Those Bags are not My Bag

What is it with people carrying bags on trains ? Has it gotten 200% worse the past year or have I just become older and more intolerant? Or maybe I am running out of blog topics? But seriously (cue laugh track here) everyone seems to have some type of baggage that they either swing like a bolero, or affix to themselves so they can squeeze into type spaces (invading my space specifically). On the LIRR in the past week I have experienced 3 hits or near misses to my nose by riders’ backpacks or shoulder bags. On the subway in that same time sample I have been tormented ( woe is me!) by at least that many gym bags, pocket books and shopping bags. So what is the underlying reason for this ? Backpacks are very popular and most people (grade schoolers and seniors alike) keep them on their backs (why do you think they call them backpacks?) even in a crowded subway. Add to this the fact that most people are entranced by their smartphones, oblivious to train etiquette and my entreaties (get your boom box antenna out of my nostril ! ) and every other human on the train and planet , and this is a volatile mix. The true answer though is not to complain or push back or follow suit with your own baggage attachments or bump stocks. Just make your personal footprint ASAP (as small as possible), with no baggage attached, and peacefully chant your mantra (only 4 years to retirement!) 

Basil news: The weather is cold so the basil children have been shivering and shriveling. Linda used the few remaining leaves last weekend as we bid a fond farewell to our sweet smelling herbs. Oregano is braving the cold like a real trooper and graced our mahi dinner yesterday. Next event will be the planting of garlic cloves in winter for a spring sprouting. Maybe we do on Christmas Day! 

Degrees of separation: (this is a new basil blog feature that connects seemingly unrelated concepts or people, by events or relationships in our lives and past) 

Thurman and Elvis
Thurman Munson was the heart and soul of the Yankees in their ‘70’s championship years. He was rookie of the year, MVP and led them to 2 World Series championships. He was also a pilot. In the summer of 1979, I was working at Amato’s food market in Rockaway Borough, NJ. The owner was Frank Amato, a very short Italian man in his 50’s who screamed at everyone and everything. We were all petrified of him. As I was making a delivery in the Amato’s market van on August 2, 1979, I heard on the radio that Thurman had crashed his plane and was dead. I couldn’t believe it. I instinctively pulled over to the side of the road, to focus all of my attention on what was being said. Frank Amato’s son was a classmate of my brother Joe. My brother said that he was a real hot-head like his dad, but much taller and wider. Frank had a pair of blue suede shoes that he often wore to school. Lord have mercy on anyone who stepped on those shoes while dashing through the crowded hallways between classes. As Elvis so famously sang “you can do anything but stay off of my blue suede shoes”. 

Elvis has left the blog. 

Keep the faith y'all