Park Band and wonderous noises

 WHY QUINCY DOESN'T have a permanent bandstand in a city park is beyond comprehension. We have such an amazing array of musicians, artists and performers. Yet we have no outside space for them.You could call the gazebo in Washington Park a concert venue, and it works for Blues In The District and other events, but it's really not performer friendly. Then there's the amazing stage by the bank near 7th and Maine, but that's private space.

The Quincy Park District does have a portable stage, but it's showing wear and tear. It's time we build something permanent, not just for us, but for everybody in the years to come.

In the summer, the Quincy Park Band plays Sunday night shows in Madison Park on the portable stage. The band and the Quincy Park District are working together to fund and build a new performance space. 

At each Sunday night concert this summer, a local "celebrity" emcees the event. Each person has a bucket and donations are accepted for the bandshell. Maybe they couldn't find anybody else and I'm no celebrity, but for some reason Jeff Schuecking called me last month and asked me to do one.

"You can tell jokes and make fun of anybody you want," Jeff said.

"Where do I sign?" I said. 

Last night was my turn. The rain drove us to the Kroc Center's beautiful auditorium, and the band was in excellent form under the direction of John Hume. Yes, I made fun of Jeff (he was a great neighbor at Fifth and Maine for years and I love the guy). Yes, I had a proud father moment telling everybody how Dr. Emily Hart is a product of the Quincy public school's awesome music program. Yes, I mispronounced names and song titles and even jumped in early when a song wasn't done. Three movements? In one song? That's two more than I'm used to!

What I loved most was standing on the stage and literally feeling the floor reverberate with the music. The songs were short and magnificently played. Much love to John and the band - they are phenomenal!

 I saw familiar faces putting donations in the bucket with my name on it. The idea is that the person with the most money raised gets to direct the Quincy Park Band at a later concert.

I have no chance matching community stalwarts like Mayor Linda Moore, Chuck Scholz and Mark McDowell. But that's OK. It's a great idea. You can even go online and donate if you want.

Best Sunday night in Quincy in a long time!

 

FSG and orange toenails

 A FEW WEEKS ago I was in North Carolina for a family wedding. We were staying in a big Air BnB farmhouse outside of Raleigh. I was walking barefoot when my sister, Charys, and sister in law, Stephanie (AKA Aunt Scary), noticed my toes.

"Ugh!" said Charys. "How can you stand them like that?"

Like what?

"They aren't as bad as your brother's feet," Aunt Scary said. "He says it's from years of wearing hockey skates that were too small."

They were right. The toenails were all different lengths and the nails on my pinky toe were overgrown. The toes themselves all slope in one direction - to the right on the right foot, to the left on the left foot. My big toes had sock gunk in them. Sock Gunk would be a great name for a band.

 And my big toes look like ET.

 "What you need," Aunt Scary said, "is a pedicure."

A pedicure? Isn't that where they buff out your feet and paint the nails with a glittery substance?

"Actually, it feels amazing," Charys said. "They clean your toes and then they massage your feet and the bottom of your legs."

OK. Now we were talking. Anything with the word "massage" has me interested.

"It feels sooooooo good!" Aunt Scary said.

 When I got back to Quincy, I asked some of the Lab Brats about it. They said it was required stress relief. But there was conflicting information about where to go and how to go about it.

I looked up "pedicures for men" online. This was not a good idea. Both me and my computer got a virus. That got shut down right away.

Finally, I did the one thing I should always do when it pertains to self-care and thinking outside the box. I called Allison McElroy of The Whatevers. We'd been on a recent gig clothing shopping adventure. She knows all about this stuff.

"Actually, I'm overdue for a pedicure," she said. "I'll make an appointment."

 Overdue For A Pedicure sounds like a great song title. Suddenly it was Saturday morning and I found myself at Jen's Nails out by Kohls. I got strange looks from the staff and the two women who were getting feets worked on. But when Allison walked in and they checked the appointment book, the workers started smiling and giggling.

"I like it!" one said.

"Feels so good," another said. Feels so good will be used a lot from now on. Let's just call it FSG.

Step one - pick your nail color. What? "I mean, we are here. You might as well get them done," Allison said. "Oh look. They have orange!"

