The Right Recipe for Summer

What ingredients make for a perfect summer night?

Start with a Friday night late in June. Add spacious city sidewalks and a well-designed performance "park" (Downtown Canandaigua Commons) where a mid-size brick soundstage beckons.

Sprinkle said park with several wrought-iron tables and chairs. Pepper profusely with fold-out lawn chairs, occupied by many a grandparent or young parent. Mix in handfuls of small children dancing about in sandals, swinging stuffed animals or sippy cups, distracted by the occasional puppy held in close control on a leash by a friendly face. Place a few youthful couples here and there, perched on low, stone walls framed by green shrubbery.

Add a big band, spreading 20 or so musicians across the stage, and serve up generous portions of instrumental jazz, swing, and "golden" oldies the likes of Duke Ellington and Count Basie. Slice into that song sheet with occasional movie themes like "Shaft" or "Happy Feet." Start tapping your toes, or the arm of your chair. Watch others do the same. Stir in the rare child spinning in circles and jump-dancing to the music, just below center stage, holding the hand of her mother who is swaying her hips and swinging her daughter's arms as mothers do when they delight their children and ignore all thoughts of what the nebulous public might think of their little family moment.

Infuse the warm air with the smells of hot food cooking in nearby restaurants. Sip a swig of bottled water or soda. Let a lemon drop -- yes, the old-fashioned kind! -- melt in your mouth.

Bake under soft summer sun, at a comfortable 78 degrees, for almost two hours.

Serve, shared among community, all in the space of one city block, as slow-moving traffic rolling along the street slows even more to catch the sound of a few notes through open car windows already rolled down to catch the mild breeze.

Ah yes, a perfect summer night in your own hometown.

Enjoy.

God Bless "Shrek"

Back at Christmas when I was making my mad dash through O'Hare, hoping and praying to catch the flight home, the adults in my family were hoping and praying for something else: for my 3-year-old niece to discover the motivation to pursue potty-training with a passion.

I had hoped a cheerfully wrapped watercolor paint book (with brush!) might do the trick. Before I left for Colorado, I explained in great detail to my niece just what exciting things were waiting underneath the Strawberry Shortcake wrapping paper for little girls who worked hard at becoming big girls while Aunt Rachel was away. Sometime during the trip, I tried to follow-up with a phone call. But alas, when home again, Rudolph, Santa and the elves were still neatly tucked away, and the little girl who never met wrapping paper she didn't instantly want to tear off -- no matter whether the present was hers or not -- seemed to care less that a Christmas gift remained unopened. I think it was late January or early February before I finally got a call from my niece babbling that she'd made enough progress to open it.

So, my sister and brother-in-law took it to the next level. If Strawberry Shortcake wrapping paper wasn't going to do the trick, perhaps Strawberry Shortcake herself would. This time, the present was unwrapped, and dolly was left behind her plastic-window prison, sitting pretty. Well, let's just say the you-can't-play-with-her-until... experiment didn't play so well. (Sigh.) This from a girl who LOVES Strawberry Shortcake and is getting rather adept at following up every "Why?" question with a "But why can't I?" protest at the explanation. Dolly was still in the box until previews for "Shrek the Third" started appearing on television screens near my niece. Don't ask me how, but apparently her deep-seated adoration of Nemo has transferred to cinema's favorite ogre-with-a-brogue. This, after the "Finding Nemo" DVD played so many times on the portable player strapped inside the minivan, it put the machine permanently out of commission.

Apparently, the great big green ogre was able to motivate her to boldly go where she had not gone before -- I mean, well, you get the idea -- because all my sister and her husband had to do was calmly explain that while they would like to take her, and realized she probably really wanted to see the movie, only big girls and boys get to go to the movie theater with their parents. Well, faster than Puss-in-Boots can morph from sword-flashing master to wide-eyed purr-meister, she was on board with that plan. I am told she who formerly could care less was nearly inconsolable on Day 3 or 4 when she tried to get to the bathroom in time but had an accident. Apparently, too many days without "Shrek" had already gone by. As such, within one week, she was good to go -- to the movies, that is. And Strawberry Shortcake came out of her box as an added bonus.

