There’s no better way to remember those who made the ultimate sacrifice than to buy a bunch of crap on sale.

In this post: Memorial Day, on this date in history, muu-muus.

We never made it to Hong Kong Royal yesterday for dim sum. I had to settle for grilled cheese on low-carb white bread with sugar-free sweet pickles because I was asleep almost all day — just like Saturday — and couldn’t talk myself into wearing a brassiere for any reason whatsoever, including shrimp dumplings. I felt like a first-class sloth and loved every minute of it. How’s your three-day weekend shaping up?

Queen Elizabeth celebrates 60 years in a royal “babushka.”

Before I get sidetracked by topics of lesser importance, the Howdygram would like to remind everybody that Queen Elizabeth’s Diamond Jubilee — celebrating 60 year on the throne — is a four-day event that begins later today with royals in stupid hats attending the Epsom Derby, which is a horse race with snooty snacks. I don’t believe the race will be televised in the U.S.

On Sunday, however, BBC America’s TV coverage starts at 7 a.m. Central time and includes a flotilla of 1,000 boats on the Thames River clunking into each other from Putney to Tower Bridge. The Queen and assorted royals will ride the Spirit of Chartwell luxury cruiser, where they’ll dine on caviar, scrambled gems and serf kabobs.

On Monday there’s a huge Jubilee concert in front of Buckingham Palace that we apparently don’t get to see, and on Tuesday — the biggest hoo-hah of them all — BBC America and CNN will cover exclusive church services at St. Paul’s Cathedral, another fancy lunch, and then the Queen’s massive procession in a 24-karat gold coach back to the palace along with military bands, royal guards in Prada uniforms and 250,000 horses that are not allowed to poop. (I might be kidding about some of this.) BBC’s TV coverage begins at 3:15 a.m. Central time and CNN’s begins at 6:45. My favorite photo of Queen Elizabeth appears below.

In breaking news, researchers of The International Group for Historic Aircraft Recovery have pieced together little glass fragments found on Nikumaroro Island in the Pacific and believe it was a jar of C. H. Berry’s Freckle Cream that once belonged to aviation pioneer Amelia Earhart, who vanished during a round-the-world flight 75 years ago.

Analysis of the aforementioned freckle cream will be discussed this weekend at a three-day symposium in Arlington, Virginia, at which time I sincerely hope somebody tells these people to get a life and move on already.

And finally, here are some vintage photos of Skokie, Illinois — my home town — for your possible interest. All were taken in the late 1950s or early 1960s. When my family moved to Skokie from the north side of Chicago in 1956 these little stores and restaurants were already 50 (or more) years old. I don’t think I ever realized until now that I actually grew up in a town that looked like Mayberry.

In case you’re wondering, we had a productive and informative appointment with a genius at the Apple Store on Thursday and learned all about our new iPad. Sometime next month I’ll be upgrading the system software on our Macs so I can “synch” my contact list, email accounts and calendar. This is both exciting and slightly scary. (Mostly exciting.) A photo of our Apple Store appears below. I want to go back when Sam’s not looking and buy everything. Holy crap.

Thank you for reading this.

Introducing the Howdygram’s official emergency preparedness kit.

There’s not too much happening here right now, which makes pretty good sense at 3 in the morning when Sam’s already asleep and I’m all caught up with the latest episodes of “People’s Court.” I don’t even have any graphic design projects left to do since I’ve finished the three-panel brochure for my client in Wisconsin and sent another round of adorable logo options to the wedding cake dude in South Carolina. The only excitement still on the agenda involves ENORMOUS THUNDERSTORMS that are due to arrive by 5 a.m. and last all day. According to Weather.com the storms will also include hail and 70 m.p.h. wind by late afternoon, at which time I’ll barricade myself in the master bedroom closet with a flashlight and a box of sugar-free emergency Oreos.

For your possible interest here’s my 1960 fourth grade class photo from Highland School in Skokie, Illinois. My friend Anita emailed this to me a couple of years ago. I’m the attractive student with a pink frame around my face. Anita is in the row above me, third from the left.

Others pictured here include Karen, Kathy, Scott, Harlene, Herbie, Joel, Brad, Robin, Rocky, Marsha, Scott, Donald, Nanette, Marilyn, Larry, Janice, two Sandies, two Steves, a Sam and a couple of Lauries. I know I’ve forgotten a few names but what the hell ... it’s been more than half a century and under the circumstances I think I’m doing a swell job.

I guess it’s finally time to hit the sack. Thanks for dropping in!

Scary cosmic monsters and other happy childhood memories.

I recently told Sam a couple of stories from when I was a kid and he thought both would make excellent material for the Howdygram. So here they are. I won’t mind if you’re not interested, but maybe you can pretend just for the hell of it.

