Parade

Everybody Loves A Parade

Jeanna GLeave a comment

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.

Laissez Les Bon Temps Rouler!

Jeanna G1 Comment

It’s Marci Gras! I did my part to make sure Fat Tuesday lived up to its name by making and eating an absurd amount of gumbo and cornbread. I’ve never been to the Mardi Gras festival, but I have been to New Orleans, and our hotel was right on Bourbon Street, and we visited the Mardi Gras museum to see the floats. I was also traveling with my 7-year-old at the time, so I had to be somewhat prudent. Anyhow, I was watching the news this morning about New Orleans and how there is no parade because of Covid, but houses and yards are decorated to the nines. One interviewee said, “The parade may be cancelled, but the spirit of Marci Gras cannot!” And that is when I got teary-eyed.

I don’t know about you, but I hope post-Covid celebrations rush in like someone opened the floodgates. Potential memories are being stolen from us. Sweet memories of passing out cupcakes on your birthday or Valentines to your classmates were erased like a chalkboard this past year. Dancing like nobody’s watching on a crowded amphitheater lawn is only a hallucination. Singing the school fight song with 109,000 other fans in the university stadium must have been a figment of my imagination. Hugging and holding hands? Only in our wildest dreams. Festivals, reunions, and play dates are all fictional chapters of our now boring lives. Gosh, I even fantasize about struggling to get the bartender’s attention during happy hour!

I hope when we become a herd again, we become immune to boredom. I hope we flock together and have a parade. A day of parades all over the world with singing and dancing, and everyone has a seat together at the grandstand with a perfect view of the spectacle. But the timing of these Mardi Gras celebrations will be reversed, because we’ve been abstaining for too long, as if we’d given up togetherness for lent. It’s time for the spirit of Mardi Gras that has been hibernating in our hearts to wake up, take a real good stretch, and let the good times roll!

A Trip for the Ages

Jeanna G1 Comment

As I’d mentioned in my post “Mementos,” watching the Macy’s parade on Thanksgiving has been a tradition of mine since a very young age. In the early 2000s, the National Dog Show was added to my holiday routine. Every year I tune in to watch while surrounded by family, friends, and food. And every year I’d tell myself I would watch the parade in person one day, and I’d get a dog. Finally, in 2018, I did both. Thanksgiving just happened to fall on my late grandma’s birthday that year, November 22nd. It seemed fitting to finally see the parade in person that I had watched in her living room on Long Island for so many years.

On Wednesday, my daughter and I boarded the Silver Star in Raleigh, which had been delayed because of an accident involving a landscaping truck somewhere in Florida. Because of the delay, we were pushed back in the line going into just about every station along the route, changing our arrival time from 6pm to midnight. The delay put the kibosh on attending the balloon inflation event near the American Museum of Natural History. We’ll just have to go back another year, preferably when the weather is warmer. The parade first began in 1924, and the year my daughter and I went was the coldest in the parade’s history; 19 degrees in Central Park at 11am.

We pulled into Penn Station at midnight, walked to our hotel near Times Square, and slept a few short hours before bundling up and walking toward Columbus Circle. We settled on a spot at the corner of 68th and Central Park West, that also happened to be where a Macy’s employee was allowing ticket holders to cross to the other side of the street, where they could sit on bleachers for a better view. At 10 til 9, there were very few people sitting on the bleachers, so the employee turned to us and asked if we wanted to cross over. I hadn’t even grabbed my chair and my daughter was already halfway across the street. We were gifted with a front row seat over subway vents that blew up coveted gusts of hot air every time a trained passed beneath us. At 9am sharp the parade kicked off, and despite the potential for frostbite, my daughter and I had a ball. The clowns patted her head and tossed confetti all over her. We waved at the stars and were slack-jawed by the immensity of the balloons. And then there was Santa. Time slowed as he and I locked eyes. Always believe in the magic that is Santa Claus. Nothing can transport me back to childhood faster.

When watching on tv, the parade doesn’t end until noon, and you see a good hour of performances in Herald Square, including the quintessential can-can kicks of the Rockettes, before the parade marches through. We were so close to the parade kick-off at 77th street, that it wasn’t even 11am when Santa glided by. From our spot at 68th, we walked up to Strawberry Fields, where we climbed into a bicycle-driven carriage that took us for a spin through the park. It was expensive, but necessary because neither of us could feel our feet anymore. We got out at 7th and Central Park South to find a deli that had an entire roasted turkey as part of its buffet. I made Ellie a take-out box of Thanksgiving fixins, and ordered myself a turkey Reuben. We hobbled back to our hotel, only slowing to gaze at the Christmas displays in the store windows. We enjoyed Thanksgiving dinner in bed while watching the Dog Show. After thawing out, we dressed up and hailed a taxi to take us to Radio City Music Hall to experience the Rockette’s Christmas Spectacular; a must-see.

The next morning we dashed off to F.A.O Schwarz to dance on the piano. I bought us both a lovie to cuddle on the train home. A quick stop at Junior’s for bagels and a cheesecake (not a slice, but a whole cake), and then we were back on the train headed south.

It was a whirlwind, but it is one of the most satisfying, memorable trips I have ever taken, and one that I hope my daughter will always treasure. I would do it all again in a heartbeat.

What’s that one trip you keep telling yourself you’re going to take? What’s stopping you?