Welcome to my new blog.....established to chronicle my adventures with my 86 year old mom, Mary Frances. I've taken a 3 month leave of absence to enjoy some quality time with her - to spend more time in our little hometown Seaboard, to visit friends and family, to explore the region, to seek out museums and performances and to locate good food, good chocolate, good books and God. Not necessarily in that order.
My leave of absence started Friday at 6:00 pm and after seeing an ad for Hillsborough's Handmade Parade decided to start our rambling tout de suite on Saturday afternoon.
We headed out under a brilliant blue sky and both admired the autumn foliage on I-40 W. A few minutes drive found us seeking a parking spot in the town parking deck, unpacking the transport chair and heading up the hill.
As I provided the PUSH to get up the hill we met a couple of guys with their dogs - the first a frisky Jack Russel, the second a GIANT NEWFOUNDLAND. Mary Frances was charmed by the lovely Newfie - who with Mom in the transport chair was on eye level with her.
Folks were wending their way along the downtown and up the hill we went - soon spotting the Saratoga, a restaurant heartily recommended by my friend Leslie. When we opened the door we were mystified - another door - but then reality sunk in - the restaurant was on the second floor. I opened that door and took a quick look - less stairs than the beach house we inhabited in May - and I could literally see an empty table for two at the top of the stairs.
MF: Look at all those stairs!
Me: You can do it! It's not as bad as the beach house!
MF:: Look at all those stairs!
Me: You can do it!
MF:What are you going to do with the wheelchair?
A quick look located a folded up stroller parked outside.
Me: We'll park it outside.
MF:(Grumbling). Ok, It's alot of stairs.
Me: You can do it!
MF: Humpf!
So we climbed, step by step.
We stopped halfway.
MF: Someone will get the chair! You have to bring it upstairs!
Me: Okay, let's get YOU upstairs first!
The ascent went well. No supplemental oxygen required. Unfortunately we left the cane in the car, so the journey to the table was a little rickety. But we made it.
The Saratoga was charming - white washed brick walls, windows with bright sun pouring in, local artwork all around. Our waitress quickly appeared and seated us at the table for two - she was efficient and friendly, if a little eclectic looking. (Okay - so she was skinny, with long shorts and tie-dye T-shirt -but had an outrageous haircut that could only be described as David Bowie as the Goblin King in Labyrinth.) And when Mama pointed downstairs for me to CARRY the WHEELCHAIR UP THE STAIRS, I imposed on the shopowner downstairs to let us stash it there.
Then Mama gave the place her harshest criticism. The worst of the worst. The omega of restaurant insults.
MF: This place is a joint.
Think dark bars, soaked in beer and grease, where degenerate boozers drink away the evenings away until someone fetches them home because they are too inebriated to drive home.
The Saratoga was NOT a joint.
MF: I'm glad Earle didn't come. He wouldn't like this place.
MF: Tell Leslie next time we are going through the drive through at Hardees.
MF: I give this place zero stars.
I asked for the scones, the specialty of the house, as an appetizer. When they arrived, I found them delicious - light and sweet. Mary Frances took a bite, arched her eyebrow and immediately placed the remainder on my plate.
MF: Earle would not like this place.
We looked around at the art.
MF: $700 for this painting! In a joint!
She eyed the customers. She eyed the waitress.
MF: I wish Laura (our friend who cuts hair) could get hold of her for 5 minutes. Isn't it pitiful??
In Mama's lexicon, "pitiful" has about the same standing as "joint". Bad, real bad.
MF: I think these people are regulars. Who else would climb all these steps?
MF: Why is it taking so long? They are probably going to Hardees to get our hamburgers.
Our hamburgers arrived and were absolutely delicious. Despite herself, Mama ate every bite and even acknowledged how good they were. I asked her if that increased her rating. Yep, she said,one star.
The trip down the stairs went a little slower, but we had the help of several people with doors or just to offer a steadying hand. I grabbed the chair from it's resting place, mama piled in and up the hill we went to secure a shady spot to wait for 2:00pm.
We were full, we were happy, and we were resting so the time passed quickly. People filled in around us and time continued to pass...no parade....until at last we could hear a drum beat...all eyes strained and we held our collective breath and then it appeared - the Handmade Parade - it was a beautiful, joyful, feast of color and costume - interspersed with drums or music - and Mama's favorite - stilt walkers. With a theme of "Creatures of the Eno" we saw birds, fish, butterflies, snakes, praying mantis,owls, herons, salamanders, beavers, dragon flies, a bat, a spider, a worm on a hook, every imaginable creature. All ages, parading together in their own handcrafted costumes and marching to the beat of their own drummer - whether imagined or real. And Mama was right - oh the stilt-walkers - towering above us- walking forward - backward - awash in eye-popping hues and clever bits of masks, making us go "ohhh" and "ahhh" with every step.
We watched as part of the collective - joining in hoots of appreciation for some of the more creative costumes cheering on the youngest of the marchers who with their preschools and schools joined in the celebration. (And yes, a hand painted fish headdress DOES count as a costume!)
After about 40 minutes the parade ended with a final flash of stilt-walkers as amazing blue butterflies. Mama and I looked at each other, grinned, and declared it wonderful.
Sometimes the beat of a different drummer
is wonderful - whether in a parade, in the style of a waitress's hair, or in the wicked wit of my mother - who can still make me laugh out loud after all these years.
I give Saturday a "10".
