Thanks to a friend's generous invitation, I went along to Tashlich for the first time at the lake in Prospect Park. In this Rosh Hashanah ceremony, bread is cast upon a body of water (it should have fish in it, and the lake certainly does). This symbolizes the casting away of sins and the purification of the heart for a new year.
My friend's faith community, although called Conservative, was a relaxed and convivial throng, a mix of young families and a few "old hippies," as she lovingly described them. There was schmoozing after their young lady rabbi led us in prayer and song; some people tossed popcorn instead of bread because it's supposed to be better for the ducks.
The rabbi and a few others blew the shofar, and its haunting call met the beats of the African drummer's grove floating across from the other side of the lake. The rabbi's pug added some enthusiastic barks. ("The Rabbi's Pug" should also be the name of a children's book.)
The spectrum of Brooklyn's Jewish communities was represented at water's edge. A gathering of very Orthodox folks brought at least three generations to the lake, their quiet reverie a contrast to the ebullience of my friend's group. Yet another tribe gathered on another little peninsula; I had a hunch they were from the Syrian community. Nearby, picnickers barbecued obliviously as the afternoon light mellowed. The ritual felt curiously familiar and comfortable to my Catholic self; I've been doing symbolic things with bread and water, and lapsing into an ancient tongue on holy days, and seeking absolution for sins, all my life. Feels great, and even better outdoors.
Cast away from yourselves all your transgressions,
And create within yourselves a new heart and a new spirit.
The morning was gray and rain-brushed, but as we passed Prospect Park on the way to the Greenmarket, we saw folks in T-shirts streaming out, and a lot of balloons in a color that could only be described as...teal. Turns out that's also short for "Tell Every Amazing Lady" about ovarian cancer, and this was the First Annual 5K TEAL Walk to raise money for the disease. These folks were a team walking for the late Lacey Gallagher, who died earlier this year at 48.
The words "ovarian cancer" strike fear in my heart, but this cancer is not necessarily a death sentence; just ask Judie (right), who was walking proudly as a two-year survivor (with a nifty teal face-painting job). It's not a "silent" killer, but its symptoms are subtle and nonspecific (like bloating or vague gastrointestinal complaints); being aware of them and getting early diagnosis can save your life. For more information, go here.
The images of smiling women on the backs of people's shirts bore witness to loss and love and a passion to make it count for something.
Here's one walker's dedication after her 5K; we should all have girlfriends like this.
Happy birthday wherever you are, Michael Jackson! Today's memorial bash on the park's Nethermead, a Spike Lee joint, was a mellow and exuberant party by the time we got there at 4 p.m. or so. The light rain had ended, and a vast crowd grooved to Jackson hits spun by a superb DJ.
However tragically he spun out of orbit, Michael clearly inspired a lot of love...and self-expression. The crowd was full of folks wearing their hearts on their sleeves, or chests. T-shirt tributes ranged from somber to sparkly.
Personal style homages ranged from the sublime...
to the ridiculous.
A lot of folks brought their little ones, who perched on shoulders to see the Jumbotron and the swaying crowd.
It reminded me of a Kinks concert we saw years ago: at least two, if not three, generations all getting into the music.
Of course, a few were too young to appreciate "Beat It" or "Thriller" or even "Rockin' Robin." For lots more photos, see coverage by fellow blogger Brooklyn Vegan.
And, as always when there's free music in Brooklyn, there were Lone Dance Maniacs, for whom MIchael, a sui generis dance genius, is a fitting patron saint. I will spare you the old lady in purple tights and flowing gray hair who was performing her own private eurythmics. But the fellow below gets my "Don't Dream It...Be It" award of the day.
Late-breaking news about this weekend's other planned festivity in Prospect Park, from the feisty thespians at the Rebellious Subjects Theatre:
Our SECOND WEEKEND of Henry
IV and V fast approaches...and Spike Lee has stepped in to change our
plans. In moving his 10,000 person tribute to the Park, he has
inadvertently kicked independent theatre quite literally right off the stage.
That's right, the park has taken away our permit to perform on Saturday, August
29th due to the Michael Jackson tribute. So what did we do??
RESCHEDULED BOTH SHOWS TO
SUNDAY. Which means SUNDAY, AUGUST 30TH is now officially HENRY MARATHON DAY.
