorrow, New Year’s Day, breaking on through to the other side of the calendar. Flip a page, flip a year, but NOT a decade…just yet.

Reading in The Rupert Murdoch Journal about one critic’s picks for top jazz albums of the year, I selected two I’d like to try. Once upon a century, that meant having to buy an entire LP and paying for a bunch of tracks (or cuts, as we called them) that you’d rarely if ever listened. You were paying a full-album premium price for the privilege of hearing a couple three songs you really liked.

No more. Today, thanks to the digitization of life, we can sample the world at our digits, formerly known as fingertips. So, I’ll go on iTunes, look up those year’s best albums and decide by listening to a few free seconds of some of the tracks if I want to buy individual songs or the full album.

I like this new way of sampling the world, and look forward to doing it for all sorts of diversions and necessities until the time comes when they decide to a la carte me away.

Happy New Year to all and to all a good (and safe) night. Make some serious noise. See you on the other side.

Okay, first that header. No, it’s not about a depleted jar of a branded ice tea powder mix. Nester is among those misnomers we’ve come to take for granted, even if they don’t make much, or any, sense. In avian terms, a nester is like a bird feeder. While it’s commonly assumed the “nester” in empty “nester” refers to the parents of children no longer living under the same roof, “nester” in fact means the home itself. So, Elyse and I are not nesters, we’re denizens of the nester, or nestees.

If you think about it (and believe me, I do), the same misnomer status obtains with the commonplace term “homophobia.” It’s actually a colloquialism rooted in a derogatory expression, not in the discipline of etymology. Broken down, homophobia literally means “fear of homo.”

Etymologically, the prefix homo- denotes two or more people or objects  or concepts alike in characteristics, hence homogenous to mean a group of similar things or homonym to mean words that sound alike, or, more to the point, homosapien to mean the species to which we all belong — human beings.

Applying the stringent rules of grammar, then, the coinage homophobia connotes fear of those similar to you, which is virtually the inverse of its common usage to mean fear of those different from you.

So, that’s my linguistics prologue to kick off an entirely unrelated topic. 

Which is this clarion call to arms: Empty nestees of the nesters unite!  You know what that’s about.

My creative idol Stephen Sondheim said, “When you’re a Jet, you’re a Jet all the way.” I say, when you’re an empty nestee, you got no kids around, you’re a familyless man. A little dramatic, I know, but please don’t revoke my poetic license.

Well, when you’re an empty nestee, there’s nobody around who doesn’t need to pop a cocktail of pills every day (some prescribed by physician, some prescribed by paranoia). There’s nobody around who doesn’t need to unbed during the graveyard shift to find relief in the loo. There’s nobody around who isn’t performing nose and ear and unibrow electrolysis before or after every shower.

When the kids hightail it to college or marriage or just lives of their own (”how rude!,” as Elyse would — and does — say) outside the cozy comforts of womb sweet womb, the peace and quiet are enough to drive you crazy.

Well, now it’s the year-end holiday season, when the kids who are doing who knows what in college are, for the winter interregnum, doing who knows what at home. You know what that’s about. Even when they are rumored to be home from the University of Tiass (This is a stickup, sucker: give me all your money to pay for the next four years for the rest of your life), there’s still, it seems, nobody home except for those who fulfill all aforementioned obligations that accompany the aging process.

Our daughter Elissa has been home ever since that fateful Friday a fortnight ago when I drove six hours in one limbs-in-limbo day to pick her and her friend up at their dorm and ferry them back to what used to be their forlorn norm before being liberated from high school and the ‘rents (that would be us oldsters).

It’s not that playing collegial chauffeur isn’t fun. It’s just that in the course of the arctic expedition to the snow belt of New York State, the mind drifts in aimless mischief to visions of sugar plum fairies, dental surgery, chestnuts roasting on an open fire, and colonoscopy, which for some reason reminds me of the time my car was rear-ended, pushing its tailpipe clear into the Corinthian leather interior like a sneaky snake named Alger Hiss presumably up to no good, but later acquitted of all allegations, thanks to a clean bill of health.

