Rare, Collectible, & Otherwise

Tag: restaurants (Page 89 of 99)

Here now, the weather from BEYOND…

Clichés. Don’t you love them? Maybe yes, maybe no – but they are painfully difficult to avoid and just plain painful when they get mixed.

Case in point?

Live storm coverage from Dick Faurot. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not picking on Mr Faurot, as I appreciate his style and experience. Those guys doing the weather on television get a lot of grief, and it isn’t my intention to pile on here.

The radar was indicating tornadoes Saturday night and I was watching an interesting Sherlock Holmes show that fell victim to the storm coverage. (Sometimes I think we all are victims of the advanced technology that allows the TV weather folks to ramble on about “what’s going on.” Mr. Faurot’s words, not mine.)

Oh, wow. We’re going back to programming now. The show, that gives clues leading up to a conclusion, will have presented the evidence during our storm-break. We’ll see how that turns out when we are returned to regular programming.

Back to those mixed clichés. The phrase “In the Field” has been around for awhile. We have a reporter “in the field” and will have a report from him/her shortly. Maybe this one has gone by the wayside a bit, although I remember it well. Just as I am dismissing it here – Mr. Faurot has just used that phrase to describe one of his weather reporters. In the field. Oh, yeah. That guy is most certainly out “in the field.” Not in a car, truck, or van. He’s in the field. Yeah. Sure.

“On the Ground” is a new cliché that reporters these days try to work in at any opportunity. I’m not exactly certain why clichés are better than simple words. Maybe there is a cachet that is attached to phrases that are thrown around by the network big-boys/girls. Hearing them in a news report may cause other reporters to “jump on the bandwagon” (an old-school cliché) and work them into their stories.

Oh. Severe weather coverage is over. Back to network TV programming. Ooops. I’ve missed the conclusion of the program I was watching, due to the storm coverage. No more Sherlock Holmes. He was quick to present his own suppositions, and I suppose I can make up my own ending, based on the clues presented before the storm interruption.

Back to the case in point: here is the mixed cliché result from Mr. Faurot, part of his description of the weather activity in the Muskogee area. A tornado was indicated by radar, but there was no visual confirmation from spotters, which he wanted to point out.

Dick Faurot: We don’t have confirmation from anyone IN THE GROUND.”

Not “On the ground.” Not “In the field.” He landed on a mix of the two to tell us that nobody confirmed – from their graves, presumably – that a tornado had passed over. That is to say: No one IN THE GROUND confirmed the passage of a twister in the Muskogee area.

Spotters, they are called. Those folks who call in to assist the TV station in their coverage of serious weather events. Wouldn’t those reports be so much better if all those who are currently six-feet-under could add to the reporting?

Mr. Faurot, during a severe weather outbreak: We go now to Mount Carmel Cemetery and the Earthly remains of Miss Joyce Wachthewether, who – during her regular life – loved to watch the weather. Miss Joyce? What are you seeing from your vantage point IN THE GROUND?

Ms. Wachthewether: Well, to be honest, it’s mostly dark here – but I’m guessing that’s due to the bad weather. I’m hearing some whisking winds and it may be a good time to seek shelter underground.

Mr. Faurot: Thank you Ms. Wachthewether. We go now to John Adriver, who is on the Muskogee Turnpike, on the fringe of the storm.

The programming that had been ended tonight on KOTV for storm coverage has not been interrupted for the past fifteen minutes, which tells me that that previous break-in… the one that caused me to miss the end of the show I was watching – was mostly frivolous. Aaaaahh. I take that back. Not frivolous. But certainly, unnecessary.

Better to be safe than sorry – from a meteorologist’s point of view.

But many of us weren’t in the Muskogee area. Maybe most of us. It’s too bad that those TV weather reports, in this age of technology, cannot be targeted to the specific region in potential danger.

It’s also too bad that we can’t get on the scene reports from those correspondents IN THE GROUND. When I’m six-feet-under, I plan on making regular reports on the weather, the expressway traffic, and national politics. Check in with KOTV for reports from those of us – In the ground.

Movin’ & Shakin’ on Main…

Dishes are stacked in the kitchen. They are waiting. I am waiting, too. A break in the action. Today was Red Hat Lady Day. I’ll get to the washing and cleaning in a minute.