Now, that's what I call "show-must-go-on" spirit. Let's get out there this Sunday, by God, for Harry and Saint George! The troupe's 23 actors of "diehard spirit and dedication" are unfolding their Henry trilogy in the park's shaded Music Pagoda; although I missed the first installment (Henry IV Part I) last weekend, it seems from this review that they mean business, bard-wise. Last year, they performed Chekhov's "Three Sisters" at the park's Lefferts Homestead, so these are troupers indeed.
Here's the timing:
12:30pm HENRY IV The saga begins...
3-4:30pm DINNER
BREAK We take a brief interlude...
4:30pm HENRY V ...The
stunning conclusion.
LITERARY BONUS: SOME QUOTES FOR MICHAEL FROM WILL'S HENRY V
O! for a Muse of fire, that would ascend
The brightest heaven of invention!
A kingdom for a stage, princes to act
And monarchs to behold the swelling scene.
His nose was as sharp as a pen...
Would I were with him, wheresome'er he is, either in heaven or in hell.
If you love running in Prospect Park, you can do 5K for a fantastic cause this Tuesday, Aug. 25, at 7 p.m., starting in the parking lot by Bartel Pritchard Circle (opposite the Pavilion Theater). Greg, a young man on staff at JackRabbit, the amazing sports store in Park Slope, is in the fight of his life against testicular cancer, and the $20 entry fee goes towards his mounting expenses. Register here. (Race volunteers are also needed.) The folks at JackRabbit explain:
Before the diagnosis he was training to run his first Ultramarathon, a
50 miler. Now, between the disease and the chemo, he struggles to climb
the stairs to his apartment. His dream of joining the FDNY has been put
on hold while he focuses all of his energy on getting better.
Greg is 22 years old, and has worked at JackRabbit since he arrived in
NYC almost two years ago. As an assistant manager first in the Union Sq
store and now in the Brooklyn store, Greg has helped thousands of
people start running, get faster, and reach their goals. This is our
opportunity to give back for all the support he’s given us over the
years.
I'm not sure if Greg is the sweet and smart guy who fitted my daughter for her first running shoes this summer (and eased her fears of joining her new high school's track team). But he sounds like a helluva kid, facing an unimaginable challenge with the courage that leads young men to become, oh, ultramarathoners and firemen. Please get out there and run for Greg.
Look at the entry below, and then imagine how much work (and care) went into restoring the Long Meadow to pristine green by Wednesday afternoon. Cross-country runners from local high schools were able to stretch and sprint on the endless grass. Here's a big thank-you to everyone, staff or parks volunteer, who undid the damage wrought by the "Heatwave" crowd.
This weekend, wouldn't it be loverly if folks decided to leave it this way? We can dream, as does this bunny, who hangs out near the Litchfield Villa.
TWIPP (THIS WEEKEND IN PROSPECT PARK)
Friday night, the swamp-boogie accordionist Buckwheat Zydeco comes to the Prospect Park bandshell. There's a bike race (Round 5 of the "Cadence Cup," think steely-legged Lycra dudes) if you're up by 6:30 a.m. on Saturday, God forbid. On Saturday at 11 a.m. and Sunday at 2 p.m., the Imagination Playground will host "Daydream," a version of "Midsummer Night's Dream" with puppets and tutu-clad construction workers (Shakespeare would probably approve). Bollywood icon Kailash Kheris at the bandshell on Saturday at 7:30, and on Sunday at 3:30 they're harvesting flax at the Lefferts Homestead. To paraphrase Cindy Adams, only in Prospect Park, kids.
This is: (a) a demonstration by PETA to protest the treatment of eels in Chinese seafood restaurants, (b) the G train full of hipsters or (c) Streb, the "extreme action" dance company that played the Prospect Park Bandshell last night.
Yes, it's Streb, whose death-defying "actioneers" flung themselves about on a perfect summer evening with a wild mix of daring abandon and precision teamwork. Elizabeth Streb, their choreographer, describes their work as "a mixture of slam dancing, exquisite and amazing human flight, and a wild action sport." It also includes this rig called the "whizzing gizmo," onto and off of which the company leap like crazed tree frogs.
Oh, and they also perform terrifying feats with two pendulum-like swinging cinder blocks. Real ones.
Yes, it does sound like a children's book title that would cause Dorothy Parker to quip (as quip she did), "Tonstant Weader Fwowed Up." But I swear it's true. Here are actual dogs frolicking in front of dogwood on the Long Meadow yesterday. (Today I garden, so send me some great shots of springy Friday parkitude in my absence.)