Step two- sit in a massage chair. Yup. A freaking massage chair. FSG.

Step three - feet in warm water. The worker started scrubbing and cleaning the nails. Oi. FSG.

The other steps started blurring into each other. The worker took a cheese grater to the bottom of my feet. I am not making this up. A CHEESE GRATER. The worker had an evil grin on her face. I was prepared to be tortured.

Instead .... you guessed it. FSG.

Then she put soap on my ankles and bottom of the my legs and rubbed it all in and I about passed out.

"Are you OK?" Allison asked. "Oh look! That orange looks PERF on you!" 

Yup. My nails were being painted orange. In honor of being Dutch, you know? The massage chair, the rubbing of the feet, the nails changing color - it was all so surreal.

By this time there were quite a few other customers getting feets done. There were more strange looks and hidden smiles. My brain was overloaded by FSG. I didn't care.

We moved to put our feets under a light to dry them. The worker said. "You will come back, right?"

That night we played at an awesome block party and I proudly showed off my buffed feets and glowing toenails. HUGE reactions. Next time Allison and I play I'm putting out a tip jar with a photo on it of my nails. 

So go ahead and revoke the man card and all that silly stuff. FSG, baby. Don't knock it if you don't try it. You might really like it. 

And you might go back. Like I'm going to do.

 

The beach and how to celebrate

 

THIS IS ANOTHER post for family. It's about a sacred place and how to remember. 

No funeral for me when I go, please. Have a party and tell stories and let the rivers of beer flow, if it floats your boat. Scatter my ashes into Lake Michigan. Or the sandtrap at No. 17 at Westview Golf Course, since I'm in there a lot anyway.

I made the trek north this weekend to meet up with old friends and celebrate the life of Peter Hart, my uncle. He lived for 20-plus years on Lake Michigan between Saugatuck and Holland. It was the scene of countless adventures, sun-soaked days and family gatherings. We scattered my mother's ashes here, and my brother's ashes too. Peter moved four years ago to Holland - his big house on top of the wooded dune was a beautiful place, but it was big and my Aunt Helen especially wanted something with less maintenance.

 Peter died Dec. 26, 2024, in his Holland home. He didn't want a funeral. He wanted his children and grandchildren to gather at the beach and scatter his ashes. Before he died he contacted the current owner to get it arranged. He just wanted a "beach day."

And that's what we got Sunday.

It was warm and windy, exactly like a thousand other sun-soaked summer beach days when he lived there. His son Roland and his wife, Amy, were there with children Elly, Drew and Josh. Peter's daughter Natalie and partner Richard were there with Natalie's son Will and daughter Hannah. Helen of course came down those 100 steps to the beach with no issues - she looks great and was so gracious.

We laughed and remembered. Roland and I played a few songs - Imagine by John Lennon, Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For by U2, Blackbird by the Beatles and Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen. Hannah and her amazing voice gave the songs life - Peter loved to hear her sing them during our many jam sessions on the porch and by the fire pit.

Natalie read a prayer by Rev. Richard Rhem, edited for the occasion by Helen. Then we scattered ashes, each going to a place in solitude. 

That was it. We trundled back up the stairs and gathered at Roland and Amy's Zeeland home for burgers. Simple, to the point, poignant and appropriate. Uncle Peter led a fascinating life and was not a simple man, but the way we remembered him was, and it worked.

We all have different ideas about the end. Some seek tradition and order to put us in the ground.

Nope. Not me. I want to it to be just like we did for Uncle Peter. No funeral, not even a grave site.

Scatter 'em and have a party!

 

 

 

Street punks and bridge closures

 GOOD STORY HERE about a recent street racing gathering shut down by local law enforcement. I've had two recent encounters with this street racing crew and they weren't pleasant.

The first was several months ago at a West Quincy gas station as I was filling up the Blessing vehicle. Five or six hot-rodded sports cars pulled in, engines revving, music blasting and occupants cursing. They kept gunning engines, even by the pumps, and they started yelling at people as they walked by.

One guy stared at me. I stared back. He pointed and said something, so I just smiled, got my receipt and went on my way. Hey - gotta get those Hannibal labs to the main lab at 11th. And the one thing these birdbrains don't like is being ignored. 

