Four Play
Hello World,
Happy July! I hope that you had a rip-snorting, star-spangled, red-white-and-blue 4th of July on Wednesday with all the trimmings. I happened to bump into a co-worker on the stairs on Tuesday and wished her a happy holiday, and she said she was looking forward to a day off, although she admitted, she thought that having a day off on a Wednesday was "stupid." Of course, everyone knows that I'm too polite to point out that in this country, at least, July 4th has historically been celebrated at whatever day of the week that it falls on, and has not joined the ranks of movable feasts throughout the rest of the calendar. Now, the dinosaurs can call me a free-wheeling radical (they'd better not!) but the future may see Independence Day turned into yet another Monday holiday like all the rest of them, and at this point, I wouldn't bet against it. On the local scene, I was up early and putting out flags upstairs and downstairs, showing off those broad stripes and bright stars, what so proudly we hailed and thank you, Francis Scott Key. And although I wasn't expecting a perilous fight, with rockets red glare and bombs bursting in air, we did strike a rather sour note when the unthinkable happened. The new upstairs flag bracket, which was being held to the house with mangled nails and a prayer, was no proof against the strong winds, and while it didn't actually fall off the house, it did turn upside-down and gravity did the rest, as I realized to my horror when I found the upstairs flag laying in a heap downstairs in the flower-bed. That sound you hear is poor Betsy Ross spinning in her grave, along with all of the Founding Fathers, and my apologies to all on behalf of the flag brigade. Obviously, the flag brigade is going to have to do something about that upstairs flag bracket, and sooner rather than later, at least in time for Labor Day. I certainly don't want the uneasy spirit of Samuel L. Gompers mad at me also, besides everyone else.
Speaking of movable feasts, although Wednesday was when businesses were closed and people had the day off for the holiday, apparently, the July 4th fireworks have a mind of their own and wander off any old time and place. Our local paper had reports of municipalities in the county having their so-called 4th of July fireworks, and having a high old time of it by all accounts, beginning last week on Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday and Tuesday. I guess I don't have to tell you what the dinosaurs and I think of that, and I don't mind saying, the cats didn't think a whole lot of it either, especially the ones that were nearby. (For the record, our cats who are all grizzled veterans of the hard-knock life out on the streets, will tell you that they are not afraid of fireworks. It just happens to coincide with the time that they have arranged to inspect underneath the bed, behind the furniture and in back of the stairs.) In an ironic twist of fate, many of the localities that waited until the actual 4th of July to have their fireworks found themselves washed out by rain, and didn't have them after all, making those hard-charging early birds from last week look like geniuses. Well, they can laugh all they want, but I still say that pre-emptive fireworks are still wrong and that's all there is to it. And remember, I was pulling the flag out of our flower-beds on Wednesday, so I ought to know.
Also on the topic of movable feasts, we have the bonnie Round Hill Scottish Games of lore and legend, now in its 84th season and still going strong. The fair laddies and lasses responsible for the Games have them on a Saturday close to the 4th of July, and there are times, like last year, when it turns out to be the first day of my vacation, and we can't go. This year, they were the Saturday before July 4th, and since we missed them last year, we were even more eager to go than usual. They hold them at lovely and scenic Cranbury Park in Norwalk, using the large center field for races and marching bands, and other charming wooded areas for different events, all with the wonderful Gallaher mansion as the backdrop. Although there is no "wrong" time to get there, we like to be at the park in time for the entrance of the massed bands, to see and hear the swirling colors and stirring pipes and drums in all their regalia and at full throttle. We were lulled into a false sense of security by arriving early at the usual parking lot where the shuttle bus service speeds people back and forth to the Games, and were unpleasantly surprised to find it deserted and padlocked for good measure. Their web site had neglected to point out this change in arrangements, so we turned around and found ourselves in a long line of cars driving to the park, only to be directed to a different pick-up location at a different parking lot farther away. (The whole concept of signs has never caught on in a big way with the organizers, although if they had just stuck up Scottish flags along the way that they wanted us to go, we could have figured it out ourselves and not only saved untold aggravation, but improved international relations at a stroke.) This was an inauspicious start to the Games for us, as we stood in the parking lot waiting for a bus almost an hour, and just barely got to the park in time to see the parade of the bands. It was a good thing, because hearing "If I Was A Rich Man" from Fiddler on the Roof played by a bagpipe marching band is something that can only be experienced, and not explained.
After the opening ceremonies, which include the requisite boring speeches and bad singers, they begin with youth races and contests, plus the "heavy-weight" games like shot put and the caber toss. There were story-telling events, country dancing and highland dancing, but we managed to get to those areas at the wrong time and missed all of them. The highland dancing is a highlight of the Games for me, so I was sorry to miss that. Returning to take another swing at the Games was a Scottish rock band called Mac Talla Mo'r ("The Great Echo") although it must be said that the dinosaurs and I can remember a time that a rock band with bagpipes would have been laughed right out of the genre. But there they were, and doing a fine job, and we ended up enjoying them more than we expected to. Then it was off on a hunt for souvenirs, among the wide variety of vendors in tents selling everything Scottish, from kilts and sporrans to bumper stickers and tea towels and everything in between. I didn't find much to my liking, but nothing stands between me and my souvenirs, so I finally settled on something and considered the day complete.