So ask Elyse and I where Elissa has been since she got home? Go ahead, ask us. No, really, I mean it. Take your time. We have no place to go. It’s she who has all the places to go that we don’t know about. We might be able to have a clue were it not for the lithium battery sadly losing its will to live on the homing device we surreptitiously attached to Elissa’s ankle as she was unconscious one day at 2:00 in the afternoon (or maybe she was just sleeping).

Attempts at humor aside, she’s really a good kid. Actually, she’s a great kid, who was pleased as spiked punch to attend a SUNY school (at Oneonta), not that that has anything to do with her being a great kid and all.

True, there are some subtle benefits to having a kid in the SUNY system. Thanks to state subsidies, the thermostat in our house overnight is only set at about 40 (and only that high because Elyse is a compassionate and forgiving god of budgetary prudence, aka tightwad), compared to what the thermostat might be set at if our darling daughter were matriculating at a private school. I don’t even want to think about that alternate university universe. By contrast, kids who perform random acts of matriculation at state colleges only get letters to their parents reprimanding them. Thank goodness for small-school favors. We are truly blessed. And, like most college kids, she is truly blissed.

At least Elissa had the enterprise and thoughtfulness to share a small part of her generous holiday downtime with a local pizzeria, a humanitarian effort for which she is cutely, if not handsomely, compensated. She worked there last summer and the owner flipped for her. Granted, in his business, flipping is part of the daily routine, but let’s not pick nits, and, while we’re at it, I like mine half pepperoni, half mushrooms, and don’t forget to hold the anchovies!

Even though Pizza Princesa Elissa was assigned evening hours, all the way to closing time, she, like her nocturnal paternal forebear, is a night person, so we know she won’t get home pasta her bedtime, which means there’s little danger of her being pie-eyed, in the sober sense of the word, plus she stands to make some decent spending dough, which she’ll knead back at college, where she’s a sister in Phi Sigma Sigma (the sorority was so nice, they named it twice), either that or they ran out of letters and had to double up. These are, after all, recessionary times. Damn you, Ben Bernanke).

It goes without saying that the vessels of the genes from whence Elissa sprang will be sad when she must return to the Land of Oneonta in the mist of the midst of January. We’ll miss missing her at home, and look forward with eager anticipation and total bemusement to the next time she’s home when once again we won’t know where she is, but also once again will be secure in the knowledge of where she surely is not: hanging out with the decidedly uncool (except when it’s 40 degrees overnight) empty nestees.

There’re lots of reasons I like this time of year. Invoking the lingo of my ute, harking back several decades to just past mid-century, “like, it’s the livin’ end, man.” The end, that is, of the calendar before we turn over a new leaf and begin again.

January is so called because of the Roman god Janus, a two-faced sonuvagun if ever there was one. This guy a god may have been, but poor Janus didn’t seem to know if he was comin’ or goin’. You know, that whole bit about ring out the old, ring in the new. Ring dem bells.

And so it is that in the ultimo canto of the annum (and I didn’t even take one semester of Latin, eh?) North County News announces its Newsmaker of the Year and offers our readers a retrospective of the year past.

This year, Managing Editor Kathleen Fitzpatrick has smartly decided to not only turn over a new leaf but to freshen the old one by at long last modernizing the paper’s long-in-the-tooth approach to rehashing what we all just lived through.

Thus, you’ll find in the December 30 NCN a more dynamic graphic representation of what Kathleen and staff have selected as the year’s most significant stories, based on how they affect the citizenry.

The Newsmaker of the Year is, we think, a somewhat obvious choice, and here’s a broad hint: in the various Election Day races in North County, incumbents prevailed for the most part. You can deduce it from there.

