We start. On my ode to the lighthearted, “Wise Men and How I could never make their journey to the manger,” which drew many comments including one from “Galilee.” In retrospect I was illustrating how epic and important this quest was. And much, much more quickly than I’d make it through that desert. In terms of years … Decades … Centuries …
And I return to, oh those omnipresent Agave Kitchen nacho-nushing signs. It says: Turn those gift cards into nachos. So (you’ll need to) create corn crumbles. Then later, Santa doesn’t want cookies, he wants nachos. Like so many of us.
I saw, on what had been my Halloween walk, as in a runner-on sentence: Many “Christmas strawberries” on a side-street otherwise bit gnarly mural, still more roofing projects and again such work (big pink houses done by orange-clad workers) at the Phipps Inn in the massive DIY spirit that got us swimmingly through the pandemic, new red and orange and a little of pinkish berries on a sprig of bushes that are like mistletoe, a Me And My Old Lady Sitting In The Shade-type scene of a winter sun shining on such a porch (a main one back-to-back then another back-to-back), and all that cool and naturalish-looking brush and bush making for a front yard that’s now chopped away with many a stone kept and bird houses too, (though not nesting season.)
On the porch of that old house just down from the pink Barbie House — where Ken lives as a senior? — there’s now a RWB flag amongst RWB poppies sitting in front of a red Santa sign.
A block away, a blue mesh fabric falling all around has in its middle a couple of even more beautiful RWB pinwheels.
And that angling fence, going up a hill, alongside which a remembrance sign with flowers was placed in autumn. It has now not fallen, but been fully straightened.
At Cornerstone Church, that line for donated food recently extended much longer, almost a block, and that was not at the offering’s opening. It should be noted that after Christmas, there was a lesser turnout, as Santa and/or God must have given.
That Christmas tree I described with sealer setting aside, along with a (prayer) book: It was there until the very end of 2023, then removed. Mistetoe remained.
When tuning in the TV news when back from the holiday, it was shown to be, as I have already written, just how much need there is everywhere in our world. A delivery guy shoots down so many lives, then guns for more. California farmers are without any water. Only now, finally, can felons reform their lives and get a college degree. Crackerbarrel donates 800 boxes of food to a shelf, but that’s only about one percent of the need.
At the cusp of the new year, the ground was sprinkled with silvery frost, much like the hair of that looking-older Ken to his Barbie.
I saw that morning the parking guy, and the Happy New Year wishes were shared, as the old year had just passed like an expired meter. Who had the worst joke? Who trumped who? “Why is Santa so jolly. He knows where all the naughty girls live.” Touche, he said. He better drop some pounds if he wants to ride their sleigh.
So, another “daylight in the swamp” joke. However, this can be quite serious. If you are a Toadie. But this is a survival story. How do they find a way to burrow in the mud and sleep silently at this time of year. Renewal in the dirt.

Here we go, blow by blow. How do the new meet the older old?
As I left the Buena Vista apartments, at the corner of Vine and Second streets, before I even noticed the lingering white snow interspersed with grass of Christmas green, I saw the omnipresent pulling-over cop with flashing red and white and blue lights in a parking lot far, far away — OK actually just a bit more than a block. This is NYE, so there likely was a reason, although maybe not a real good one.
After taking only a few more steps, I couldn’t help but see a half-block ahead a good dozen partiers leaving, after living it up, the Smilin’ Moose. I had to stop for a few moments to let several more people pass, and immediately saw the first bare midriff of the night, (am I obssessed with abs?) That main crew soon broke up and went to separate parking lots to then return home, to the Cities I’m guessing — even though it was only 15 minutes into 2024.
But before, there was a bit of bitching from the babes, but it was bitchin’ indeed. The guy(s) they were with, or who were standing next to them, at year-turning-time only gave them a kiss on the cheek and/or forehead, and it was unclear whether they’d indeed wanted it to be more or less, as in not at all. But no tongue, the champagne from the toast had not sunk in yet.
Over at Hudson Tap, there was again bartenders mimicking bartenders, both having silvery sparkling disco-like pants and matching each others short on-the-bottom and strappy on-the-top tops. One also had the newer in-vogue tied up balls, ping-pong-like, of hair on top, but not at the upper corners of the head, but balled nearly together in a marriage in the middle.
Dick’s too was (newly?) packed. A guy followed me toward the entrance and asked, noting the bar’s name, if it was a gay club. I assured him, decided, that it is not. (Ask the blonde woman I talked to, wearing some of the glitz that was oddly rare this evening, who talked to me at length while spilling her popcorn. I’d shot back that on this very festive night she should feel free to take a second big bowl — actually I said this well before those corns hit the floor.) And where was The Little Black Dress and heels, too. Saw some of that the previous night, moreso.
Outside, there were patches of gritty stuff poured out in places on the sidewalk — to cover either ice or, on this night, you know …
But the Dick’s experience put a cap, like a Santa hat but not really, on the night as far as who I saw. Used to be dozens, but not quite a dozen, on this night. It had been a time when you’d see scores of people, as many as the different kinds of music scores, who made sure they got out and about, if only on this eve. The new guard replacing the old guard, which has largely gone. They still show once in a while even after the pandemic, but are still virus and occasionally vile-patron-as-villian guarded. There are a few people who I was sure would score on the scene, likely early rather than late as all being of that age, despite this new scenario, but there were not here.

