THAT'S ENTERTAINMENT!!
Take a 12-minute break for a jazzy duet
at open mic night from Cambridge
Here We Go Again
Here We Go Again (the finale)
On the Radio
This Is How It Goes
Out In the Cold
Historical Grambling band
can toot its own horns
for Inauguration 2009
For more than 30 years, fans around the country have watched the Grambling State University marching band perform annually at the Superdome during the NBC-TV broadcast of the Bayou Classic, a football matchup in New Orleans between rivals Grambling and Southern University of Baton Rouge.
In the middle of the game’s four quarters, the real rivalry comes in the Battle of the Bands. No matter what the text-message voting says, there is no contest, in my very biased opinion. Grambling (my alma mater) wins.
See for yourself. The Historical Black College’s renowned high steppers will take to the streets of D.C. at the inaugural parade to show what they do better than any of the rest: high step, dance, body bump and toe tap, while not missing a note. GSU is the only Louisiana school invited.
(A congratulatory letter from Sen. Mary Landrieu: http://landrieu.senate.gov/releases/08/2008C06657.html)
A college band that moves and plays simultaneously? Don’t they all? To be fair, many HBC marching bands do. But, Grambling has put the unique style on the map cultu
rally speaking. Credit the band’s high exposure to Grambling’s football program’s success. Or, the 1966 documentary, 100 Yards to Glory, which showed off how the school groomed athletes for professional football. Credit its innovative longtime band director the late Dr. Conrad Hutchinson Jr. Whatever you do, credit them.
How clueless was I until I traveled to New York with the school’s athletes and musicians to write a lead feature story on the fall 1973 Whitney M. Young Classic at Yankee Stadium. Grambling played Baltimore’s Morgan State University, and at the time, the event was the pride of black New York. As editor-in-chief of The Gramblinite, the college’s weekly, I took the assignment on face value – an all-expense-paid trip to The Big Apple.
I had attended many Grambling football games, which meant that my main attention this trip would be elsewhere. As a novice to the city, all of 20 years old, I was hysterically caught up in the thrill, seizing a stroll down Fifth Avenue, gawking at the Empire State Building, ooh-ing over Lady Liberty and the Hudson Bay and riding a subway for the first time. And, with tremendous shortsightedness, I couldn’t wait for the Main Event. Not the football game, but its halftime performances of headliners Aretha Franklin and Patti Austin. Who wouldn’t have been taken in by it all?
Not surprisingly, Patti and the Queen of Soul played famously to the crowd. The real shock came when the G-bandsmen took to Yankee Stadium’s field. The striking black uniforms with the growling tiger face covering most of the jacket’s front, the clean white shoes and gloves, the military style hat with the vibrant gold plume. It was like I was seeing and hearing them for the first time, and I couldn’t believe my ears or my eyes. The stepping in time, the great music, the roar from the crowd.
The throng in the stadium took to their feet, everybody swaying and clapping to the rhythms of sweet soul music and Old School dance moves on the field. I distinctly recall voices around me expressing amazement over the athleticism and musical talen
t, as the band played a couple of R&B hits of the day. One person specifically wondered: How do they do that? They dance and play instruments at the same time? Even the percussionists! Even the tubas!
It took a new larger than life venue to appreciate that what Grambling had was and is special. I naively thought that some kind of magic occurred on the football field each time the band hit the lines. That it wasn’t the training, talent and unique skills of the musicians and the long practices that began in the heat of summer long before the rest of us showed up for fall semester. Or the strategic search for the best and brightest from all over the country.
Or that Dr. Hutchinson (Prof, as he was fondly called), the first band director, had not put the G-men on the map when he created the marching style of eight steps to five yards at 180 beats per minute. Hutchinson also introduced the lunge that was later made popular by Southern University. And was the first to bring an organ and timpani drums on the field.
Years after I graduated, some of the novelty was vanishing, however, the G-bandsmen were still kicking high and traveling the globe. They appeared in a popular TV commercial in 1981, a Coca-Cola spot and starred in numerous national sports events, including Super Bowl performances. Two decades
prior, in the early '60s, there were USO shows in Cuba, Korea and the Bahamas. Later, on the invitation of President Richard M. Nixon in 1971, the band traveled to Monrovia, Liberia, to represent the United States at the inauguration of President William R. Tolbert Jr.