We also have it on good authority that come Wednesday, County Executive Rob Astorino will announce no less than four major commissioner-level appointments in his administration, and that the new year will bring with it (per my Dec. 28 blog below) some weighty news closer to home. Blood may be thicker than water, but in politics, people who control the water supply are pretty powerful themselves. Remember the Jack Nicholson-Roman Polanski classic “Chinatown”?

That’s enough cryptic commentary for one day. See you tomorrow, same space, same blogarithm.

I ran into Yorktown Supervisor-elect Susan Siegel at Panera Bread in the town’s Triangle shopping plaza Monday morning. Moments later, town board member Jim Martorano walked in. Some wag cracked, “One more and you’ll have a quorum.”

Then man-about-town Al Avitabile entered, he of Yorktown Lions’ Leos Club and Support Connection and too many other civic groups to mention. Also seen there was Monica Garrigan of American Cancer Society (ACS), whose leadership of Yorktown’s Relay for Life June event has made it one of the fastest-growing ACS fundraisers in the state. North County News is proud to once again in 2010 be the lead media sponsor of Relay for Life in partnership with ACS. I also was greeted by Steve, a very nice gentleman who thanked North County News for hosting the Holiday Wrestling Classic two weekends ago at Yorktown High School, where his freshman son is on the varsity squad.

I was there to confer with the braintrust of the hottest new group in Yorktown — and one of its most valuable: Yorktown Teen Center President Helena Rodriguez, Vice President Marcia Williams and Helena’s not-so-secret weapon, her daughter and inspiration, “Super Samie” Rodriguez.

As Helena tells it, it was Samie who encouraged her mom, a “troubleshooter” of sorts in the New York City school system, to lead the charge that culminated in the Teen Center being anointed as successor to the defunct Yorktown chapter of The Boys & Girls Club, whose Mount Kisco office determined it no longer could financially support its outpost in Yorktown and so pulled the plug on it.

The youth group could not be in better hands, so much so that our family has pledged a donation, with more to come through the Harrison Apar Field of Dreams Foundation.

We also encourage other local charitable organizations to get behind the Teen Center, a much-needed safe haven for our young people, where they can socialize, entertain one another and discover self-expression. In short order, the group already has established a First Fridays Cafe Open Mike Night in partnership with Jeff Veatch of The Justin Veatch Fund, with the second one scheduled from 6:30-9:00 p.m. on Jan. 8 in the Cultural & Community Center Nutrition Room. Acts who want to perform can sign up by emailing Mr. Veatch at yorktownteencenter@gmail.com. (You’ll find my blog about the debut Cafe in a December post titled “They Like Mike.”)

Helena Rodriguez, Marcia Williams and their board of directors, with the pro bono assistance of attorney and incoming Town Justice Sal Lagonia, just received all-important 501(c)(3) not-for-profit tax-exempt status from the Internal Revenue Service.

The Teen Center’s leadership currently is forming a Community Advisory Board. It’s a privilege to sign on for duty and I am encouraging others to do the same based on their track record as mentors, organizers and veteran volunteers.

Back at the ranch, Ms. Siegel will be inaugurated at Town Hall Friday, January 1 at high noon, followed by a celebratory lunch at Murphy’s Bar & Grill. In addition to the restaurant’s customary fare, the incoming supervisor told me Councilman-elect Vishnu Patel and Mrs. Patel will lavish their familiar generous hospitality and craft on guests with a spread of Indian food. She added that town board liaisons to various community groups — a dozen or more en toto — will be announced at her first board meeting Jan. 5, 2010. But as with any change in administration — government or corporate — inquiring minds have been wondering ever since she emerged victorious on Election Day what changes might be in the offing with some key positions in town government, stretching from administrative offices in Town Hall on Commerce Street to the Highway Department on Front Street to the Parks & Recreation Department at Sparkle Lake on Granite Springs Road.