But then there was the next day. New Year’s Day. Sitting on the sidewalk outside The Smilin’ Moose was a whole bunch of ice chunks, a b arrel full, apparently poured out there at the end of the night’s revelry. There also were some things that looked like lemon slices, but they were actually gold pieces of shiny confetti! All around the ‘walk.
A block up, again chronological order, a party hat from The Eve was sitting even in the spot farthest between night spots. And it was set upsidedown.
Would some of the previous night’s revelry haunts be open for business, this being New Year’s Day? There were, in the parking lot of Ziggy’s, a trio of cars, but were they just parked there from patrons still hogging the space from the night before? Three more people approached the door and were able to enter. Question answered. (This venue is known for having the sign on their interior-even door, saying that they are open, but that door is closed because hey, it’s cold outside, and we’re conserving heat. Some of the chefs might tell you it would be great to bottle some of that, strike that, use it now in the dead of winter rather then have it bake even further in their often torrid kitchen in summer.)
Hudson Tap used The Day to open at their earliest time of any of the seven days of the week, 11 a.m., and stay open until 1 a.m., the latest closing time of any they have except weekends. And this dear reader, if it need be noted, is a Monday, when even Sunday’s time can be fickle.

A last tale from the crypt, and this could be a bit cryptic. On The Eve, the Dick’s bartenders were wearing shirt and prominent tie, and apron over the top, which I’d not seen before there, maybe because of a few directives from Those On High. In over a decade of noticing, I’d never seen Chad on a shimmery sheened button-down shirt! Like something Charlie Sheen might sport just for NYE, to best his other one-and-a-half-men?

This holiday that is on the heals of another merges their visual appeal.
Start with dad. And not him shaving, God forbid, as we are still trying to get him another special funky electrical one that is deemed safer. (The old one shorted out. Santa didn’t deliver. At least not yet/this year.) His nursing home aide wore oversize Santa and such sparkling glasses — no doubt inspired by a co-worker who on one Eve wore a Nice hat, then the Next Morn, Day And Night (pulling a double?) a Naughty hat — that was maybe more fitting for not the 24th, but the 31st.
On the TV was a reindeer documentary, and it was noted that they, and the reindeer games they play that continue on (see below), are quite motly and even ugly creatures, with big hair here and little there, but such covering their noses. And as mischievious, with their nibblings across the fence, as an elf, who is going a bit postal because of too much overtime.
Or to mash three TV bits together, as an orangetan stealing an ornament from a snowy owl?
Then a commercial, or was it actually a puff piece? WE Energies has built two 12-million gallon tanks so they can buy up natural gas when it is at its cheapest and stockpile it, rather then purchase it at market — and that often means high — rates in the dead of winter. Can this help fuel the need to run all those holiday yard displays? (OK maybe not so much a puff piece.)
What would a holiday be like without flags, and not just of countries. Constantly rolled out there sports teams among their tapestries hanging from mailbox posts. I didn’t know pro pigskin’s Pittsburg still used/waved their steel curtain of of Terrible Towels. Steeler’s Wheel of time?
And to lead into our now unfolding next holiday, all those (bitcoin?) bits of glitzy and decorative paper circles, the size of dimes, seen every few feet on the floor all across a nightspot or two, making me think that maybe I could gather enough for a bigger tip, but no. The only paper of such type that is more then uh huh, momentarily pretty, but monetary, is a twenty dollar bill. Or fifty in a more upscale club, such as the Twin Cities (exotic?) dance place a new friend works, The Seville — but just as a server mind you — as one of her three jobs, ying and yang and both. To reference what’s above, that’s more than a double.

This New Year’s Eve is a meeting of the minds and music and munching, and other mirth, that is in equal parts both old and even new. But the bands are tried and true.