And here is a superb invention we could use in the basement of the CrazyStable: a puddle vacuum! Perfect for suctioning off April showers from the May outfield.
Hey, thanks to Louise Crawford and everyone who made last night's Blogfest 2009 a convivial event, and especially to Brit in Brooklyn for including me (first, no less!) in the video tribute to Brooklyn's photobloggers. I felt touched and honored that my taped-together point-and-shoot Canon and I were up there with so many Brooklyn photographers of such deep and varied gifts and visions. The whole montage brought tears of love for Brooklyn to my eyes. And the evening itself brought home an interesting point: blogging per se is the least interesting thing about blogging. Yeah, anybody can do it and it's online, yadda yadda. But the content, the connections, the actions that grow from this ocean of citizen journalism, commentary, and shared creative work is what we're really up to.
The evening, at the Powerhouse Arena in DUMBO, was dedicated to the late Bob Guskind of Gowanus Lounge, who totally got it: this is just a tool for sharing our passions and making things happen. The caricature of bloggers as narcissists in PJs chronicling their every mundane thought and activity may, like most stereotypes, spring from some reality, but the folks last night represented an amazing range of interests beyond their own navels (and none were in pajamas). The word may still waft a whiff of contempt from the dino-media, but I'm proud to be a blogger.
Oh, and the after-party at Galapagos Art Space was really cool. I've never been to an "after-party" before, much less one in a space with tables set on islands among indoor ponds. One pond held a plaster sculpture of a half-submerged girl's kicking legs; another held a flotilla of tiny toy pigs on rafts. As the Clancy Brothers said, "Great social significance. Well...some social significance."
On a cool spring Saturday afternoon, the Prospect Park Alliance lined up all sorts of fun for its members. We got exclusive use of the pedalboats; fueled by hot dogs and watermelon, Spouse and I peddled doggedly under Terrace Bridge, while lazy Daughter lounged behind us. We passed swimming dogs, a meditating lady, and the snowy egret, who was coasting from tree to tree with his skinny black legs stuck straight out behind him.
The boats allow one to approach the islands from the water; I loved this scrim of phragmites in front of an apple tree whose fragrance wafted across the lake. However, I failed to spot any Interesting Ducks. Will I ever see anything besides mallards?
We did, however, see Marty Markowitz, as well as this Mr. Magoo-lookalike box turtle (a rescued pet, not a park native) at the Audubon Center. Both seem to relish their public duties, although the turtle did retract his head after awhile (Marty didn't, I doubt he ever does). There was also a huge hissing Madagascar Cockroach on display, which Spouse petted...he has clearly been working for a natural history museum for too long.
The Lefferts House received a steady stream of visitors; they were making yarn at the "Flax and Fleece Fest." We opted instead for rides on the world's best carousel.
The phrase unlimited carousel rides must be among the most marvelous in the English language. (And Prospect Park members get 'em.) After ice cream treats, we went on twice; the calliope played "My Wild Irish Rose."
A bit tired for the walk home, we were tickled to board the trolley (or as I call this faux-trolley-bus, the Folly), which was exclusively for Us Members. It was stuffy and crowded with raging toddlers, but it dropped us off at the Peristyle a few blocks from home. Something about the entire outing felt very Victorian: an afternoon of good, earnest, fresh-air frolicking.
According to this report, there is serious talk of using Prospect Park's Long Meadow this summer to stage a concert in celebration of the 40th anniversary of that tediously revered mudfest now known as Woodstock. Apparently, when it comes time to "get back to the garden," we've got an even bigger one than Central Park.
Oh, goodie! At left: Just a reminder of what that might look like. (It gets worse: The promoter threatens to bring on the taxidermied remains of Crosby, Stills, Nash and No-Longer-Young.)
I suppose the very-worst-case scenario is not a redux of naked, overdosing neo-hippies, but a sea of tie-dyed Boomers sucking back vitamin-enhanced bottled water and organic yummies and groovin' before their horrified young...
We are stardust Billion year old carbon We are golden Caught in the devil's bargain And we've got to get our selves Back to the garden
Images: Top: from Peacefence.com, where you can get a pendant made from the "actual 1969 Woodstock Festival Fence," raising some interesting earned-income possibilities for our Parks Department... Bottom: David Crosby Fans
