Vive La France

Hello World,

This may not be true everywhere, but many of us in the local area have much to be thankful for, after the frenzied media blitz that was Hurricane Irene down-sized instead to Tropical Storm Irene, and basically skipped right over us with no appreciable damage, except for some higher than normal high tides that spilled over the most low-lying areas. The winds were strong but not ferocious, and no trees or large branches came down, even in our neighborhood full of old trees. We never lost our electricity, the roof didn't leak, even the basement wasn't any wetter than usual, and that's saying something in this soggy old place. Early on Sunday morning, when I was expecting it to start getting worse according to the weather reports, it was already basically all over, and many of us were wondering what all the fuss was about. Of course, everyone knows that my mother was a Girl Scout leader, and their motto is "Be Prepared," so I figure it's better for people to be ready for the worst, whether it turns out that way or not. And I can tell you that the President's economic advisers must have been delirious at the way the bottled water and generators were flying off the shelves, not to mention, batteries, toilet paper and - believe it or not - cars lining up for blocks to buy gasoline, just like 1973 all over again. So I guess we could say that Irene was a boom in the economy but a bust as a hurricane, which may just be the best of both worlds. As for all of those people who ran out to stock up on milk, bread and eggs - well, I guess they'll be eating French toast for a month now.

Meanwhile at work, on a weather-related topic, you can imagine that we were all pleased as punch when we received a memo from the President of the hospital, thanking us for our efforts during the recent emergency. Incomprehensibly, it actually starts out by saying, "Despite the first hurricane to strike the New York region in more than a century ... " Now, I happen to know this gentleman personally has been working at the employer of last resort for over 20 years, and before that at other area facilities, so he didn't just drop out of a space ship and know nothing about the local weather for the last few decades. So I'm thinking it would come as a surprise to those of us who very vividly remember (and in fact, lived through) numerous major hurricanes such as Camille, Agnes, Belle, Bob, Floyd, Gloria - and the granddaddy of them all, The Great Hurricane of 1938, which slammed smack into Wall Street, and really showed that wall who was boss, by golly. So where he comes up with this "first hurricane in a century" malarkey is certainly a mystery to me, although at home, we tend to explain these types of mental lapses by supposing that someone has spent too much time in the "Hospitality Tent," and that's not just a lot of hurricane punch, believe me.

Speaking of tents, while everyone else on Saturday was at the stores stocking up on hurricane supplies, we headed out to the luxurious Old Westbury Gardens on Long Island for the 51st annual Scottish Festival, which they promised would go on as planned, "rain or shine." Well, there wasn't much shining, but there was mostly just a smattering of rain, and it turned out to be not a bad day after all. We brought my sister Diane along, since she had volunteered to help out at the Island Harvest booth, and she pitched in gamely in spite of the weather. It certainly wasn't as crowded as the last time we went, so we were allowed to park on the grounds itself, and not have to take the shuttle bus from a nearby elementary school, which was much more convenient this way. The skirl of bagpipes was in the air, but they also had many other entertainment offerings, such as a bluegrass band, puppet shows, country dancers, folk music, storytellers, roving troubadours, and even Irish step dancing. Unfortunately, our plans to see our favorite Celtic fusion band, Mac Talla M'or, came a cropper when we arrived too late for their 11:30 show, and they canceled the 2:30 show out of sheer Irene-o-phobia, when we would have supposed these lads and lasses to be made of sterner stuff. It did turn out to be a much scaled-back version of the regular festival, as many of the food or merchandise vendors stayed home, but there was a plucky camaraderie among the tattered remnant, who were determined to give it their all in spite of the less than ideal conditions. Of course, it's got to take more than a hurricane to keep us from buying souvenirs, not to mention, snacks and raffle tickets, so we were glad to find some things to our liking among the limited choices. Alert readers may have already guessed the punch line to this story, where we assuaged our disappointment over not seeing Mac Talla M'or by having a late lunch at Denny's in Levittown, which for us is a special delight that never grows old. And rather than complaining about the pre-hurricane frenzy, I think it's only fair to point out that as a result of that very hysteria, we were able to travel over the Throgs Neck Bridge at no charge, both ways, and with tolls in the amounts they are nowadays, that's a veritable bonanza, pardner.

We also got in touch with my cousin Cheryl who lives nearby, and has seen many of these festivals over the years, as her husband's company provides the audio-visual services on location, and here is normally where I would be inviting everyone to feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site and see for yourself, but I will say that if anybody can find a web page for these people, well, you're a better man than I am, Gunga Din. Cheryl is as Scottish as I am, on our fathers' side of the family, but she also has some French heritage on her mother's side. Now, it must be said that Cheryl doesn't begrudge the Scots their fun, but she wonders why they don't have French festivals and games too, like the ubiquitous Irish and Scottish festivals that populate the weekends throughout the year in every corner of the country. After all, she reasons, if you're going to go someplace and have ethnic food, wouldn't you rather have Crepes Suzette instead of Haggis? Escargots rather than meat pies? Bouillabaisse rather than fish and chips? And not to mention, all those great French pastries, I pointed out with enthusiasm. Personally, I think she may be onto something there, and I can envision a full range of competitions, such as mime contests, tossing the beret, tug-of-baguette, wine bottle juggling, and of course, rudeness and insults in both amateur and professional categories. And let's not forget French kissing, although the judging for that might be a little complicated, I'm thinking. There would be strolling accordions to regale the bourgeoisie with the strains of La Marseillaise and Mademoiselle from Armentieres, while contentedly sipping Champagne and savoring sorbet under their parasols, in their finest haute couture, along with their impeccably groomed French poodles, of course. They would also have booths where experts would conclusively prove that French toast, French fries and French horns have absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with France, and never have, eh bien. And instead of little girls in plaid, jumping around and stamping their feet, you could look forward to actual Can-Can dancers putting on a show of high kicks and petticoats, and that would probably be worth the price of admission all by itself, and that's not just a lot of zut alors, believe me. So I say, break out the napoleons and eclairs, brush up on your Voltaire, and let's get this Franco-Fest underway with all the liberty, equality, and fraternity that we can muster. I may not have any French blood in me, but I can tell you if there's pastries involved, then I'm more than ready to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with mes amis and shout, "Vive La France!" After all, I live in a house with French doors, so that has to count for something, or my name isn't -

Mademoiselle from Armentieres