Celebrate these good times for New Year’s Eve at the new 501 Tavern in North Hudson, the owners there say, and as they’ve already become known for, still have enough dough left over for that January money crunch time so you can buy bread until February, I say in a teasing way. Starting early at 4 p.m., get any two dinners, a bottle of any wine or champagne with a slice of chocolate cake for each of you … all for just $70. Ring in the New Year with them, for this first time around, they say, and they can’t wait. People a few years back had known that the previous venue at this location, Seasons Tavern, was known for their NYE extravaganza that in this case might have had Cake for music, but hey, try out this new tavern version!
And speaking of reasonable, The 501 will have their killer breakfast available — and patrons say try their said-to-be-great mimosa/bloodies too, as this is a day/night for revelry — on the morn of the eve also, just like they did over Christmas on the 24th! So a repeat on the 31st.
Another establishment is celebrating their first New Year’s, Louie’s, in the town of Hudson a few blocks west of the truck stop, just north of Interstate-94, in the former location of Paddy Ryan’s. They have quickly become known for their great baked, and more, take on fine dining, and cocktails, too. New Year’s Eve specials are: Lobster Risotto, featuring a full 9-ounce lobster tail, complete with a creamy parmesan risotto and grilled asparagus; and also Grilled Ribeye, a big 18-ounce bone-in ribeye, black truffle compound butter, wild mushroom risotto, and again, grilled asparagus.
And although it’s new, Louie’s is setting a standard, doing what few do these days, that being open for business on New Year’s Day.
The Bungalow Inn in Lakeland is a bit different having been around and established for years, and they are back in the driver’s seat with Sunday night’s return of the music show The Drive, starting at 9 p.m. (This accompanies a great food and drink selection, especially wines.) If you liked that band on Halloween, try out The Bungalow again! If you think you know them, they are versatile, as The Drive rolls on down the highway with hard driving rock from the ’70s and ’80s. Your commute to a smokin’ New Year’s — in part because their logo shows a cool highway-themed neon sign from back in that day — as the Bungalow provides a unique atmosphere to hear a band with their stage set-up and room for dancing.
And the Bungalow is open at 11 a.m. on New Year’s Day.
The GasLite in Ellsworth is offering their traditional and obviously popular New Year’s Eve, live music with the versatile band Coconut Tiger, which has also become popular at other venues across the area. But it got started with the GasLite. Their visual calling card is the blonde lead singer, who as I’ve written, bears a strong resemblence with both face and hair, and body shape and height, to a favorite bartender on the north end of things, and also my social-butterfly niece, and what’s new is that I’ve learned over the holidays that the latter is also a music fan, but with tastes far different than mine. I suggested that we do karaoke, but she was busy the night I pulled into Milwaukee, although she seemed intrigued. Maybe we could find common ground with tunes, later this weekend, over the music of Coconut Tiger? And maybe share breakfast the next day at the GasLite at 7 a.m.
Also with music, longtime local country legends Austin Healy hit The Emporium, coming back again onto the scene in a continuing way that makes one think of The Stones, also being on tour across states. And others. The venue with lots of bands could be thought of as Austin City Limits, being located at the Hudson city/town line. Near Louie’s. Fit both into your eve?
On the way this holiday falls — and this has been happening a lot in the last couple of years — those places that have the most live music, such as normally twice in a weekend, could now go full bore with bands as bookends to the usual two nights. Thus, is a four-day run of live music, as in full-on bands not just duos, that ends with Audio Circus, and as says my steely friend Dan who attends there a killer guitar show, as the year ends at Ziggy’s Hudson on the 31st. They got it rolling on Thursday evening. A buddy of mine who works at a liquor store across the street has off that whole time, plus Monday, though his store stays open until 9 p.m. throughout.

More on the holiday timings. When you are a Catholic …
If you go to St. Stephen’s in the Twin Cities, you still will have the same 6 p.m. service on The Eve, since it falls on a Sunday, and the next day there is the usual service that is held on The Day, since it is a Holy Day Of Obligation (or Opportunity, as a friend calls it), but she told me there is no service there much later on The Eve, even though it also is a HDOO. Too close together, I guess, so dispense? She said she will check with other churches.
One drug store, for example, on both the 24th and the 31st is closing at 2 p.m., rather than being closed all-together or pushing it off until later. Better munch on your holiday meal, depending on which one it is, quickly. And if you then need a weight loss pill … I did love the local gift-gathering opp that had taken donations for kids with needs all the way through the 24th.
Some libraries on Both Big Year-End Holidays closed on not only the Sunday and Monday, but also Saturday and even Friday. One area restaurant took off the Tuesday between, to carry forward even more the new trend to spend some added holiday time with your family,
The Minnesota Wild will have less time with their families and friends, then more, as they play Saturday around meal-time, then Sunday at 1 p.m., in a back-to-back with the Jets, then have off. But the Packers and Vikings — rather than the Jets of Aaron Rodgers — both go at it on New Year’s Eve at 7 p.m., and even venues offering nothing else in particular are still gearing up for that. Makes one yearn for the old Borderline Bar in Lakeland, and their Eve.
And the many other places, on the Wisconsin side but attracting many Minnesotans too, with not only the game, but then also deejays until 4 a.m., typically. Or even later, in the case of a few bars who still carry on that tradition.