The historical college band was invited to appear in the 2000 inaugural parade, just as they will do the honor during the inauguration parade of the country’s first black president. Through what is an undeniable legacy, they will continue to step high, drum to the beat and blow to the rhythm in future inaugural parades.
Cecil Neal Jr., a 1970s member of the band and currently an assistant high school principal in Dallas, best summed up the Grambling band experience when I interviewed him in October 2004: “My grandmother was so proud of me for not just going to school, but for going to Grambling. Back in the day, it was beyond the prestige of going to Harvard.’’
Grambling prepares for Jan. 20, 2009: http://content.usatoday.com/communities/theoval/post/2009/01/61512062/1
Visit Grambling State University at http://www.gram.edu/
2008 Bayou Classic performance: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s0sNqEjP6bs
can toot its own horns
for Inauguration 2009
For more than 30 years, fans around the country have watched the Grambling State University marching band perform annually at the Superdome during the NBC-TV broadcast of the Bayou Classic, a football matchup in New Orleans between rivals Grambling and Southern University of Baton Rouge.
In the middle of the game’s four quarters, the real rivalry comes in the Battle of the Bands. No matter what the text-message voting says, there is no contest, in my very biased opinion. Grambling (my alma mater) wins.
See for yourself. The Historical Black College’s renowned high steppers will take to the streets of D.C. at the inaugural parade to show what they do better than any of the rest: high step, dance, body bump and toe tap, while not missing a note. GSU is the only Louisiana school invited.
(A congratulatory letter from Sen. Mary Landrieu: http://landrieu.senate.gov/releases/08/2008C06657.html)
A college band that moves and plays simultaneously? Don’t they all? To be fair, many HBC marching bands do. But, Grambling has put the unique style on the map cultu
rally speaking. Credit the band’s high exposure to Grambling’s football program’s success. Or, the 1966 documentary, 100 Yards to Glory, which showed off how the school groomed athletes for professional football. Credit its innovative longtime band director the late Dr. Conrad Hutchinson Jr. Whatever you do, credit them.How clueless was I until I traveled to New York with the school’s athletes and musicians to write a lead feature story on the fall 1973 Whitney M. Young Classic at Yankee Stadium. Grambling played Baltimore’s Morgan State University, and at the time, the event was the pride of black New York. As editor-in-chief of The Gramblinite, the college’s weekly, I took the assignment on face value – an all-expense-paid trip to The Big Apple.
I had attended many Grambling football games, which meant that my main attention this trip would be elsewhere. As a novice to the city, all of 20 years old, I was hysterically caught up in the thrill, seizing a stroll down Fifth Avenue, gawking at the Empire State Building, ooh-ing over Lady Liberty and the Hudson Bay and riding a subway for the first time. And, with tremendous shortsightedness, I couldn’t wait for the Main Event. Not the football game, but its halftime performances of headliners Aretha Franklin and Patti Austin. Who wouldn’t have been taken in by it all?
Not surprisingly, Patti and the Queen of Soul played famously to the crowd. The real shock came when the G-bandsmen took to Yankee Stadium’s field. The striking black uniforms with the growling tiger face covering most of the jacket’s front, the clean white shoes and gloves, the military style hat with the vibrant gold plume. It was like I was seeing and hearing them for the first time, and I couldn’t believe my ears or my eyes. The stepping in time, the great music, the roar from the crowd.
The throng in the stadium took to their feet, everybody swaying and clapping to the rhythms of sweet soul music and Old School dance moves on the field. I distinctly recall voices around me expressing amazement over the athleticism and musical talen
t, as the band played a couple of R&B hits of the day. One person specifically wondered: How do they do that? They dance and play instruments at the same time? Even the percussionists! Even the tubas!It took a new larger than life venue to appreciate that what Grambling had was and is special. I naively thought that some kind of magic occurred on the football field each time the band hit the lines. That it wasn’t the training, talent and unique skills of the musicians and the long practices that began in the heat of summer long before the rest of us showed up for fall semester. Or the strategic search for the best and brightest from all over the country.