The tables at lunchtime were turned over to the group today, and since I’m still a one-man show with limited seating, it threw a kink in the dining plans of a couple of parties of nice folks who had driven over from Tulsa. I hope to be able to make it up to them in the near future.

In truth, this afternoon I was a one-man show with help from a kind-hearted sister. Kathy was kind enough to bring in a helper to cover at her store – Martha’s Heath Food and Herbs – so she could come down the street and bail out her brother by carrying bowls and refilling tea and lemonade glasses. A great help in serving all the Red Hatters at once. (Thanks, Sis!)

Meanwhile, the Ladies were suitably-attired in their matching-color-appropriate hats and enjoyed Irish stew, bread, and fresh-baked cookies before convening their meeting. I snapped a photo of the tables, all ready and waiting. Needless to say, once the chairs were filled there was no more time for my photography.

It wasn’t the only dining action in the Rose District today, although the chewing in the next block south was being done by a big, growling machine. They’ve taken down the building that will be replaced by a new structure to accommodate the In The Raw sushi restaurant. It’s great to see progress, even if it means seeing it with demolition-created-dust blowing into the eyeballs.

I took a stroll down to the bank (not remembering it closes at 4pm, just like in the olden days) and decided to snap a shot of the construction-destruction.

According to an email from one of my merchant neighbors, it was quite a show when it came down yesterday. One of my lunchtime guests yesterday mentioned there was work going on at the site, but I figured it was more of the just-puttering-around kind. Didn’t realize it was the kind of activity that brings down the house. Literally.

So, goodbye to a vintage Broken Arrow structure that probably dated to statehood, and hello to plans for a structurally-sound replacement that will help revive the commerce on Main Street.

Great things are in the works and great work is going on already.

Come visit!

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main Street, BA

Thistles and shamrocks. What?

The lettering on the front door says McHuston Booksellers & Irish Bistro. People ask me about the Irish connection.

People: What’s the Irish connection?

Me: It’s like the French Connection starring Gene Hackman without the Academy Awards, the car chases, the drug running, or the European mafia. Other than that…

Nah. It’s nothing like the French connection, come to think of it.

This afternoon, I whipped the picture from the shelf to describe the Irish connection, then promptly dropped it and shattered the glass. Ooops. The frame was too large, anyway. As a result of my salvaging the picture, I have a chance to scan it in to the blog today.

Family folklore suggests the photo was taken on their wedding day. Michael and Mamie. He spelled his name Michel and her given name was Mary, but she was known as Mamie. He came to the US from the Kingdom of Bavaria and her family rode the boat over, leaving their home in County Tipperary, Ireland.

They had a great marriage, since she spoke no German and he couldn’t crack that Irish brogue. The language of Love, and all that, I suppose.

After their marriage, they joined the many Irish immigrants who were working the new Katy rail line at its Parsons, Kansas jumping off point. From there, tracks were put down across Indian Territory to Texas, opening up a whole new avenue for commerce.

My father would speak occasionally about Mamie and the singing of the Irish songs with his buddies. He had a wonderful tenor voice. Shame on me for not learning the tunes from him then, but I have made up for that shortcoming over the years, Alive alive-oh! Alive alive-oh! Crying Cockles and Mussels, alive alive-oh!

You didn’t ask, but the McHuston part of the Irish connection comes from my dear Mother’s side of the family. Her people arrived on a boat years before the American Revolution, trotted over to the county courthouse, and immediately declared that they had lately arrived from Ireland.

Her family, at the courthouse: Here we are, then. Would ye kindly jot that down in the book for us? A note of arrival, if you will. The name is Houston, and that would be us.

Clerk, writing in the big book: Irish, you say. Like I would not have guessed that. All-righty, then. Huston it is.

And thereby, and forever after, the family lost the O that might have been included for posterity, so others would not call us Huss-tun. It’s pronounced just like the Astros and the Texans and the fellow Sam: Houston.

The Mac part?

In the old Gaelic language, Mac translates to “son of.” Mac Donald described the son of Donald.

Mac Huston describes the son of Ms Huston, who is my mother – the book-lover who instilled that same attachment in me.

And THAT’s the Irish Connection (if it isn’t all a load of Blarney…).

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