Over the years of going to the Games, we've lost one after another of our favorite food places to relax and refresh once we leave the park, so now we just drive up and down the main drag scrounging around for some place that looks half-way decent. This time we tried a small Italian restaurant and pizzeria, and Bill found their personal pan pizza not bad at all, while I was surprised by what I can only describe as an "open face calzone," which was a first for me, and I've been eating calzones ever since, well, you can just go ahead and ask the dinosaurs about that. But it was warm and we were hungry, since the food at the Games ranges from the mediocre to the inedible and back again, and after 84 years, shows no sign of improvement. So all in all, it was a day of ups and downs for Round Hill, but we still had fun and were glad to enjoy a wee bit o' Scotland on a day that wasn't my vacation for a change.
Meanwhile, for all of you history buffs out there (okay, settle down, dinosaurs!) Bill happened to be at wikipedia on June 15 when I complained of the poor General Slocum steamboat disaster being all alone and forlorn on that date, according to the list of June dates by Mr. Cusimano, but our friends at wikipedia listed over 40 events for that day, as well as over 100 notable births (perhaps only Bill considers Lash LaRue notable) and more than 50 notable deaths. It is also the day observed as Malawi Freedom Day, as well as Flag Day in Denmark, which is Bill's favorite --
======================================
1219 - Dannebrog - oldest national flag in the world - and flag of Denmark. According to legend, fell from the sky during the Battle of Lyndanisse (now Tallinn) in Estonia, and turned the Danes' luck.
Gosh -- makes you wonder if Betsy Ross would have become so famous if all she'd had to do was duck!
======================================
So now we know that June 15 is nothing to sneeze at, and can hold its own among the memorable events and highlights of other days. And you know that I'm taking a page out of Denmark's book, with that flag dropping out of the sky, and anybody could see where this is going. Thanks to my errant upstairs flag bracket, we had the inaugural celebration of Ameribrog on these shores, because the flag did indeed fall out of the sky, and I have the casualties in my flower-beds to prove it. So I invite you to join in the observation of this new festival on July 4th, and if you can't fly your colors high and dry, in the spirit of Lyndanisse, let them tumble where they may, by the dawn's early light and the twilight's last gleaming. No, please don't thank me, I only pass along Ameribrog as a gift of gravity, and the joy of a grateful nation is all the thanks I need.
Happy July! I hope that you had a rip-snorting, star-spangled, red-white-and-blue 4th of July on Wednesday with all the trimmings. I happened to bump into a co-worker on the stairs on Tuesday and wished her a happy holiday, and she said she was looking forward to a day off, although she admitted, she thought that having a day off on a Wednesday was "stupid." Of course, everyone knows that I'm too polite to point out that in this country, at least, July 4th has historically been celebrated at whatever day of the week that it falls on, and has not joined the ranks of movable feasts throughout the rest of the calendar. Now, the dinosaurs can call me a free-wheeling radical (they'd better not!) but the future may see Independence Day turned into yet another Monday holiday like all the rest of them, and at this point, I wouldn't bet against it. On the local scene, I was up early and putting out flags upstairs and downstairs, showing off those broad stripes and bright stars, what so proudly we hailed and thank you, Francis Scott Key. And although I wasn't expecting a perilous fight, with rockets red glare and bombs bursting in air, we did strike a rather sour note when the unthinkable happened. The new upstairs flag bracket, which was being held to the house with mangled nails and a prayer, was no proof against the strong winds, and while it didn't actually fall off the house, it did turn upside-down and gravity did the rest, as I realized to my horror when I found the upstairs flag laying in a heap downstairs in the flower-bed. That sound you hear is poor Betsy Ross spinning in her grave, along with all of the Founding Fathers, and my apologies to all on behalf of the flag brigade. Obviously, the flag brigade is going to have to do something about that upstairs flag bracket, and sooner rather than later, at least in time for Labor Day. I certainly don't want the uneasy spirit of Samuel L. Gompers mad at me also, besides everyone else.
Speaking of movable feasts, although Wednesday was when businesses were closed and people had the day off for the holiday, apparently, the July 4th fireworks have a mind of their own and wander off any old time and place. Our local paper had reports of municipalities in the county having their so-called 4th of July fireworks, and having a high old time of it by all accounts, beginning last week on Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday and Tuesday. I guess I don't have to tell you what the dinosaurs and I think of that, and I don't mind saying, the cats didn't think a whole lot of it either, especially the ones that were nearby. (For the record, our cats who are all grizzled veterans of the hard-knock life out on the streets, will tell you that they are not afraid of fireworks. It just happens to coincide with the time that they have arranged to inspect underneath the bed, behind the furniture and in back of the stairs.) In an ironic twist of fate, many of the localities that waited until the actual 4th of July to have their fireworks found themselves washed out by rain, and didn't have them after all, making those hard-charging early birds from last week look like geniuses. Well, they can laugh all they want, but I still say that pre-emptive fireworks are still wrong and that's all there is to it. And remember, I was pulling the flag out of our flower-beds on Wednesday, so I ought to know.