Or that Dr. Hutchinson (Prof, as he was fondly called), the first band director, had not put the G-men on the map when he created the marching style of eight steps to five yards at 180 beats per minute. Hutchinson also introduced the lunge that was later made popular by Southern University. And was the first to bring an organ and timpani drums on the field.
Years after I graduated, some of the novelty was vanishing, however, the G-bandsmen were still kicking high and traveling the globe. They appeared in a popular TV commercial in 1981, a Coca-Cola spot and starred in numerous national sports events, including Super Bowl performances. Two decades
prior, in the early '60s, there were USO shows in Cuba, Korea and the Bahamas. Later, on the invitation of President Richard M. Nixon in 1971, the band traveled to Monrovia, Liberia, to represent the United States at the inauguration of President William R. Tolbert Jr.The historical college band was invited to appear in the 2000 inaugural parade, just as they will do the honor during the inauguration parade of the country’s first black president. Through what is an undeniable legacy, they will continue to step high, drum to the beat and blow to the rhythm in future inaugural parades.
Cecil Neal Jr., a 1970s member of the band and currently an assistant high school principal in Dallas, best summed up the Grambling band experience when I interviewed him in October 2004: “My grandmother was so proud of me for not just going to school, but for going to Grambling. Back in the day, it was beyond the prestige of going to Harvard.’’
Grambling prepares for Jan. 20, 2009: http://content.usatoday.com/communities/theoval/post/2009/01/61512062/1
Visit Grambling State University at http://www.gram.edu/
2008 Bayou Classic performance: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s0sNqEjP6bs
Photo Credits: Tiger Yearbook,
The Gramblinite, The Dallas Morning News
Christmas tree's branches
sparkle with special gifts
Part of 8-year-old Richard Fogarty's holiday fantasy has come true. Neiman Marcus brought to life his original drawing of a Fantasy Christmas tree decorated with wheelchairs, prosthetic limbs, crutches and other treasures used by students with special needs. The young Dallas artist's idea was to design a tree featuring the many gifts Texas Scottish Rite Hospital For Children has given to its patients over the years. Richard was diagnos
ed at birth with Poland's Syndrome, (http://www.polands-syndrome.com/), a rare congenital condition resulting in underdeveloped chest muscle and webbing of the fingers and hand. Richard's right hand and pectoral muscle are missing.
"Richard is the strongest, most amazing child. When he was in kindergarten, kids would tuck their arms into their sleeves with only their elbow hanging out so they could 'be more like Richard because he was so cool,' '' says the best friend of Richard's mom, Lori.
Neiman Marcus asked 52 youngsters to submit drawings for the fundraiser. Richard's artwork is among six that designers used to create actual trees. The six "masterpieces'' are now showcased on the downtown store's first floor. Shoppers can place bids on the trees, which will be auctioned off before Christmas. Proceeds will benefit Dallas' St. Philip's School and Community Center and Texas Scottish Rite Hospital For Children.
Throughout the holiday season, visitors also can see the collection of the 52 drawings, which are on display in the store's sixth floor lobby.
The rest of Richard's fantasy will come true when he wins your vote for the favorite among the six winners. To see Richard's creation and cast your vote, go to
http://www.neimanmarcus.com/store/service/poll.jhtml?pollCode=trees&icid=LocalStorePageTwo .
sparkle with special gifts
Part of 8-year-old Richard Fogarty's holiday fantasy has come true. Neiman Marcus brought to life his original drawing of a Fantasy Christmas tree decorated with wheelchairs, prosthetic limbs, crutches and other treasures used by students with special needs. The young Dallas artist's idea was to design a tree featuring the many gifts Texas Scottish Rite Hospital For Children has given to its patients over the years. Richard was diagnos
ed at birth with Poland's Syndrome, (http://www.polands-syndrome.com/), a rare congenital condition resulting in underdeveloped chest muscle and webbing of the fingers and hand. Richard's right hand and pectoral muscle are missing."Richard is the strongest, most amazing child. When he was in kindergarten, kids would tuck their arms into their sleeves with only their elbow hanging out so they could 'be more like Richard because he was so cool,' '' says the best friend of Richard's mom, Lori.
