When we first thought we would have to curb our appetites because of destruction, we agreed that we’d need to curb the virus first, but then curb-side delivery kicked that constriction to the curb

<<When given some kick, what else was kicked to the curb (and also shaved, perchance, at that row of actual tables with actual accompanying cloths outside Winzer Stube and across from the barber shop)? The beard of an athlete, and not Kirby Puckett. See in The Picks of the Week department>>

The cone-type structures placed on either end of a set of parking areas reserved for takeout, there usually are more than one or even two, especially in the downtown, seemed to loom larger at first, then back a bit off as bar and restaurant partial closures started taking effect, then take off again with a few spaces added. There exist several of these groupings through the four blocks of the main area that is Hudson old city. But most eateries were good about taking the placards and their Get Takeout mantra down when not open and the spaces were fair game for parking, but this was not everyone, most noteworthy being the ones then serving for limited hours anyway. And at least one potential patron noticed that one side of Second Street remained far more active for food and drink then the other, saved by having a lesser number of cones only by Dairy Queen, which on its sign attempted to say they would not close until ten, but due to a missing letter stated they were open until 0. Might not be any one in humanity left to eat those cones, but … on either end of Second Street the awful mid-intersection markers that warned to watch for pedestrians kept up their vigil 24/7. And Hudson, unlike other cities in the area, has parking you have to pay for, and revenue I’m sure went down for the city, but that was not nearly the case for consumers to factor in, as they tried to do what they once did.
And the next day after the Virtual Shutdown Of Most Previous Profit, otherwise known as Black Wednesday, was interesting going out of Hudson as commuter traffic was very light virtually everywhere, and Twin Cities radio found the usual bottlenecks very bearable. Downtown Hudson was a veritable ghost town, and any cars you would see were backed up in threes by a slow one to start. There was a definite slowdown where Hudson meets North Hudson, in what looked like a Hazmat scene with the odd extensions of a big truck sticking out, close to a dozen of them. Turns out that crews took advantage of the light load to do some construction. I still managed to use the possibility of newly pending doom as a reason for being late for a doctors appointment in Woodbury, where I found not a soul in the scene in most medical building parking lots.

Share the Post:

Related Posts

My mom has told me not to be a potty mouth when I write, as she certainly would not appreciate hardly any of the standup humor on say, Comedy Central Radio. SNL maybe. But after 11:30 p.m. … But there comes a time where a man must make a stand. And for this jokester, it was now when he had to choose whether to pass on the opportunity that would otherwise bite him in the butt, for in front of and behind him is the Mother Lode. Or should I say load. Or “Mothers” of Invention. Heh heh, heh heh, Butthead, look...
So the wall is down. Of letters, that is. Not down by Mexico. Cemented into the concrete. Of the Kennedy Center. Where music has sat. (Near where a now defunct wrestling arena rusts in peace. Or a bloodied White House lawn. With leftover paper cups and plates, more likely bowls and small utensils, anyone?) Or more ornate than inside? A tarp the size of Pennsylvania, the predominant battle state, covers workers as they chip. So geez, how big are the letters? Four times 50 living workers high? But now none remain, or so we are told by flunkies. Or is...
A few years back, I wrote an article about Hudson Deacon Tom Kroll and how he did so many extra dutiful tasks, his living out the Gospels tirelessly, when his wife was ill, in addition to his regular job. I was inspired at the time to pen this, about my own lovely, disabled wife — we were separated briefly but now back together with our 40th anniversary this month, as wholehearted caregiving has many strains — and how an atypical view of standard roles, out of necessity, made things work, as far as our approach to work and home that’s...
What do fishing, maybe in the dark, thus a Texas ranch, snakes of various types and do they come or stay out after dusk, eating either and only fine food or snacks, and a game of cards — likely just one each — have in common. And no strippers or Chippendales. And an only half or quarter, not full Monty. (Who is Monty anyway?) Or cowboy or cowgirl hats. Although there was some dress-up. More Barbie than boots on, I think. It’s an easy answer, connected and conflicting, but not in all or dirty ways, bachelor and bachelorette parties. One of each...
It was clear to me at the most recent Jeff Loven music show in Hudson, for Memorial Day weekend, that there has been a changing of the guard. The sword has been passed. New blood, like Yungblud, has been brought in. And, I must say, loyalty — amongst the devotees who travel frequently and all across the two-state area to virtually all of Jeff’s shows — has been rewarded. They are the royalty, in what just makes good business sense that I can appreciate. In a significant but not unprecedented altering of course, I was not one of those asked...
Trial by fire. My broiling heart in my efficiency flat still beats a bit, in concern over those boiling over in worse apartments in a Chicago tenancy, or on an ocean island instantly-burn-your-feet beach or dessert, or forced to endure ice baths just to keep cool — or simply be offered no way to maintain an ice-dripping body other than also read a non-cookbook at the library, or select not a big steak you can’t afford but a 73/27 burger from a freezer and slap it on your forehead. Just not too hard. All these things are ones where you especially today either burn or...
Scroll to Top