Also on the topic of movable feasts, we have the bonnie Round Hill Scottish Games of lore and legend, now in its 84th season and still going strong. The fair laddies and lasses responsible for the Games have them on a Saturday close to the 4th of July, and there are times, like last year, when it turns out to be the first day of my vacation, and we can't go. This year, they were the Saturday before July 4th, and since we missed them last year, we were even more eager to go than usual. They hold them at lovely and scenic Cranbury Park in Norwalk, using the large center field for races and marching bands, and other charming wooded areas for different events, all with the wonderful Gallaher mansion as the backdrop. Although there is no "wrong" time to get there, we like to be at the park in time for the entrance of the massed bands, to see and hear the swirling colors and stirring pipes and drums in all their regalia and at full throttle. We were lulled into a false sense of security by arriving early at the usual parking lot where the shuttle bus service speeds people back and forth to the Games, and were unpleasantly surprised to find it deserted and padlocked for good measure. Their web site had neglected to point out this change in arrangements, so we turned around and found ourselves in a long line of cars driving to the park, only to be directed to a different pick-up location at a different parking lot farther away. (The whole concept of signs has never caught on in a big way with the organizers, although if they had just stuck up Scottish flags along the way that they wanted us to go, we could have figured it out ourselves and not only saved untold aggravation, but improved international relations at a stroke.) This was an inauspicious start to the Games for us, as we stood in the parking lot waiting for a bus almost an hour, and just barely got to the park in time to see the parade of the bands. It was a good thing, because hearing "If I Was A Rich Man" from Fiddler on the Roof played by a bagpipe marching band is something that can only be experienced, and not explained.
After the opening ceremonies, which include the requisite boring speeches and bad singers, they begin with youth races and contests, plus the "heavy-weight" games like shot put and the caber toss. There were story-telling events, country dancing and highland dancing, but we managed to get to those areas at the wrong time and missed all of them. The highland dancing is a highlight of the Games for me, so I was sorry to miss that. Returning to take another swing at the Games was a Scottish rock band called Mac Talla Mo'r ("The Great Echo") although it must be said that the dinosaurs and I can remember a time that a rock band with bagpipes would have been laughed right out of the genre. But there they were, and doing a fine job, and we ended up enjoying them more than we expected to. Then it was off on a hunt for souvenirs, among the wide variety of vendors in tents selling everything Scottish, from kilts and sporrans to bumper stickers and tea towels and everything in between. I didn't find much to my liking, but nothing stands between me and my souvenirs, so I finally settled on something and considered the day complete.
Over the years of going to the Games, we've lost one after another of our favorite food places to relax and refresh once we leave the park, so now we just drive up and down the main drag scrounging around for some place that looks half-way decent. This time we tried a small Italian restaurant and pizzeria, and Bill found their personal pan pizza not bad at all, while I was surprised by what I can only describe as an "open face calzone," which was a first for me, and I've been eating calzones ever since, well, you can just go ahead and ask the dinosaurs about that. But it was warm and we were hungry, since the food at the Games ranges from the mediocre to the inedible and back again, and after 84 years, shows no sign of improvement. So all in all, it was a day of ups and downs for Round Hill, but we still had fun and were glad to enjoy a wee bit o' Scotland on a day that wasn't my vacation for a change.
Meanwhile, for all of you history buffs out there (okay, settle down, dinosaurs!) Bill happened to be at wikipedia on June 15 when I complained of the poor General Slocum steamboat disaster being all alone and forlorn on that date, according to the list of June dates by Mr. Cusimano, but our friends at wikipedia listed over 40 events for that day, as well as over 100 notable births (perhaps only Bill considers Lash LaRue notable) and more than 50 notable deaths. It is also the day observed as Malawi Freedom Day, as well as Flag Day in Denmark, which is Bill's favorite --
======================================
1219 - Dannebrog - oldest national flag in the world - and flag of Denmark. According to legend, fell from the sky during the Battle of Lyndanisse (now Tallinn) in Estonia, and turned the Danes' luck.
Gosh -- makes you wonder if Betsy Ross would have become so famous if all she'd had to do was duck!
======================================
So now we know that June 15 is nothing to sneeze at, and can hold its own among the memorable events and highlights of other days. And you know that I'm taking a page out of Denmark's book, with that flag dropping out of the sky, and anybody could see where this is going. Thanks to my errant upstairs flag bracket, we had the inaugural celebration of Ameribrog on these shores, because the flag did indeed fall out of the sky, and I have the casualties in my flower-beds to prove it. So I invite you to join in the observation of this new festival on July 4th, and if you can't fly your colors high and dry, in the spirit of Lyndanisse, let them tumble where they may, by the dawn's early light and the twilight's last gleaming. No, please don't thank me, I only pass along Ameribrog as a gift of gravity, and the joy of a grateful nation is all the thanks I need.
posted by El Tango Fandango @ 9:08 PM
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