Neiman Marcus asked 52 youngsters to submit drawings for the fundraiser. Richard's artwork is among six that designers used to create actual trees. The six "masterpieces'' are now showcased on the downtown store's first floor. Shoppers can place bids on the trees, which will be auctioned off before Christmas. Proceeds will benefit Dallas' St. Philip's School and Community Center and Texas Scottish Rite Hospital For Children.
Throughout the holiday season, visitors also can see the collection of the 52 drawings, which are on display in the store's sixth floor lobby.
The rest of Richard's fantasy will come true when he wins your vote for the favorite among the six winners. To see Richard's creation and cast your vote, go to
http://www.neimanmarcus.com/store/service/poll.jhtml?pollCode=trees&icid=LocalStorePageTwo .
The Color Pink, All Grown Up
“Daddy, why do we have to have a pink house?’’ the girl had asked for the bazillionth time of the screaming wood frame structure on the corner of Cherry Street. “Your mother likes pink,’’ would be her father’s short unrelenting reply.
“It’s embarrassing. My classmates make fun of it.’’ She would whine. “Too bad they don’t know how special it is,’’ he would firmly say. The girl knew the nonconforming overpowering carnation pink color, the crayon in the box she had grown to hate, would cover the house for the long haul. She also knew that sharing her Dad’s explanation with friends would be even more awkward.
She had lived for more than a decade in the 1950s two-bedroom double shotgun on cinder blocks, a home her parents had had built the year she was born. Now that junior h
igh had arrived, she could hardly contain her humiliation. Her parochial school was on the other end of the block, and each day her classmates would walk home from school, passing by 626 North Cherry Street, staring and asking, “Why do you live in a pink house?’’ Some would snicker, some would whisper behind her back at school, “She lives in a pink house.’’
By high school, her Dad had grown weary of the constant question. Either that or her parents were tired of the color. The girl’s family also had grown, and her father remodeled and enlarged the house and at last painted it white to complement the other wooden and brick homes on the paved street that held the lives of 20 or so working class families.
The teasing stopped as teenagers’ memories of the pink house faded. And the little girl, now practically grown up, proudly walked up and down the concrete front porch steps and sidewalk to and from the ends of Cherry Street.
If only she had known then what she knows now, sophisticated things like the meaning of pure love and the power of personal preference?
Four decades later, when she would grow up and read about the “Pepto-Bismol’’ pink house in The Secret Lives of Bees, there would be an instant appreciation for its anachronistic appeal. Author Sue Monk Kidd set the stage for the poetic aptness of the dwelling’s color. The girl, now a woman, couldn’t imagine a more perfect staging for the Boatwright sisters whose mother had bravely named them August, May and June.
There had been an epiphany long before the novel about the beekeepers. Fifteen years earlier the girl from the pink house had been awed by the sight of the colorful Victorian cottages lining streets of historic Oak Bluffs, Massachusets, on Martha’s Vineyard.
A "lifetime'' before those two events, the girl, by then a young woman, had gone home to visit her father only to find that he had painted the stark white house a striking canary yellow with forest green trim. Her mother had passed away by then.
Overcome with curiosity, she felt compelled to ask, “What made you paint the house, Dad?’’ His reply was characteristically brief.
“I did it for me. I like color.’’
“Daddy, why do we have to have a pink house?’’ the girl had asked for the bazillionth time of the screaming wood frame structure on the corner of Cherry Street. “Your mother likes pink,’’ would be her father’s short unrelenting reply.
“It’s embarrassing. My classmates make fun of it.’’ She would whine. “Too bad they don’t know how special it is,’’ he would firmly say. The girl knew the nonconforming overpowering carnation pink color, the crayon in the box she had grown to hate, would cover the house for the long haul. She also knew that sharing her Dad’s explanation with friends would be even more awkward.
