I’m a ‘Been There, Done That” kind of gal, so I’m usually looking for new things to do, or ways to make old things new. However, I make exceptions when it comes to sharing previous experiences with my daughter. There are so many things I’ve done that I think my daughter would also enjoy, so I make it a point to recreate some of my childhood experiences for her.
I had such an opportunity this past weekend while she and I were back in Connecticut visiting family. We arrived on a weekday, so while my relatives were working and in school, I decided to take my daughter on one of my childhood field trips. I was about her age when my class took a field trip to Mystic Aquarium. She and I love sea animals, so I knew she’d be game. Sure enough, she had a ball running alongside the beluga whales, clapping along with the sea lions, and petting the stingrays. Afterwards, we went to Mystic Pizza where I could reminisce more from my childhood. Then we shopped around and got some ice cream, because that’s just what you do in a town like Mystic.
Baby Beluga!
Field trips from childhood are definitely worth repeating with your own children, especially if you no longer live in the town where you grew up. It’s fun to go back and take in what has changed and what has withstood the test of time. After so many years, an old experience was practically new, and just as fun. Next time I will stay longer so that she and I can take field trips to the Mark Twain House and Sturbridge Village.
Memorial Day is, of course, a time to reflect and mourn the loss of our fallen heroes, but to also celebrate what we have gained as a result of their service and sacrifices. Memorial Day has become the unofficial kickoff to summer with all of the cookouts, pool openings, and parades.
Throughout my childhood, on Memorial Day, my family and I would walk down our road to the town center to watch the annual parade. Most years, at least one of us was in the parade. Whether it was the marching band or the fyfe and drum corps, we’d meet with our group in the Geissler’s parking lot to warm up and line up.
That parade would always march to the town cemetery for the playing of Taps, the flag ceremony, and the gun salute, then on to the old middle school for speeches, and then back to the town center for the laying of the wreaths. It was a long, hot morning for those of us who marched, but we always felt proud to be a part of the day.
Actually, I always felt proud to be a part of any parade while marching with the fyfe and drum corps. We were the Marquis of Granby, and we were really good. We were known for our crisp uniforms and precise and serious presentations. We were also probably considered the ‘snobby’ fyfe and drum corps at musters, but we embraced it because we knew we were good, and that made us feel good and want to be even better. It’s laughable to think of a group of kids dressed in revolutionary war-time garb marching down the street as snobby when, in fact, we were actually a very silly group of kids. We just knew when to act right.
Marquis of Granby marching through the town center on Memorial Day
I loved being a part of that organization. We traveled all over the Northeast for parades and musters. Our leaders were great at supplementing our trips with other learning experiences, like whale watches, dinner theaters, and touring museums and churches. And even without the extras, it was a learning experience just to visit other places and witness the townsfolk celebrating whatever that particular parade was about. One of my favorites was the Blessing of the Fleet in Gloucester, MA. It was a very long parade, but it was along the coastline, and we stopped for a break at just about every church in town while the priests gave their blessings. At the end we’d get to witness the spectacle of the Greasy Pole contest, while costumed contestants would attempt to make their way to the end of a 45-foot telephone pole to grab a flag before falling into the water. Memorable, for sure.
If I had to guess, I’d say I marched in close to 100 parades with the corps over the few years I was a member. I’m not sure if that equals the 10,000 hours of practice that is required to achieve mastery, but I know that at 30 years later, I can still pick up my fyfe and play many of our songs by memory. I don’t march anymore, and maybe I just haven’t been looking close enough, but fife and drum corps don’t seem to be as popular down here in the south. Either way, I still love a parade, so I’m always up for going and watching all of the groups show what they know, as silly or as serious as they may be.
I went to the Pickle Festival in Mt. Olive, NC today. It was good old-fashioned fun, complete with a car show, funnel cakes, kiddie rides, a petting zoo, live music, and a pickle eating contest. There were tons of people there, which was great to see, and something I haven’t been a part of for a few years.
There were two main strips of vendor tents and food trucks that ran along either side of train tracks. Rather than walking the pace of turtles within the crowds, my friends and I chose to walk down the middle of the tracks. Walking down railroad ties always reminds me of two things: 1) the movie Stand by Me (and if you’ve seen it, you know why), and 2) my dear friend, Lori.
My family members who immigrated to the US settled in Centre County, Pennsylvania. Growing up, we drove out from Connecticut for the family reunion just about every July. We always stayed at Twila’s (my first cousin once removed) duplex. In the home upstairs lived a girl my age who became my pen pal after we met the summer before 5th grade. We kept in touch all year, and then hung out just about the whole time I was in PA, year after year. We always had so much to talk about. So much so, that one day we got to walking and talking, ended up on a train track, and kept going until we finally realized we might have been gone long enough to get in trouble.
I remember we drew train tracks on our letters to each other a few times after that. There’s something so comforting in being able to walk alongside and talk with someone, for however long, about anything. Lori and I took the time to open up to and listen to each other, and it laid the foundation for a lifelong friendship. I was her Maid of Honor, and attended her baby showers. We still send birthday and holiday cards to each other. Our letters have shortened to texts and checking in on social media, but we’re in touch. After 30-something years, it’s safe to say those ties will continue to the horizon. Blest be the ties that bind.
Juvenescent Junkets 