Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Elul (end-of-August, like) has come around again, and you know what that means: It’s mitzvah-time in Newburgh. Today my husband and his pastor-friends went for a hike at my favorite place — Storm King — and didn’t invite me, so i decided to get back at them: i’d go out and buy bagels, and then not share. (THAT’ll teach them!) Turns out i got two free ones, so i have 14 to bring TO THE OFFICE tonight, so that PEOPLE WHO LIKE ME can eat them.

But i digress.

As i did on my way home from the bagel shop.

NO, i didn’t exactly “digress,” but i got distracted. i was about two blocks from home here in the ‘hood, when what do i see in front of South Junior High School but two guys breaking into a car. They had the requisite coat hanger and long-handled, flat-head screwdriver, and they were trying to, like, “pry down” the driver’s-side window. Now, in any other city, such a scene would accurately be labeled: “Two Guys Breaking Into a Car.” But i had a funny feeling they were just like me: idiots who had merely locked themselves out. i got home, ran inside and put the bagels in the fridge, grabbed my license, house keys, cell phone and Triple-A card, and ran back.

Sure enough, i was right. One call to AAA on my part, and they’d be in. Unfortunately, i don’t speak Spanish “muy bien.” Conjuring my one, high-school course in that language, however, i was able to discern that the shorter fellow either thought i am a prostitute or was named “Jorge,” and that he was the owner of the vehicle; the other had some weird-ass name that i never could understand, and he was the “amigo.” He was trying to “ayudarle,” which means either that he was trying to help, or that they were trying to steal the car. Confident that my instincts were right once again (this would have made at least the third or fourth time in my 60 years), i called Triple-A. Within 15 minutes, a truck from Pat’s Garage arrived. The driver checked my ID and AAA card, took 2.1 seconds to unlock the door, and we were all “finito.”

With muchas gracias from my two new amigos, i strolled home, all pleased with myself. And just think: i never would have done it if it hadn’t been for my husband not taking me on his hiking trip. i guess G-d works in ways misteriosos.

While walking around Newburgh today, the following question occurred to me: When French people use a vulgar expression, do they stop and say, “Pardon my English”?

I had quite a shock yesterday while leafing through the new (April 24) issue of “The Vision,” the newspaper of the New York Conference of the United Methodist Church. There, on Page 8A, are two photos i had taken during a recent hike with my husband, Tim, and three of his pastor-pals. i was given NO credit for the photos (i guess it’s not very Christian of me to even notice that), much less for bringing along the most recent trail guide to that hike, binoculars, toilet paper, hand sanitizer, camera and by far the most water. No, no; none of that bothered me.

At all. As you can tell.

Instead, what got me was this young pastor-dude’s description of our hiking group (5 people, including me). First, he wrote that our group “consisted of four clergy and one clergy spouse, with varying degrees of ‘maturity.’”

First of all, when you put quotes around “maturity” like that, it means you know that all the youngsters reading this are winking at one another and jabbing one another in the ribs, amused and sympathic with your efforts to not say the offensive word, “age.” (Can you please count me out of your little group, people? Age is a GOOD thing! May you all age!) And then the other thing that got me was, in describing the hike*, he wrote, “We struggled and panted our way to three peaks, amidst scenic waterfalls, rock formations, and a climb called ‘The Devil’s Staircase.’ It sounds rough, and it was, but it was more than enjoyable for our multigenerational team.”

I came to a dead stop. “‘Multigenerational’?” There were five of us … all about my age, or a little younger. All adults. No kids, no grandparents. “Multigenerational”?! i read that sentence to Tim, totally flummoxed. i had gotten to know David a bit during that four-hour hike because i deliberately slowed down several times so i could talk with him. He’s no dope. He couldn’t possibly misuse the word “multigenerational,” could he? Tim laughed and said, “Genie, you’re old enough to be David’s mother.”

If i live to September, i’ll be 60. I guess David, who described himself in the first paragraph of his story as “a young pastor,” could be 30. i guess that made our group “multigenerational.”

Son of a bitch. i’m now the one making hikes be “multigenerational.” So OK, here’s the thing: If you want to have a strong, experienced hiker with you — one who remembers to bring the hand sanitizer, toilet paper,  compass, and enough water — bring someone multigenerational. And hope you don’t piss her off.

And take the quotes off of “maturity.”

*It’s the Fitzgerald Falls to Little Dam Lake hike, in the Ramapo Mountains south of Monroe. Find a good description of it in the 2nd edition of Christopher and Catherine Brooks’ “60 Hikes Within 60 Miles of New York City.”  The book says it’s 6 hours round-trip but our group, replete with people of another generation, took four hours to do it one-way. We left one car near Little Dam Lake and started from Fitzgerald Falls. Enjoy!