Highway Superintendent Eric DeBartolo is an elected official, so he isn’t going anywhere, but the rampant speculation swirls around the additional duties he inherited — under the rubric Director of Labor Relations — two years ago after incumbent Supervisor Don Peters was elected but before he took office. Mr. DeBartolo’s ascension occurred under the Interim Supervisor watch of long-time Town Clerk Alice Roker.

Among those in the know — as well as those close observers of incoming Supervisor Siegel’s frequent appearances in recent months at the podium of town board meetings, as reported in the pages of North County News, Yorktown’s Paper of Record — tongues are wagging overtime about what seems to be an inevitable Battle Royale between the Siegel and DeBartolo camps.

We have no clue of the outcome, but it’s no stretch to surmise that since Eric DeBartolo’s track record is unquestionably formidable, as is his far-flung influence, as a freshman supervisor who never has held elected public office, what Susan Siegel wants and what she gets may not be one and the same. It seems doubtful, for example, that Deputy Supervisor Nicholas Bianco will be eager to trim the powerful Mr. DeBartolo’s sails.

How this drama plays out will be not only an early test of Ms. Siegel’s political infighting chops, but also one of the most volatile soap operas animating the new year.

The only thing we can be sure of is that, as always, you’ll read about it first in North County News, at NCNLocal.com and through our exclusive mobile SMS text alerts. Fasten your seat belts. The feeling here, to paraphrase the legendary line uttered by Bette Davis in “All About Eve,” is “We’re in for a bumpy ride.”

To: Thous and nine
Fr: Riddance, but not good
Re: A Disrespective

Greetings & Hallucinations,

It’s the end of the year
But not the decade
Then when?
That won’t happen till two thousand
1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,
10!

Yet what a year it’s been
None
The
Less

The Yankees win!
Thuuuuhhhh Yankeeees wiiiinnn!
Oh, you’re a Mets fan?
Condolences, my friend.

Bernie made off
Like a bandit
Until his grand scam
Hit the fan

Now instead of a license to steal
He’s banging out license plates
For The Man
In the can
But the Madoff clan has a backup plan

How could it happen
Why was it so
That the Jackson One
Is no more?

News of his demise
Flooded the air
The grief went on for weeks
As if he were still here

Michael’s muse became a monster
So sad that he couldn’t beat it
He thrilled millions with his brilliance
And left us saying, ” This Is It!”

Obama was born
To run
Obama was born
Somewhere for sure

Some are convinced he’s not
Certifiable
Others are relieved that’s true
And everyone hopes that he’s reliable

Some say Obamacare isn’t
Aware, it’s fat
What’s an ailing country to do?
Somehow we’ll muddle through. Atchoo!

Then there’s Tiger’s tale of
Whoa!
Who would’ve thunk
He’d sunk this low

What happens in Vegas
Stays in Vegas?

Not if you’re a big swinger
Scoring birdies
As a matter
Of course (mismanagement)

The bogey man will get you
And endorsements will be lost

We hope ’09
Was more kind to you
And that the new year
Will be better still

One thing we all know even before we begin
It’s guaranteed to be a ‘10

From us to you
From wee to big
Be well, be good
Be a giver,  not a pig

Plus a word to the wiser
By now it’s well understood
Accenture the positive
Don’t be a tiger
And stay out of the woods

The only thing left to say is
Onward
Upward
Forward
Toward
A morrow filled
With dreams we will
Beg, steal or borrow

Starting with this
Shakespearean wish:
Out, damn sorrow!

‘Twas the night before Christmas,
And all through the shuls,
Israelites gathered to
Celebrate movies, not yules

That’s right. What for most of the world is Christmas Eve and Christmas Day is for many non-celebrants the annual festival of Takein, as in take in a movie and take in Chinese food. The holiday also goes by the interchangeable moniker of Gooutto, but Takein has a nicer ring to it, donchathink?