— A (lowkey) preview of the night before New Year’s Eve.
A doorman outside the Smilin’ Moose, quickly said when asked, hardly anybody’s in here tonight. Prior to that comment, he told his fellow doorman that, “I hope you’ll feel better. Maybe if you get a drink of water …”
Here was part of the night’s non-standard jukebox mix at Hudson Tap: A song by Queen I’d never heard, known as I recognized Freddy Mercury’s voice; going back far further Gimme Shelter by the Stones; Highway To The Danger Zone and with the closer listen I heard a guitar flourish making me think of Motorhead; and back to Queen with Bohemian Rhapsody. Earlier there was something even more different, a song with much metal growl.
A fave bartender looked like she’d gotten cool Christmas presents, a big easily visible tattoo and killer nails. I told her, bringing a smile, “if a customer got too out of line, they could be daggers.” Then I accidentally gave her a bigger than my usual tip, another Christmas present.
On the way back, a man drew close to The Agave Kitchen wearing shorts, but a backpack, despite a trace of snow that had fallen. Earlier, I saw a guy in a T-shirt.
Last, didn’t have any word on the turnout at that day’s benefit at Jonesy’s Local, for Barbara Espy, a victim of the July boater accident over Hudson Booster Days. —

From the seat I sit on and compose, on Tuesday morning, I can still see four foot-wide white figures of celebration that include Santa swirling on an egg-shell-like-nog-painted wall, as I had spied on a garage door twice in the past two nights on the way to holiday gatherings.
So Christmas lives, at least another day and eve. As we went to this point …
Some things are simply, yet silly, and still a bit decorative. Like the big spray can of very all-purpose (useful around the holidays, like a gift-accessing-past-the-paper-as-in-wrapping multi-purpose exacto or bigger knife for those naive to opening) containing sealer, along with a small old-fashioned prayer book with a looks-like-wood cover, set in a circular tin with low rises and positioned next to a small Christmas tree.

— Might see some of that, but not all, at church. It was packed to the gills, and not just with angels, and as people exited, one woman said to her family, “where is the child?” Appropo. On the way over there, a silent solo bicyclist at night crossed in front of our car across a four-lane. His Christmas wish? Likely don’t get struck, like all those buck deer that have been out and about. Even church needed to put up a no-turn-lane sign at one spot.
Later, at the brother’s house, as he was my keeper for the night, there were a set of four candy canes set at quarters on his lawn’s decorative rock-patch, facing the four winds (there is more on that below.) One such pair of opposing canes also added whole lines of them going back across a large yard to a (gingerbread) house. Last, back at the nursing home, sat two tiny Santas the size of elves, and one great big stuffed one, greeting all who took their family members back for the night. Midway was a candied Christmas tree that was decked out much like a combo of gingerbread house and fruitcake, meeting with the Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters, and yes, do we notice that the two fall holidays actually have a lot in common? —

And then those Agave Kitchen marquee signs, paraphrased: Wrap up gift cards of all denominations, not our custom nachos, as that would be gnarly, (unless down on The Nachos Farm where they make the milk for the cheese); and seasonal sleigh parking for Santa only on our slightly slanted rooftop, (with first three hours free for Him only.)
That Northwest Wind blew not Santa off-course, but short and cold just prior to and during Christmas Down Under as in Down Here, meaning that a sign of a next-to-me business also known by that name, of Northwest, was whipped by wind, past a sidewalk and over into the edge of the street by its curb. That particular business has been in business since 1973, so I wonder how many times in those five decades a similar blowing-off by gust has been shown. And Santa? After completing his duties on Christmas Eve, and apparently taking a rest if not fully sleeping, he was laid to rest on his side by wind the next day, despite his girth that was even bigger than the actual version of he, due to being inflatable. Those puffed out sleeves would not save him, just like in my first-time-seen, TV viewing of The Christmas Story. (That brings up some more stories for a later post.)
Another thing deliciously warped. That one bleached pure-white-dyed sock dried just prior to the rush to get to church, had a hole in the toe, so it was tossed into the trash can as he loaded into the family van. It could have been a Xmas stocking stuffed with candy just after the kids had been scooted out the door. But one of a pair, of course. So what if you have a twin? My non-cooking except for grilling, and only meat not fajitas, nephew got a big-bag gag gift of ten-bean-soup to make, put into his. Is this what you end up finding in your holiday sock? I suggested the gathered-over-the-last-days-or-weeks-of 2023, old toenail clippings
As such aided by the aides, my dad now resides in a nursing home (see my post from over Thanksgiving.) As we pushed him along in his wheelchair in his not-so-big-room, we twice clipped the small (and as required fake) tree my brother had insisted he needed, spinning it around like it was a different holiday, that being Halloween.
Other sites were to be seen on the way to brother’s house. Like a fruit tree devoid of leaves, just having big gnarled buds, but also now sporting dozens of separate strings of cranberries, along with thick green wire, replacing the color missing leaves.
Threes are of course a thing this time of year. Two Santas were still standing despite the wind, and another laid on its side. A couple of the Santas were just huge, using up enough plastic to drown an ocean, like the photo cutline of mine as an old joke, St. Nick on the stick, needed to keep their again, girth propped up. The length of a reindeer’s leash away were some big balls, as ornaments mind you, this is not an AC/DC Christmas. There were some polar bears covering in plinkey lights, and two more facing opposite directions of a driveway, with such positioned candy canes also concocted. There is that star above a garage door that was going on and off, well timed with its seconds, and this was not a Chevy Chase moment, it was intentional.
The bottom line appears to be that where there are inflatable snowmen, as a starter, there are almost always other inflatables of various other creatures. You will know them by their snowmen!
But however, a mistake you do not want to make …I am all for diversity, and dark skinned Santas are fine, as we do and for the good see more and more in Hollywood. But you do not want a black snowman. This is snow, after all, and the only time it’s not white are the “snow boogers” alongside your tires, or the black ice beneath them.
I will close with by favorite yard-decoration of all. At the feet of a snowman (do they have these appendages?) and/or a Santa, there was this cool looking combo of sled/kiddie wagon/toy box. Made of plastic, yet again, but looked more like wood when lights shown on it. Could this be a Red Ryder? Or was that the aforementioned holiday movie’s theme? Or a Red Radio Flyer. Or with could go all the way back to Christmas in the time of Citizen Cane and invoke Rosebud, the famous sled.
Revel in whatever you got for Christmas and enjoy the rest of the holiday season! Joe.