She had lived for more than a decade in the 1950s two-bedroom double shotgun on cinder blocks, a home her parents had had built the year she was born. Now that junior h
igh had arrived, she could hardly contain her humiliation. Her parochial school was on the other end of the block, and each day her classmates would walk home from school, passing by 626 North Cherry Street, staring and asking, “Why do you live in a pink house?’’ Some would snicker, some would whisper behind her back at school, “She lives in a pink house.’’By high school, her Dad had grown weary of the constant question. Either that or her parents were tired of the color. The girl’s family also had grown, and her father remodeled and enlarged the house and at last painted it white to complement the other wooden and brick homes on the paved street that held the lives of 20 or so working class families.
The teasing stopped as teenagers’ memories of the pink house faded. And the little girl, now practically grown up, proudly walked up and down the concrete front porch steps and sidewalk to and from the ends of Cherry Street.
If only she had known then what she knows now, sophisticated things like the meaning of pure love and the power of personal preference?
Four decades later, when she would grow up and read about the “Pepto-Bismol’’ pink house in The Secret Lives of Bees, there would be an instant appreciation for its anachronistic appeal. Author Sue Monk Kidd set the stage for the poetic aptness of the dwelling’s color. The girl, now a woman, couldn’t imagine a more perfect staging for the Boatwright sisters whose mother had bravely named them August, May and June.
There had been an epiphany long before the novel about the beekeepers. Fifteen years earlier the girl from the pink house had been awed by the sight of the colorful Victorian cottages lining streets of historic Oak Bluffs, Massachusets, on Martha’s Vineyard.
A "lifetime'' before those two events, the girl, by then a young woman, had gone home to visit her father only to find that he had painted the stark white house a striking canary yellow with forest green trim. Her mother had passed away by then.
Overcome with curiosity, she felt compelled to ask, “What made you paint the house, Dad?’’ His reply was characteristically brief.
“I did it for me. I like color.’’
(PHOTO ILLUSTRATION of Oak Bluffs, MA cottage : Jean Nash Johnson)
(SKETCH: Michael R. Johnson)
Friendly Holiday Greetings
From a Hoarder in the Green
Listen, I’m not really a hoarder. In spite of my friends' ridicule, I am the most eco-minded among them. What I am is a sentimentalist, which causes me to hang on to things longer than the average person.
I’ve been keeping Christmas cards I’ve received through the years for, um, let’s just say some of the card companies and senders are no longer around. The good news is that this season I’m letting go of them, recycling the vintage greetings to those on this year's card list.
Some may call this socially tacky, I call it environmentally kind. Every year, with my desktop publishing and PC art wizardry, I hand-design my card, spending hours working on a prototype, personalizing it, testing it, and printing all 100 or so myself, using tons of printer ink and paper. As sweet a gesture as it is, how wasteful and costly. When the season ends most of us collect the cards we exchanged and either toss them or keep them.
For those that prefer the old-fashioned postal greetings over e-cards, take some time to consider this
recycling idea this year when the economy is so bleak? Here’s what you need and how to do it:
· Heavier 8 1/2x11 card stock printer paper, preferably recyclable brand
· Invitation or greeting card envelopes
· A pair of scissors or paper cutter
· Glue stick or double-sided tape
· Greeting cards received from holidays past
Slice off the front of each card with scissors or cutter. Fold each printer sheet into half page or quarter page to create a blank card. Attach the old card front you snipped to the front of each blank card using glue or tape. Inside the card, write, "Holidays Wishes!'' "Merry Christmas!'' "Kwanzaa Blessings!" "Happy Hanukkah! Sign your name. You're done.
The whole thing should cost less than $10, and you get a free conscience in the bargain. Maybe you can pass the idea along to your circle? If you didn’t save your cards from previous years, this season is a good time to start.
Haven’t checked with my dear friend, Letitia Baldridge (I really have met her and interviewed her for several articles on manners), but I’ll go out on a limb to say my only etiquette rules are: Do not recirculate the popular family photo greeting cards you receive. And, do not send last year’s card back to the same person that sent it to you. Now, that would be tacky!
From a Hoarder in the Green
Listen, I’m not really a hoarder. In spite of my friends' ridicule, I am the most eco-minded among them. What I am is a sentimentalist, which causes me to hang on to things longer than the average person.