Story number one concerns First Man Into Space, a 1959 movie about the very first astronaut coming back to earth that scared the living crap out of me when I was eight years old. I remember running from the Skokie Theater screaming and then having ongoing nightmares about this crusted, disfigured monster for MONTHS — actually, YEARS — afterwards. The worst part was his one huge oozy eyeball and his huge cockeyed teeth, apparently the result of radioactive cosmic dust.

Looking at these pictures now it all seems really lame, but trust me, that monster was too much for my brain to process at eight years old. And his eyeball was just HORRIBLE.

I’m also pleased to include a photo of the aforementioned Skokie Theater (circa 1962), which was really teeny with one screen, very good popcorn and a 10¢ soft drink machine that dispensed syrup and carbonated water into a paper cup in separate streams with a clump of crushed ice at the end. This was fabulous and my favorite flavor was Green River.

And now for my television debut, which is story number two. “Lunchtime Little Theater” was a Chicago children’s TV show in the mid-1950s starring Uncle Ned, Uncle Bucky and Aunt Jeannie. (I wouldn’t joke about this.) In 1956 mom got tickets for my sister and me to be in the audience ... I was five, Robin was three. Three years old probably pushed the envelope a little, because Robin had a shrieking fit when they seated her with me in the peanut gallery so she got exiled to sit in back with all the mothers. And although I have almost zero recollection of “Lunchtime Little Theater” that day, I remember walking up and down the sidewalk in front of our house when I got home — still wearing my party dress — because I was positive everybody would recognize me. Oh my God, isn’t that the cute little girl we just saw on TELEVISION?

Trust me. “Lunchtime Little Theater” did NOT launch my career and thank you for reading this.

Remembering dad.

Even though I’m hungry and not 100% motivated to write a post at the moment I didn’t want to start grazing through the refrigerator before I extended this holiday greeting to dads everywhere.

My own father — Herbie — passed away in 2002. I have countless vivid memories of him, especially our regular junkets to various amusement parks throughout my childhood because dad enjoyed them even more than I did. In the mid-1950s we had Fun Fair (see below) that was actually walking distance from our house in Skokie, but dad also shlepped us to Hollywood Kiddieland on the north side of Chicago near Lincoln Village because I was really impressive at age four behind the wheel of their miniature tractors. He used to brag about me.

When I was a little older — maybe 9 or 10 — dad introduced us to Chicago’s iconic Riverview Park, a moderately seedy (it was seedy by 1960, anyway) 70-acre amusement mecca built in 1904 that featured enormous scary roller coasters and big-kid rides like the Bobs, the Flying Turns, the Rotor, the Water Bug (motorized inner tubes that operated like bumper cars in a huge pool), the Silver Flash, the Comet and the Chutes.

Dad loved roller coasters and rode them all with me, but my favorite was the Chutes because you’d get drenched to the skin and it was the only ride at Riverview that didn’t make my little sister throw up. I remember waiting in line for what seemed like an eternity, listening to a recorded safety message that repeated every 10 seconds until it got so wedged into my brain that I can still recite it verbatim half a century later later. Keep your hands inside the boat. Don’t grab the side of the boat, hold onto the handles!

And now it’s finally time for lunch, probably Cheetos and leftover egg foo young, followed by a brief afternoon nap until it’s time to drive to the airport to pick up Sam. He’s been gone for eight days. I’m so excited I can hardly stand it.

Thank you for reading this!

Hey. I’m freezing.

It’s 4:15 a.m. and the house is ice cold right now. I woke up five minutes ago frozen in bed because the temperature dropped UNEXPECTEDLY AND WITHOUT WARNING* to 45° outside and I never switched the thermostat from AC to heat. So I’ll sit here and write things until the house warms up. I hope it’s soon.

Yesterday in the mail I got a copy of the D219 Alumni News, the quarterly alumni newsletter from Niles Township North, East and West High Schools in Skokie, Illinois. The key word in that first sentence is “quarterly,” because I graduated from Niles North 42 years ago and this is only the second issue I’ve ever received. Maybe “quarterly” means “quarter-century.” And everybody wonders why old people get crabby.

So as I’m reading through the newsletter there’s an impressive two-page spread with snippets of exciting alumni accomplishments. For example, Eva Shiu (’06) won a Fulbright scholarship, Neil Kimel (’87) is second horn with Chicago’s Lyric Opera orchestra, Noam Pikelny (’99) received the first Steve Martin Prize for Excellence in Banjo and Bluegrass and performed last November on Letterman, Tahera Ahmad (’02) is Northwestern University’s first Muslim chaplain and the subject of a recent PBS documentary, Gary Kremen (’81) founded Match.com and Charles Prebish (’62) recently retired as Professor Emeritus from Penn State University.