And you thought traveling for Christmas across counties, countries or even continents, could be disconcerting.
What if it’s all or most of Asia? And maybe a bit of Africa?
I will let you in on a little secret, sorry Allison, that was conveyed and continued to build with her input while I was at fave Hudson nightspot trying to Hang Out and Turn Holy Water Into Wine, By The State Line, and sorry to rocker and lyrics author Billy Idol – can I even mention that last name in the season we are in? But hey, it was Jesus himself who did this initially, and it was not a mere musician’s trick, like said in The Ten Commandments movie about pharaoh’s asps being gobbled up like a holiday cheese ball – sorry to my family for inspiring that reference — by Moses’ staff-turned-snake, and I further refer to the hard secular songs Creeping Death and The Writing On The Wall. But I digress, and will spill more of the beans and not wine on that later. (And I could dive very deep into Crowley and his theology, so often occurring in songwriting even by the likes of – maybe – folksters Simon and Garfunkel, but for a later and altar post.)
So back a bit, I let it slip to bartender Allison, and I don’t know how this even came up in conversation, but with her doing her Energizer Bunny routine up and down the stairs – give this woman a raise! – my mind sprung to her activity level as compared to mine and I said: You know, if I was leading the caravan as one of the Three Wise Men, and I coached her on the distance across those multiple Old World countries they had to travel to get to the manger, and the time in years it took to follow The Star, and not a rock star, I myself would’ve first been pulling into Bethlehem in … oh about a half-hour from right now. Wait! Too long! Two-thousands years-plus! (To paraphrase Metallica.) Even once out of the arid acreage, no more shepherds alive to be seen, the short life span considerations of those days aside, much less their sheep.
She said, in her case, maybe even later. But it has been noted by other commentators, she as one of the Three Wise Women probably would have brought Christmas cookies too, and some crepes from France, curry croutons from wherever crossed, and a bottle of the Agave Kitchen cantina’s best to toast the Christ child – and have even asked directions around Yemen (as France, truth be told, was far afield). Or, as when my brother said to those boys assembled at the dinner table at a past Christmas, there are The Three Wise Men, and only one looked up …
OK, the jokes spun from there while at Agave. The Old Testament Methuselah, if traveling with me and despite his advanced age in hundreds of years, would have timed out and become deceased … I don’t think he would have even made it to the Red Sea. Herod Schmered. Pilate long since grounded.
But OK, Those Men In The Fold did travel, apparently, across the length of almost a thousand Israels. That’s a lot of long Arabian Nights. But why did it take so long? I, as always, have a theory.
They had to ride along the length of Persia, right? Some such Arab places did really value cleanliness … You never, ever extended a right hand in greeting, as you know what that one was used for … And camels are not known for their lack of waste. So …
I guess that even back in that day, there was a factor that might have really slowed them down, as there were not as many highway rest stops, as the same number of convenience stores. So with your caravan of camels, and there probably were backup carriers, you probably had to lug along a lotta porta potties behind. (You thought that picking up doggie do-do was bad; in the Third World you don’t have a voice in making most of the rules, and the pooper scooper had not yet been seen outside of say, China, no strike that reference. At least they had Frankensensce — but no crepes, and the Gold Standard would not come about until, say, the time of the Crusades.) But the point being, when porta potties get bogged down, they don’t pull very fast. So gee, maybe those shepherds were wondering why “we” had not yet shown … And the innkeeper with no room couldn’t help, he was not multilingual.
All kidding aside, hope you are not bogged down this holiday!!
And things are more blessed for you than in present-day Bethlehem!