I’ve been keeping Christmas cards I’ve received through the years for, um, let’s just say some of the card companies and senders are no longer around. The good news is that this season I’m letting go of them, recycling the vintage greetings to those on this year's card list.
Some may call this socially tacky, I call it environmentally kind. Every year, with my desktop publishing and PC art wizardry, I hand-design my card, spending hours working on a prototype, personalizing it, testing it, and printing all 100 or so myself, using tons of printer ink and paper. As sweet a gesture as it is, how wasteful and costly. When the season ends most of us collect the cards we exchanged and either toss them or keep them.
For those that prefer the old-fashioned postal greetings over e-cards, take some time to consider this
recycling idea this year when the economy is so bleak? Here’s what you need and how to do it:· Heavier 8 1/2x11 card stock printer paper, preferably recyclable brand
· Invitation or greeting card envelopes
· A pair of scissors or paper cutter
· Glue stick or double-sided tape
· Greeting cards received from holidays past
Slice off the front of each card with scissors or cutter. Fold each printer sheet into half page or quarter page to create a blank card. Attach the old card front you snipped to the front of each blank card using glue or tape. Inside the card, write, "Holidays Wishes!'' "Merry Christmas!'' "Kwanzaa Blessings!" "Happy Hanukkah! Sign your name. You're done.
The whole thing should cost less than $10, and you get a free conscience in the bargain. Maybe you can pass the idea along to your circle? If you didn’t save your cards from previous years, this season is a good time to start.
Haven’t checked with my dear friend, Letitia Baldridge (I really have met her and interviewed her for several articles on manners), but I’ll go out on a limb to say my only etiquette rules are: Do not recirculate the popular family photo greeting cards you receive. And, do not send last year’s card back to the same person that sent it to you. Now, that would be tacky!
Check out the ultimate in the green Christmas card and meet the accidental eco-pioneer behind it.
The Scene: October in Beantown
The 10th month on the calendar is designed for travel. Plan next year's escape to Boston, when the summer crowds evaporate, the company's fourth quarter earning are determined and the holiday mad dashing is leashed. I'm somewhat of an expert on this time of year in New England since half of my dozen or so visits there occurred in October. Here are my must-stops.
Wompatuck State Park: There arguably is no more beautiful colors of nature than New England's fall foliage
. If you want to take it in in one vibrant fell swoop, visit Wompatuck, 11 miles from Boston in Hingham on the southern shore. Wompatuck is quiet in October, allowing nature seekers to take in authentic sounds of the woods' inhabitants. If you drive through, cruise at a slow speed so you don't miss the brilliance of maples in reds, ye
llows and oranges. If you're hiking or biking, along the way, stop and perch on one of the giant stones for one of the many panoramas. Ponds strewn throughout are covered with lily pads waiting to brace the occasional leaping frog. For sportsmen, horseback riding and boating (nonmotorized) are available. The cost of serenity is free.
The 10th month on the calendar is designed for travel. Plan next year's escape to Boston, when the summer crowds evaporate, the company's fourth quarter earning are determined and the holiday mad dashing is leashed. I'm somewhat of an expert on this time of year in New England since half of my dozen or so visits there occurred in October. Here are my must-stops.
The Kennedy Library: With the Democrats back in office, it's time to revisit the era of our 35th president. The John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum http://www.jfklibrary.org/, a stunning I.M. Pei design, is located on the 10-acre waterfront park on Columbia Point. Take in the views of the harbor and skyline. The exhibits change, and if you're lucky, the dresses Jackie wore as first lady will be on display. Call ahead for exhibit information; hopefully the admission will keep at $10. There's a free shuttle to the T's Red Line JFK Library/UMass stop, which runs takes you to other key Boston areas and Cambridge. There's also free parking at the library. Did you know that 95 percent of Ernest Hemingway's writings is housed in the Kennedy library?