The more I think about the whole thing, the more amused I am that the key to potty-training, at least for her, was all about the movies. Now there's a girl after my own heart! So God bless Shrek and the Saturday afternoon special. It's nice to know that movies can still have the meaning to change somebody's life.

Not exactly "Spellbound"

Ah me, spelling bees.

Tonight was the live-on-TV championship round of the Scripps - (Why is Howard missing?) National Spelling Bee, won by homeschooled Californian, 13-year-old Evan O'Dorney. Apparently, a love of restaraunt menus contributed to young Evan's win as he sailed through a couple of the early words (one a pasta, another a Japanese seafood soup) and on to glory, over the shoulders of a first-time Canadian competitor, Nate Gartke, also 13.

Personally, I was rooting for the newbie, in part because I tire of the "repeats," the kids who train for these things like Olympic marathons, or high school summer travel teams, where you are so completely immersed in a particular endeavor that all the fun is sucked right out of it. You know the type, where the competition ceases to be a "love of the game" kind of thing and becomes joyless, rote monotony, especially if an overly eager parent with an oddly possessive fixation on scholarships is hovering nearby.

As if to prove my point, rather than being "spellbound," as I'm sure the national advertisers footing the bill for this no-longer-relegated-to-ESPN 2 extravaganza hoped, our young winner was rather -- what's the word? -- nonplussed. Sure, it was the "final year" in which he could compete, and he'd already finished top 20 in earlier years, so a 2007 win would fall in the "only makes sense" category. But if you'll pardon me, the kid just didn't look like he was having fun. His mother appeared to be blown away by the whole thing-- maybe she was having the fun on his behalf?

Asked by a talking head whether he had changed his mind from earlier statements that he wasn't all that wild about words, he again explained why he loved math and music more: he found both fascinating and creative. Not so, spelling. That was "just a bunch of memorization," he said, memorization which he apparently had had more than enough of in his young life. But like it or not, he let the Scripps-no-longer-Howard rep help him hoist that trophy high. Please people, tell me: what is wrong with this picture?

Forgive me, but I'd prefer a winner who, like the Canadian competitor, can laugh in the middle of a pronounciation. I'd prefer to see a winner who is totally enraptured with spelling, one who watched "Wheel of Fortune" nearly from the womb, or just likes the sound of letters-- any letter-- rolling off the tongue. I prefer a kid who has not forgotten how to be a kid amidst all that dictionary study. Frankly, I prefer a kid whose parents set limits on the amount of time he was allowed to rehearse/study his vocab words, and kicked him outside, into the fresh air, when time was up. I'd prefer someone for whom spelling and wordsmithing is a passion, not a mission.

I do know a little bit of whence I speak. At the ripe old age of I'm-not-telling-what, I competed this past February in my first spelling bee since Mrs. Schenk's fourth-grade class. Granted, the bee was comprised solely of adults, teamed in trios, seated at tables where we were allowed to scratch down spellings before a designated orator relayed the group-consensus, so it was nothing like the pressure these kids are facing at the microphone, sans scratch paper, in front of millions tuned in to TVs around the country. But it sure was fun! (Plus it served to benefit a good cause, too: Literacy Volunteers of Ontario County.) Rather than sending the other teams "To Spell in a Handbasket," the fearless Messenger trio ended up going there themselves, falling on the word "obreptitious." (And yes, that is spelled correctly. I kept notes of each word for all the tables in each round -- we were allowed to -- and after our team missed that one, I was sure to save the correct spelling. ) Naturally, the team spelling after us had a relatively easy word, something simple like "solace," making our elimination complete. Nevertheless, that was too much fun to not hanker for a second go-round. Seriously.