So tonight, before Christmas, Elyse and I are about to celebrate Takein/Goouto by seeing George Clooney in “Up in the Air.” Tomorrow, she has her festive sights set on “It’s Complicated,” which I would be happy to see if I were truly anorexic (my sister-in-law Linda thinks I just might be as I melt away before her eyes). At least if I were anorexic, that kind of movie would help discharge my digestive system. But I’m not anorexic, so I’d rather see James Cameron’s genre-creating “Avatar” in 3D.

Oops! Time to go … I’ll report back to all you Christmas celebrants later. In the meantime, Merry Christmas to all and to others a Merry Takein/Gooutto!

We’re baaack! Elyse insistently is calling “Up in the Air” “cute.” I call it “a clever movie with a message.” I told her I also can tell lickety-split when a movie script is based on a novel versus original material. The latter invariably varies from insipid to hackneyed to predictable to Hollywood ridiculous unreality. Of course, in this instance, I knew from reading Joe Morgenstern’s review (is there anybody else worth consulting on cinematic quality?) that the film derived from a novel by one Walter Kirn. I watched the beginning of another movie based on one of his works, “Thumbsucker,” but otherwise his is not a muse with which I am familiar.

I liked Clooney. Elyse afterwards remarked, “He always plays himself.” I allowed that such inference by a moviegoer such as he perhaps unwittingly is testament to the effortlessness of his craft. I had a close encounter with Rosemary Clooney’s nephew circa 1998 at a home entertainment convention in Las Vegas. He was on hand along with a mini-coterie of contemporary celebrities (in projects, not in generation). One was Matt LeBlanc, riding high at the time with red-hot TV sitcom “Friends” (which charms, along with “Seinfeld,” eluded me). I recall Matt with his arm in a sling. I recall Matt being a personality-challenged pill who barely deigned to chat up the likes of ink-stained trade press hacks like me. George, on the other hand, was as affable and warm and accessible and physically agreeable as he appears on the big screen. He talked to me about his newsman father Nick, who of late can be seen on cable movie channel AMC.

Then there was Gloria Stuart, Titanic the Movie’s doyenne in the pivotal and spine-tingling role of Rose the Elder (portrayed in the main by Kate Winslet), whose tossed amulet serves as the film’s talisman, or what the great Hitchock dubbed the “Maguffin.” That would be a property in the movie that seems to be what the plot revolves around, but in truth is more of a diversion than an indispensable driving device.

Anyhow, one of the prized photos hanging on the wall of my home office is a photo of yours truly standing backstage at that late ’90s Las Vegas convention presentation with Clooney and Stuart. I don’t know where LeBlanc was and could care less. Perhaps he was just having a bad night and preferred to be somewhere else than with the likes of us when the photo was posed. Whatever, he did not hide well his boredom any more than I now hide well my disdain for his unsociability.

Back to “Up in the Air.” If Oscars (or, perish the thought, Golden Globes) were meted out for Best Opening Credits, my vote would go to this film. Bless Jason Reitman (the film’s director and son of Animal House director Ivan Reitman) for having the uncommonly good sense among his directorial fraternity to understand that audiences like me have little patience to endure the self-indulgently prolonged sequence of most Hollywood movies’ opening credits. Here, the names on the screen flit by quickly, thankfully. The overall graphic conceit of this film’s credits are a credit to the production designer. I’m not sure if there are specialists in Title Design these days, in the tradition of Saul Bass, known for his patented and indelible James Bond movie opening sequences. They don’t make ‘em like that any more, that’s for sure.

The Men’s Room Critic I heard, as I … OK too much information … told his compatriot, “That one is a keeper.” He then added that his 47-year-old divorced son had been through a series of women, each of whom “was crazy about him,” but he, like Clooney in the movie, had a commitment problem. Presumably, from where I sat, that’s why this gentleman could relate to Jason’s vision.

Enough already. On Christmas Day, I am looking forward to seeing the 3D version of James Cameron’s “Avatar.” I then will talk about my close encounter about 10 years ago with the Titanic director at the Marriott Marquis on Times Square. And I have a Cameron-signed Titanic poster to prove it.