Sometimes the best way to renew a former and popular place is to not re-invent the wheel, just keep it spinning with maybe a few new spokes, as a metaphor, and providing new bar and grill twists, such as adding a second big barrail, on the upper level as both of the tiers are used to best extent, and an open area with view of the downstairs retained.

Such (newer) nostalgia works well with old patrons who a few years back grew to just love the old, longtime Seasons Tavern, and now appreciate version 5.0 — or should I say 5.01 — thus becoming the new 501 Tavern, that adds a few tweaks to make it their own as well. High customer traffic in their first few weeks open bears that out, in the historic venue along a prime corner of Hwy. 35 in the center of North Hudson, a little bit of the northwoods brought home in log cabin motif throughout — gotta love them wagon wheels, and wooden slabs nailed thick together. (Little lilts and tweaks currently include — next to that same retained lower-level fireplace — lots of lightly twinkling Christmas lights strung on thick wooden poles, the width of a waif waitress waist.)
The ways decked out bottles and other items are arranged on a shelf or two set high above the middle of the downstairs bar have been rearranged, after a key suggestion from a patron, and their beer list is updated, as well. (See, a quite roughly estimated, number given below.)
Others have commented on the cleanliness of the kitchen and whole place, workers said. One added his girlfriend was particularly impressed, not always an easy task.
They are open for breakfast on Saturday and Sunday from 9 a.m. to noon, getting the piping hot coffee brewing early for starters, and patrons have noticed the reasonable prices — those who have been showing regularly, as not all have caught onto that fact yet, so here you go with such an announcement. The big newer message on the sign along Hwy. 35 proclaims the new name, 501 Tavern.
Those breakfast prices are between $8.99 and $12.99 — or up to $16.99 for an 8-ounce steak and eggs, with extras. There are omelets of meat and cheese, western, veggie, or build your own from amongst the above. Seven other offerings are provided, an impressive number in itself, and 11 sides to pick. Ingredients that stand out include jack cheese, sauteed or grilled deli ham, grilled peppers (plural) and homemade hollandaise sauce.
The fish entrees come not just fried, but may also be boiled and pan fried, as customers can choose. Batter is homemade. And it’s only $2 for extra pieces.
The beer menu, when combined, lists several dozens beers (Lefties love Left Hand Milk Stout, not just two types of Leinie’s on tap) and ciders and seltzers, scores of them bottled.
There are nine sandwiches with many different ingredients, taking up to 25 words to fully describe, and seven burgers and chicken sandwiches, plus five wraps — and the final one, of homemade teriyaki chicken, takes even more words to bring it to life. With a perfect ten substitutes and sides.
Between dinners, noteworthy among them pepper steak, and desserts, there are far more than a dozen, in addition. And then all those salads …
They can also host your party for the holidays, and other reasons.
The new owner’s nickname is Mako, much like a shark steak or the past charasmatic Packer quarterback, Don. (The restraunteer’s real name is Dan, that being Makowske.)
New versions are offered of the gambling machines present at all such places, such as many pull tabs. After all, it has been noted there, “it’s 5:01 somewhere,” with a password given of “goodtime,” and such things often can be said best in verse. Country star Alan Jackson is brought into play, “when I listen to (what’s) above, in song, its this place.” As is Van Morrison, “everything reminds me of you,” and a plaque about such has been added. And also a third, “Need a sign to drink tonight? Here it is.” Again, with wording that stems from a patron pun.
Here we go with another:
“He who drinks gets drunk.
He who gets drunk goes to sleep.
He who goes to sleep does not sin.
He who does not sin goes to heaven.
So let’s all drink and all go to heaven.”
Another customer commented that this is what North Hudson needs, a place just like this. Again open.

There still are and were several Santas seen, some on the more secularly sinister and not sacred side. Seriously. But one lingers and looms large most of all.

That Tall Man — necessarily unlike a short elf — set on the, get this, small yard of a small farmstead between Hudson and New Richmond, virtually clinging to a maple tree, was a high skeleton almost the size of Eddie, you know the massive Iron Maiden mascot, and now has been converted, so to speak, in holiday observance. The scene has Christmas-like, Santa vibes, with plenty of Xmas plinky lights. Among the rib and leg bones.
In NR itself, still atop of street sign, sits another skeleton, this one more human-height. It looks — sorry again Maiden — like the cover art creature, another version of Eddie, on the poignantly-positive-posturing Fear of The Dark album. Plopped on top of  — not (reaching toward Heaven?) — a star-crossed-to-invoke-its-sidestreet sign.
And a third theme on this, this time a somewhat sacred and actual scene of Santa, set the size of a football field away from the highway, on a long fence ahead of a residence, not a farm field.