So I have one small request for the Scripps-minus-Howard National Bee organizers already hunkering down to plan next year's contest: Clearly, Howard was the entity responsible for the "fun" , so would you please bring him back?

What a Difference a Week Makes

Whew! Talk about whirlwind changes.

In ReD Zone news, your faithful narrator has, as some in the media family like to say, "gone to the dark side." Translation: When a reporter/broadcast journalist etc. takes a new job in some sort of marketing/promotions field and stops fielding/scouring press releases and coverage requests and starts pitching them.

In the last week, I wrapped up production on "my" Brighton-Pittsford Post weekly paper, and rather quickly shifted gears to a new position at Sonnenberg Gardens, managing the special and private events scheduled throughout the season. So far, it's been fun getting used to working at a local tourist attraction (and for me, emphasis is, as per usual, on the LOCAL part of that). A former MPN colleague was actually back in town last weekend, and took a quick, first peek around the grounds. I was not at all surprised to hear the visit followed up by "this is such a great area, look at all the neat things around, etc. etc." And naturally, I couldn't agree more.

So, lucky me, I get to promote the local happenings at a revered local attraction -- as creatively as possible (oooo, fun!) -- and maintain the ties with my MPN colleagues all the while. And what kind of journalist "vet" would I be if I didn't give them the scoop first? (Not one proud to hang her hat in ReD Zone range, lemme tell ya. And yes, I have several hats ... more on that in another post.)

But yeah, there was a bit of head-spinning happening last week. Two days at the paper -- imagine trying to tie up seven years of loose ends, oy! -- one day to catch a breath, then two full days and another half-day in the new post. Whew! Squished in around the various old and new responsibilities was a going-away send-off from the MPN gang, complete with all the hysterical roastings that must accompany such an event. (You'll have to be content imagining the atmosphere set by this custom poster.)

Anyhow, it was a delightful capping of the career, and I will dearly miss my

co-workers, my Tuesday ritual of proofing the movie review page for the Sunday Freestyle section, my near-daily morning coffee breaks to the cappuccino machine with one of my partners in crime (Ha! Truer than you might imagine), my Post-side "peeps," some of whom often stayed late burning the midnight oil too, and the many, many fascinating local folks I got to meet in the course of reporting. How lovely that the near-and-dear will still be near! (The "dear" part doesn't change. ReD Zone rules.)

What was one of those New Year resolutions made a few months back? Embracing change, I believe? Guess this would be a checkmark in that box, a big one. Here's to embracing change, then: to old friends, new adventures, and fresh pages waiting to be filled in the next chapter.

Here we go!

Summer Soul-stice

Some things just do a body good ... like the refreshing visit my feet paid to the city's Lagoon Park last Saturday (sigh). I had missed my lagoons!

Warm sun, music-to-move-to on the iPod (that Christmas gift has really come in handy), and even a goose to scare off the path every time I swung by. What more could a girl ask? (Ok, well, energy to pull off a couple extra laps, but it was good just to start in again.)

It warms my soul to see all the grass that's grown in on the formerly sparse spots. The square landing docks are getting green rooftops, and they look sharp! They strike me as dapper gents tipping their caps, another thought that makes me smile.

Between the bridges, and the occasional willow trees, and the rabbits, squirrels and geese, it's this soul-soothing oasis to escape to without really leaving the comforts of home (after all, Starbucks can now be seen from one bridge, and my guess is many a couple out for a near-moonlit stroll later this year are going to be tempted to carry the conversation from the lagoons to the coffee shop.) And yes, I know my lagoon paths are perfect for more than just a jog. My good friend said they made for a delightful date, too. But, of course!

All of this reminds me of a song that's definitely of the spring-in-your-step sort:
"Think I'll go outside for a walk now, the summer sun's calling my name -- I hear ya now!
Just can't stay inside all day. Gotta get away, get away, get away, get away ...
into the Sunshine Day!"

See ya soon, lagoons!