For now, I only will say that as Elyse and I exited the showing of “Up in the Air” at the less-than-satisfying Trademark Cinemas at Jefferson Valley Mall (the sound was not great), we encountered friends en route to their second viewing in as many days of Avatar. That was a good sign this is a movie worth seeing.

We’ll be sure to let you know if we agree.

There’s a whole bunch of reasons I love what I do. Two of them are the annual community competitions North County News sponsors, on the cusp of winter and the end of spring.

The first Sunday each June is the NCN 5K at FDR Park, where more than 100 runners leg it out for medals and t-shirts and cash rewards, but mostly for the gratification of  giving it their all for 2.5 miles, which for the leaders of the pack lasts just under 30 minutes.

What’s great about that is the range of ages in the field, from preteens to octagenarians who put middle-agers like me to shame with their athletic prowess and stamina.

Since 2003 this time each year, just as secondary school classes are breaking for the holidays, there’s the North County News Holiday Wrestling Classic hosted by Yorktown High School, under the aegis of Athletic Director Fio Nardone and, starting in 2008, Varsity Wrestling Coach Giovanni “John” Tornambe. Both do an outstanding job preparing, organizing and staging this popular dual-meet that last weekend saw a dozen area schools send varsity and junior varsity grapplers to the four mats in Yorktown High’s gymnasium.

It is quite the spectacle. The squared circle of mats forms an intersection, or pit, where their common corners almost touch before yielding to the bare hardwood that separates them. Along with the clutch of press photographers who plant themselves in the “pit” to easily pivot, I enjoyed the vortex-like vantage point that provides a 360-degree view with little more than a head swivel.

The swelling and calming of crowd noise from respective cheering sections cues the eyes to follow the ears in the direction of climactic, possibly match-deciding, action.

The warriors bound out from their corners, slapping their thighs to get the blood and adrenaline flowing full force before crouching in the familiar Greco-Roman set, pitched for battle.

At the lighter and middle weights in particular, the physical conditioning on some of the athletes emerges in the bas relief of cuts, rips and multi-packs, a physiognomic study in distinct muscle groups like the wall chart illustrations that are fitness center fixtures.

As we watched the non-stop action, Alan Alterbaum, veteran vice principal of Sleepy Hollow High School, which placed third in the tournament with a semi-final win over Somers, said to me the reason he enjoys wrestling — even if he is not familiar with the nuances of its technique or scoring — is because it’s the “rawest”of competitive athletics, with “no implements.”

I concurred, adding it’s “mano a mano.” Alan, a runner who logs a few miles each and every day, noted that track is in the same rarefied space, employing the human body as the only instrument that comes into play. I nodded, recognizing both wrestling and running as the oldest forms of sport.

Congratulations to top finisher Brewster, and runners-up John Jay-Cross River and Sleepy Hollow, as well as to John Jay’s Billy Watterson for receiving the Scott Hauser Most Outstanding Wrestler Award, and to Edgemont’s Chris Graybeal for going home with the Matt Zeller Sportsmanship Award.

In a first this year, there was television coverage of the NCN Wrestling final match through the facilities of MSG Varsity, with the first airing set for Cablevision Channel 14 Christmas Eve at 8:00 p.m. You also can check out the fast expanding coverage of high school sports at MSGVarsity.com and the companion interactive channel 614 available to Cablevision IO Optimum digital subscribers. 

It’s merely a hard rain that’s gonna fall today — aka snow. But for those, like Elyse, whose wonderment at the frozen drops has not abated a bit since childhood (perhaps even has escalated), the precipitation is cause for heightened anticipation.

We’re perusing the weather maps on TV that depict accumulation along New York State’s eastern corridor. The towns of Mahopac and Poughkeepsie are labeled, but not Yorktown or other places in between. So it’s left to the mind’s eye to fill in and approximate where our house falls within the layers of projected inch-count. In verbal parlance, it is called synecdoche, or using a representative object to connote a larger context. (The arcane term may look more familiar of late due to the eponymous Hollywood film by eccentric film talent Charlie Kaufman.)