A now harried hair place said that because of its cancellations, they can sooner see you in (an appointment?) and accentuate your accents, and get you ready for that (killer) holiday party. They opine that they have now openings, even if off the street and only one-off, and not just of gifts.
Another sign, as if you need another on which to act, and I have now seen that metaphor for a fourth, if not fifth time. It says to love your hometown — with heart as in another holiday, this time in mid-February and Hallmark beyond — and that being Hudson. But somewhat ironically, it is laid flat alongside browned-grass, next to a sidewalk, also in front of a high and stark brick wall.
But no more grinch get-go. Screw Scrooge. Happy holidays!

Thusly … This is the Three Days, or Nights, of Eves, of Christmas/New Years weekends at the Wild Badger in New Richmond. Could summa the bands be TBA? They can cancel! Then get a lump of coal.
We start with the 16th, in which we do among other things customer appreciation with two bands, one old and one newer with a long name, back to back starting early, and the seasonal intro (maybe and it could be late) of ugly sweaters.
Then the 23rd and more music, could be one of their many deejays, maybe the newer deejay BDay, to get you in the groove for The Next Night And Day. The Saturday is also a dweebs day, with that band helping you negotiate their naughty and nice night. Anything but bland.
More of the same, possibly by name, on the 30th, and you know what That Next Night is! They have that, too, and again the deejay and maybe more dejour. Much more.
I guess it has been a while since I had been back at Ziggy’s Hudson, for their relatively new karaoke. On that Wednesday night, back at the turn of the month, a staffer was kinda ignoring the karaoke deejay and putting up Christmas trees, plural, as a kickoff to the season.

A funny (not really) thing happened on the way to check-out the forum, at the market.

And the lines to wait in, thusly, the checkout aisle, next to all the trashy magazines, would be so lengthy, you’d think you had been their since the days and years of … the Romans. Read the latest about gladiators? Or newer celebs? They could be much the same as centuries ago.
The first line at the store was, of course, too long. So you could check out the tabloid headlines — hey we all do it — and I have admitted such to the person behind even me at times, adding that I’m (too) a writer and I know all the tricks, as you package it in such a way that there is typically a grain of truth to be found, but don’t hold your breath. (Ah would I write like that?) A typical response? I am to old and dull the be tabloid worthy. (I guess I’m not shopping at one of those trendy department stores.)

— I was not able to make in to Green Mill on Black Friday — no online sales — with their 4 for 6, as in the gift card dollar value, so 46 and 2 if you are a Tool fan, and save your dough instead and go to a concert. But so many such venues still have 4 for 5, to wit if you buy $100 in gift cards you get a free one of $25. Among those also chiming in with that is the Smilin’ Moose. And at other night spots you buy $25 and get a free five spot, such as Ziggy’s.

And so it is with the Sam’s Christmas Village. Seasonal new Christmas Cookie Lager — and alternative to eggnog — from Hop N Barrel, which is available at many area night spots including foremost the nextdoor Ziggy’s, can also be gotten at that mega-Santa-display in Somerset and you might win a (stocking stuffer?) prize that involves ugly sweaters.

Here’s a better shopping experience. It’s a free movie with Santa! With a peppery twist, not just candy canes. Offered through the “Polar Express,” the free movie and one soda and popcorn, at Hudson Cinema 12, is Saturday at 11 a.m. Meet the somewhat odd combo of the 2024 Pepper King and Santa, too. Done via the local Pepper Kings Club. One has to wonder if there is a connection to the North Hudson Pepper Fest, held each summer, but that would be a 2023 version, and this is for 2024, but hey I’ve heard Santa is capable of time travel!  So maybe gather up some ideas for peppering up your holiday ham, go beyond the glaze, but be careful with sprinkling such on your free popcorn. —

But back to the cashier crisis. From a friend’s grocery experience, the heads too were dull, when she was in the line. So went to self-check. It was closed, since it would not take either cash or credit, and take your pick, as I’ve seen denial of both over time. So bolted back to the main line, and I’m not being religious, for a change. This is where I started losing track of the main story, as it was quickly and so oddly excitedly being told to me. There were two people (still) waiting way in front. And a third, with enough food being bought to feed an even starving army. The cash register (I’m Old School) had glitches, on top of it, and not just paper jams. So back to self-serve? But line-hopping is seldom rewarded. Alas, since the subject of my story had but a few items, a couple of kind souls later let her to the front, it was western I believe.
On top of it, a guy midstream, who was more distracted, maybe by a mag cover, ran a cart into the back of her ankle as she tried to bolt (for a second time?) from self-serve.
A cashier had an explanation, of sorts. People (multiple in both cases) had either called in sick or come down, otherwise, with Covid. Like a nephew, who was running a 102 fever, and could indeed be another “19 case.” His high temp persists. There are many in this new wave, reported the Milwaukee paper.
And (with the main Christmas shopping coming) at least it was not on Black Friday and its even longer lines, cyber aside. But could it be the Black Plague?
But lets be happy instead. Somewhat recently, and I waited with this post to see if any such thing would come of it, it was National (could it, maybe, be even be International?) Kindness Day. Aww. So do one act of kindness? Save just one life as a start? I am fond of saying that this number is setting the bar way too low.
Those trapped in a checkout lane — watch your ankles, both of them — could use some of this.