I’m feeling slighted. It might be time to send a paragraph of my own to the D219 Alumni News because I’ll be 60 in a few months, and at my age a girl doesn’t have too many quarter-centuries left. Here’s what I’m proposing to send:

Marcy Lutz Marks (’69), former “Playboy” centerfold and inventor of canned kidney beans, high-capacity inkjet cartridges and memory foam, is enjoying retirement at Club Meds in Mesquite, Texas. She writes the Howdygram, injects insulin and makes beds.

I thought I’d also include a photo of Raquel Welch in costume from One Million Years B.C. You know the one I’m referring to.

In case you’re interested, the house finally warmed up so it’s probably a good idea to go back to bed for a while. Thanks for stopping by. Next time bring a friend.

*Somebody at the National Weather Service probably knew and forgot to tell me.

Ah, sweet mysteries of life.

According to a news item I read yesterday on the Chicago Tribune’s website, the owner of the Charcoal Oven restaurant in suburban Skokie died in his sleep on Christmas Day.

While this probably means absolutely nothing to 99½% of the people reading this post, I need to tell you that I grew up one block away from this strange little establishment, which offered frightened customers an unexpected trip to the Twilight Zone for more than 60 years. The map below indicates: A) the house where I grew up; and B) the Charcoal Oven restaurant.

I never knew anybody who ate at the Charcoal Oven. My family never ate there, my neighbors never ate there, and my friends never ate there, either, probably because it was just too damn close to home. When you get dressed up to go out for dinner you don’t want to drive 11 seconds to the next block and park the car.

And so here’s my strange story. It’s a late Saturday afternoon in the mid-1980s, I’m spending a few hours at my parents’ house and dad asks why don’t we all walk over to the Charcoal Oven for an early dinner. Keep in mind ... this is the first time he’s ever suggested it, and he and mom had lived one block from that restaurant for more than 30 years.

Have a seat. You’re entering the Twilight Zone. When we get to the Charcoal Oven it’s around 5 p.m., the parking lot is jammed with Cadillacs, and the restaurant is COMPLETELY EMPTY inside except for one waitress and a busboy with a pitcher of water. We’re ignored for ten minutes before we finally have a chance to ask for a table. The waitress tells us it might not be possible because we don’t have a reservation. There are no other customers. She seats us anyway, gives us our menus, drops off a basket of bread and vanishes for 45 minutes. Dad eventually walks into the kitchen to look for her. She’s not there. And he doesn’t even see a chef.

When she finally comes back from the depths of hell (or wherever she disappeared to) we attempt to order dinner and find out that nothing on the menu is available. If we want food we have to order one of their two daily specials with string beans. It’s another 45 minutes before we get our salads. Nobody asks if we want beverages, nobody refills our bread basket or water glasses (the busboy is gone, too), and when our entrees finally show up they’re room temperature, unseasoned and strangely chewy. Dinner lasts almost three hours. We’re still the only customers in the restaurant.

After we finally flag down Satan the Waitress for our check, she hands us a grocery bag filled with homemade bread (the same bread nobody bothered to refill during dinner) and half a dozen home-grown tomatoes from somebody’s back yard. The parking lot is still full of Cadillacs when we leave.

Conclusion. Mom’s the one who first mentions this because she always loved old Edward G. Robinson movies: THE CHARCOAL OVEN IS A FRONT FOR THE MAFIA. It’s a restaurant with no food, no staff, no customers and no chef ... and a parking lot that looks like a Cadillac dealership. Everybody is probably in the basement running a bookie joint or planning a hit.

So that’s it. Phillip Georgouses died on Christmas Day and one of his daughters will take over the empty Charcoal Oven, Skokie’s oldest Twilight Zone restaurant that doesn’t sell any food. Thank you for reading this.

What do your memories sound like?

Studies show that certain scents and fragrances can evoke explicit memories. I guess that’s true ... the smell of a great pizza always makes me want Alberti’s from downtown Skokie ... 50 years ago. But for me, my favorite memories spring from SOUNDS more than scents, and I’ve definitely got a couple of favorites.

Let’s hear it for the boys of summer. No, not the Chicago Cubs ... I’m talking about LANDSCAPERS. I’m crazy about the sound of lawn mowers! It takes me back to my childhood, summer afternoons, no school, happy weather, playing outside on fresh-cut grass. Our landscaping crew showed up yesterday morning for the first time since last October, and I always want more when they finish in less than 20 minutes. Maybe someone can burn a CD of mowing noises for me.

The plane truth. I absolutely LOVE the sound of a small propeller airplane. I’m transported back in time to 1955, being four years old at Greenleaf Beach in Chicago, playing in the sand on a hot summer day with mom and Robin, eating a vanilla Dixie Cup with the goofy wooden spatula/spoon that came glued to the lid ... and if you squinted up at the sun there was always a little plane overhead dragging a banner advertisement back and forth. To this day, any time I hear a small plane I can smell the water and suntan lotion. It’s hypnotic. It’s even better than lawn mowers.

Somebody send me a pizza from Alberti’s and life will be complete. Thank you for reading this.