Friday’s “winter storm” forecasts for the weekend changed rapidly from morning to noon to night. First, the weight of the storm was projected to fall to the south and east of New York City, focusing its atmospheric wrath on Long Island, with perhaps a topical dust touching the Hudson Valley. That wimpy forecast then presently shifted to predict heavier accumulation in this region.

At about 9:30 Saturday morn, Elyse advised me the snow would plow through in about an hour. I scoffed, “No way.” But, since the 7th Annual North County News Holiday Wrestling Tournament was in play today and yesterday at Yorktown High School, I was anxious about when the snow would begin its descent, and how that timing would affect the tourney’s stretch run to the championship round late Saturday afternoon.

Not to worry. The competition went off without a hitch, thanks to the cooperating weather and mostly to host Yorktown High School Coach John Tornambe and Yorktown Central School District Athletic Director Fio Nardone, who put together a great draw of 12 teams, with top props going to Brewster, which bested John Jay-Cross River in the finals. Placing third was Sleepy Hollow.

So, here it is 6:48 p.m. Saturday and we’re still waiting for “go, snow.” Now, however, the forecast fingers the inch count at 12″-18″, far more robust than the incipient prognostications.

Weather or not that proves prophetic, we won’t s’know until Sunday.

Married people start off by giving each other the finger. I’m speaking of course about their respective ring fingers. We’ve all lost wedding rings. Haven’t we? We haven’t? I have. It was many moons ago and my ring finger has felt nekkid ever since. I’ve never gotten used to my ringless finger.

I couldn’t fathom how the ring went missing, but I was certain it was in our house somewhere, hiding mischeviously as if to say, “Come out, come out, wherever you are and try to find me, sucker!” Rings are devilish, after all. Just ask Dante Alighieri.

Well, the good news, for the missus and me (no wonder Tiger got himself in so much trouble; missus sounds dangerously close to mistress, doesn’t it? He must have been confused: having that many balls in the air at once, if only he reverted to form and used a scorecard to keep track of who exactly was his lawfully wedded wife, he might have gotten out of the rough and recovered by now, sitting pretty again on the green endorsements) is that she found my ring the other day. It was hiding, as I suspected. It was in the bathroom closet on the floor. How it got there, as Lou Costello said to Bud Abbott about the third baseman in their classic “Who’s On First?” routine, I DON’T KNOW!

But I’m glad to have The Ring back on The Fing. ‘cept a funny thing happened on its way to my pinky’s neighbor. Guess that finger’s muscle memory had been reconditioned in the interim and got a tad too used to being ringless.

The morning after Elyse’s discovery, I was already at work when I realized I forgot to put the ring on, having left it sitting atop an apothecary jar on the sinktop so I could keep it out of harm’s way. Unfortunately, and inadvertently, I also kept it out of my way.

But, I’m wearing it now. I feel like a new man. Call me Ringo.

CBS Newsradio’s Joe Connolly this morning reported some encouraging figures about hopeful signs the economy is wiping the slumber from its indices.

For example, Fedex reported a 15% spike in business over its best day during the 2008 holiday season, and sellers of mattresses and appliances also are optimistic about strong rebounds in their transactions.

 Of course, it’s become axiomatic for politicians, analysts and business leaders to agree that the most critical segment of the economy to watch are small businesses, which have been hit hardest by the prolonged slump and are the last to benefit from the gradual learning curve of recovery.

The challenges of job creation coupled with the burden of more costly health benefits, exacerbated by being at the tail end of the economic food chain conspire to make it difficult for small businesses to pull themselves up out of the financial doldrums.

 But if the early signs are not a fluke or aberration, there may be a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel even for small businesses. Let’s hope so for all our sakes.