The Head of the Charles: My first venture into Cambridge a few years ago coincided with the October week of the world's la
rgest regatta. Had no idea why there was such a hubbub, and I found the crowd around Harvard Square an inconvenience. Now that I know a Radcliffe Crew member that competes in the annual event, I'm a big-time fan. I got to see the competition from the Harvard Boathouse on the Charles River. That vantage point is by invitation-only. There are great spots along the river to cheer, gawk and marvel over the rowing sights in the best of fair-like atmosphere. Spectators from around the globe buzz about. It's fun to listen in on the accents and languages. Sponsors' vendors are among the most civilized I've seen. The smells from the wide range of food concessions, however, tempt you from every direction. Still trying to decide if I like fried dough. Speaking of dough, this event is free. http://www.hocr.org/home/default.asp
The Head of the Charles: My first venture into Cambridge a few years ago coincided with the October week of the world's la
rgest regatta. Had no idea why there was such a hubbub, and I found the crowd around Harvard Square an inconvenience. Now that I know a Radcliffe Crew member that competes in the annual event, I'm a big-time fan. I got to see the competition from the Harvard Boathouse on the Charles River. That vantage point is by invitation-only. There are great spots along the river to cheer, gawk and marvel over the rowing sights in the best of fair-like atmosphere. Spectators from around the globe buzz about. It's fun to listen in on the accents and languages. Sponsors' vendors are among the most civilized I've seen. The smells from the wide range of food concessions, however, tempt you from every direction. Still trying to decide if I like fried dough. Speaking of dough, this event is free. http://www.hocr.org/home/default.asp Wompatuck State Park: There arguably is no more beautiful colors of nature than New England's fall foliage
. If you want to take it in in one vibrant fell swoop, visit Wompatuck, 11 miles from Boston in Hingham on the southern shore. Wompatuck is quiet in October, allowing nature seekers to take in authentic sounds of the woods' inhabitants. If you drive through, cruise at a slow speed so you don't miss the brilliance of maples in reds, ye
llows and oranges. If you're hiking or biking, along the way, stop and perch on one of the giant stones for one of the many panoramas. Ponds strewn throughout are covered with lily pads waiting to brace the occasional leaping frog. For sportsmen, horseback riding and boating (nonmotorized) are available. The cost of serenity is free.
(PHOTOS: Jean Nash Johnson)
YES, THEY CALL ME
'TEXAS PUMPKIN LADY'
And who can blame them? From Labor Day to Thanksgiving, I obsess over a fruit that got its roots far away from the Lone Star State. Did my obsession subconsciously began when I learned that the mother of all gourds was responsible for getting Cinderella to the Ball? Or, was it when I discovered in Peanuts that Linus' "Great One'' almost made a hero out of George Schultz's block-headed Charlie Brown? No. My righteous lusting began fall 1989 when the Jersey Girl escorted me and The Pumpkin Tot out of a Texas "pumpkin patch'' carting our over sized lopsided prize, insisting we carve it. "Carve what, how and why? I'm not an artist!" I had protested. Jack 'O Lanterns belonged in Halloween storybooks, my Southern childhood had taught me. But Pumpkin Tot was intrigued and grew to be Pumpkin Girl, and the masterpieces were crafted and a new tradition born. I have been fixating ever since on all things pumpkin. Pumpkin kitsch, all sorts, and pumpkin scented candles. Pumpkin ice cream, pumpkin bread, toasted pumpkin seeds (with sprinkles of Cajun spices), pumpkin muffins, pumpkin cheesecake. (The ice cream is store-bought). Where's the pumpkin pie, some may wonder? That's where I draw the line on tradition. There is no "traditional'' pumpkin pie at my Thanksgiving dinner? On Turkey Day, my adoration ends, and the pumpkin turns into the humble sweet potato. Like magic there's the irresistible Sweet Potato Pie, and I turn back into a Southern Lady until next Labor Day.
(The Texas-sized carving pictured is courtesy of the Pumpkin Girl, who at 19 is still turning out award winning work. It could not have been easy the last two years pulling off prize winners in Jersey Girl country!)
Pardon me, but, speaking of Turkey Day, check out this funny!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z-kjM1asH-8&fmt=18
That gal, Sarah Palin! Wow!
Disclaimer: (Pardon me, again, if you've been awake the last 24 hours and already have seen the video.)
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