We walk along the way of the talk, to bring you — after Yule — the sights and sounds of a post-Christmas and New Year observance, that again starts with what’s written and well … written well, but on plastic

As we walk on down that road, out shadows taller than the souls of Christmas, here is a listing of what we might see.
The marquee for Village Liquors is pertinent, on both ends separated by only a few inches of metal and plastic and glass, heading northward or southward. Both sides say “bait is here.” Then they add, as one will get you two, that there is also to be had beer and spirits. The latter is topped off with a smily face, and the former a heart (somewhat) pierced by a bunch of needles on top to drive home its point.
But there now is unity beyond just a smile, a sign at Village Liquor has proclaimed, or at least calls for. Maybe they should stick to promoting their seasonal brews through a sign, as they began doing in September. Five craft beers are cited for reference, but I have one question: Is Grain Belt truly a craft beer? And across the ditch is a sign selling Walt’s (Night) Crawlers, live bait, adding they are imported from Canada (not Russia?) Just sounds bad. Much like an old snack cake label that said Little Debbie is half-price!
Furthermore, the three-digit address lettering on the mailbox is done in black permiment marker (I assume), to differenciate between them and the adjoining car wash and one other unassuming entity that I guess is anonymous. And across the street in North Hudson at the Village Inn, there was a notation on their big, colorful sign — which makes this even more notable — that this was the ringing in of 2_21. Why the gap? Oh, there is that hard-to-see Zero in the decorative form of a globe, like going to The Village is going to bring about world peace. But they added they have the best staff in town, a sweeping generalization if there ever was one, that flies in the face of some, but not all, of the servers on Mondays (grim reapers no doubt).
And The Village was more then-one-day centerpoint of a fog emmersion that was ballyhood in the regional press (yes Minnesota) and its weather people ready to be debunked, since the lack of a chimney sweeping that was in-need at nextdoor Zappa Brothers to divert upward their smoke emissions, meant that their enhanced fog could be seen as the wind shifted, and it did, to Kozy Korner, then Guv’s and Kwik Trip, then back to the west and The Village and to the south to encumber that little known open mic session in a blaring garage — do the village fathers know about this? Or are they standing in for a song or two? Crooning thusly like the Old School such as it is Rat Pack with name co-opted by the long-haul Italian ilk, and their Sinatra-style tunes?
And did I mention Kozy? They did some cross-marketing — HudsonWiNightlife is jealous since attempts to jump on board have met with mixed success with the Brothers (mostly) Grim — saying on one side to also check out Urban Olive “Trust Me” and on the other Guv’s “Deb Fox is bartending.” With that kind of a Three Doors Down buildup I’m sure she is a fox indeed, although closing very early. But the order going north and south of the signs is reversed. Fortunate Son, there is not also east and west sides to contend with, and the reasoning afoot is that Kozy was closed for the day for inventory — boy they must be doing big business — just like Village Liquors shut its doors on the previous day — that being Monday and Jan. 4 — although there were five cars waiting to try to get booze at 3:30 p.m., before driving off. Only one of them had a Minnesota plate, Italian spiced or otherwise.
Then on the walk back from Kwik Trip, there was a dog wearing a sweater and wearing it well and Shining Like Brand New despite being small in size. Not an ugly sweater by any means. Although I’ll take that considering such Ugly (Betty?) Beauty was in very short supply this season.
Across the way, on North End Road, invoke (Jim Morrison?), there were snowmo tracks for the first time this season, in the ditches and even on Sommers Street N. itself, (although judging by the size of that latter track, it would have to be a particularly lame Yamaha). But for the second time down on the second driveway in order, there were big rafts of bound carpeting set in bins and ready for the trash (but not The Clash as that would be up to the waste disposal company). Thereby was the Christmas tree triumph of the first, very early in the season, of a spruce thrust into the back of a thusly packed sedan, followed by the throwing of an even bigger tree into the mouth of a big garbage truck, taking up the whole space leftover when its jaws would close. And no cover, we are told, to pick them up as there has been such non-charge at Dick’s Bar for months now, as patron numbers meant this was the Most Prudent thing to do.
Lastly, are we sure, was back at Kozy Korner and what was their sign about the birthday of Alex. That same day it was announced on rock radio that it was the 77th birthday of none other than Jimmy Page, noteworthy because a fellow guitarist of the same era and style of music, the late Jimmy Bain — although this time the bass — has been on my mind lately because of the fact he had a performance in Hudson for a show that was bigger than billed. Bain also, and also the fact that the Stones legendary song referencing Mr. Jimmy has gotten lots of radio airplay on that same station and its new repetition worshipping format.
And again lastly, news that the proberbial mucho music venue, Muddy Waters in Prescott, has decided to close until pandemic considerations are rectified. And some of their counterparts in that town have been experiencing as much as hour-long waits to get seating.