It was an unusual Thanksgiving, with more running back and forth, with all hands having medical conditions or maybe even medical vans, then the annual turkey trots.

If those celebrating, as best they could, could trot at all.
Dad has been in a nursing home since summer, and mom came down with Covid on the Thursday before the holiday — one of a handful of people would could have been visitors, from both near and far, family members and relatives of those they are dating. And even running into the issue, they’d find later, on their other side that evening or the next day. It apparently is a thing again. Varients not very much vanquished.
So it was hard to transport dad, as most van services were on holiday or very expensive for it, and mom was in quarantine almost up to the day, taking rapid tests daily, (and the pink line got lighter but still existed), to see if she would even be able to attend at the (now-annual) feast at my brother’s house.

— What is it just now at Kwik Trip, with men even on our coldest days in their not so much slimy as its too cold, but slimly strapped — like a lady’s New Year’s Eve shoe, but that’s getting ahead of us — flip-flops of rubber, and short-shorts and sleeveless shirts of decidedly non-wool. And at a store across the street also, but a grocer, so no coats available to buy.

Not that many days earlier, as the rain and if not that just the cool got closer to freezing, there were not only a few men in T-shirts — and even a couple still in yes, baggy shorts — but the first sights of women wearing coats, even in long form, and bigger then usual boots.
Again goin’ downtown … Although now with XMas seen all over, it earlier had shown off, often, off-white although not quite oblong pumpkins, or could they be gourds, as to borrow a marketing catch phrase, you are gourd-eous, although in evil makeup. Even she said that back on the past fright night. But we have just recently seen yellow pumpkins, too. And on all kinds of different fronts, of buildings, there had been flashy orange on a black background, the Halloween colors beheld. Red and green would have to wait, until … —

As an acquaintance had jokingly said, back it the days when it was even less of a laughing matter, Happy Covid.
Or as mom had put it when getting back from the doctor and eventually (it was quick although sick) summoning the energy to call me, not just send a text, “It’s gonna be a ho, ho, ho, holiday!”

So it was a grind, but at least no ground turkey, rather the real bird showed. There also was offered to me, nextday when I could go back to moms, some pickle and pimento loaf, also often called olive loaf, that she bought, our family’s version of lefse, but I do actually love both. The squirrels would have to settle for some scattered Cheerios on the back patio, and nearing the end of my stay, mom was going to sweep off All That Remains, but one of the critters beat her to it, gathering up the last nugget that had been meant for the birds.

Mom would normally pick me up at the park and ride, after I exited the more-expensive-by-the-day bus, but my brother now would have to squeeze me into his schedule right after work, from home, on that Monday. Texts were shared back and forth: Don’t worry, I can wear extra sweatshirts and camp out there until the last conference call is placed. (But the bus was running late, so he got to the lot ahead of me.) How long would I stay, if at his place, as he suddenly would have a full house? Do I get the cool downstairs back bedroom? If I can’t shop with mom, could I with him? (But forget on Black Friday). And also find an ATM? Not to be more of a bother to my brother, but could he take me to the library so I could use their computer, with which I am more familiar? And lastly, something I hesitated to put forth, could her mild Covid actually serve as a bit of a respite for mom?
Later back at the nursing home, we boarded an elevator to go to the second floor, and were told you had to hit the blank button in tandem with the one with a big No. 2, or the contraption would not go. One more transportation snag? Good thing I was not flying solo.

But there was a saving grace. For the first time in ages, the night before not Christmas but this big meal day, I actually watched an entire college basketball game. As in start to finish. Go Badgers, in what was called a game for the ages. More rough though, than what’s in a turkey gizzard. And a bit of the Milwaukee Bucks game too! And even some of the Packer-Lions game on the day itself.
That noon, more or less, a fave for me was my niece’s sangria, made with apple cider and a bunch of not bananas, but many different kinds of “cooler” fruit piled in for full flavor. I loved most the mixing of apples and oranges in her medium-size vat. It reminded me of the tall-as-a-person tequila cylinder at the Agave Kitchen, that one filled with all kinds of Mexican-style veggies for marinading, if that’s the right word.