 A few weeks later I was on Broadway between 24th and 18th. This was before Broadway was torn up to replace the aging sewer systems. It's a mess between 24th and 12th right now so I avoid it. I can't remember why I was on Broadway that night, but I was probably running late.

Three soup-ups blasted by in the left lane. They were weaving in and out, cutting people off. One guy looked at me after he cut me off near 20th and I had to jam on the brakes. He was laughing. It's all a big game to these punks. You won't be laughing when you plow into somebody and your lack of insurance forces you into bankruptcy, pal. And lands you in the place that employs me.

They weren't laughing Saturday night when a bunch of tickets got issued. Too bad so sad, soup-ups.

Also, the bridge. Or, lack of a bridge. The Hannibal bridge over the Mississippi is closed for the rest of this month, and traffic has at least doubled on U.S. 61. What people don't realize is when they come back into Quincy you don't have to get in the left lane at Fourth and turn toward Broadway. That's the official detour but it's a mess. Go straight up Maine (which has twice as much traffic now), or zip up to York or State to head east. You can even go north at Second and take Oak east.

I actually take Chestnut all the way to Colombus Road and then to 48th when going from the main hospital to the 48th and Maine facility. It's faster than Broadway, way faster.

Last night there was a crash by the bridge about half an hour after I crossed it. Ugh. What a mess. Kudos to our emergency response teams. I go to Hannibal twice a day and right now there's one way across the river and one way back into Quincy.

If something happens, there's nothing to do but wait it out. 

Be safe out there, peeps. Watch out for dumbass soup-ups, don't run the yellows, use your blinkers and don't speed. Or go ahead. On U.S. 61 right now, I see at least three vehicles pulled over per trip. They know you are coming. Tempt the fates and see what happens.

How much is that ticket for squealing tires anyway?

 

 

Family time, and times of our lives

 THIS PAST WEEKEND the crazy Hart clan descended on Raleigh, N.C. for the wedding of my sister's son Matt and his beautiful bride, Meghan.

 By my bad memory, it was the first time in about 15 years all the Hart cousins were together. It. Was. Glorious!

Dr. Emily Hart!

Most of us stayed in a big Air BnB Farmhouse in Hillsborough, not far from the wedding site and about half an hour from the Raleigh-Durham airport. Gotta thank Steve for driving us all over the place, even though he's directionally-challenged like our mother. "Embrace the U turn!" became the weekend theme. It's a good thing we realize how hard it is to turn left instead of right. I give him credit for getting his kids at midnight and my daughter, Emily, at 1 a.m. Saturday after her flight got delayed.

Doug Sanderson, Matt's father, presided at Saturday's ceremony. It was phenomenal, beside a pond on a gently sloping lawn on a sprawling horse farm. The ceremony was short and powerful, like the prior two Hart cousin weddings. Take note, future brides and grooms! You don't have to have a big church and 90 minutes of blah blah blah to get married. If it floats your boat, so be it. Doug was magnificent and somehow held it together until the very end.

It was also nice to see Opa Hart, who lives nearby, be with his kids and grandchildren for the first time in .... ages. Steve and I had lunch with him Friday at his favorite Mexican place. Aside from losing his teeth, he's getting around pretty well for an 87 year old.

The wedding reception was also outside under a big tent. The DJ was incredible and of course the Hart cousins and most of their parents never left the dance floor. Even the old man here had to jump in a little later - how can you not move when hearing Abba's Gimmie! Gimmie! Gimmie!????? Cousins Brooke, Natalie, Riley and Joshua were the catalysts, with Emily right beside them. I was in awe watching them hoot and holler.

Life and circumstance dictate where you live. The four Hart siblings scattered like the wind from the 1980s in Grand Rapids, Mich. None of us looked back. We are all content with what we do and where we are. Steve and Stephanie settled in Phoenix, Charys and David in Denver, Kathy and Doug in Louisville, then North Carolina. We were never particularly close, but two things galvanized us - the death of our brother, Greg, in 2002, and the sudden passing of our mother, Virginia, in 2005.

The first Hart Sibling Summit was 20 years ago this Labor Day Weekend in Phoenix. The next year I brought Emily, and there were several following Labor Day gatherings where Emily (Big Cousin) had a field day with all her Little Cousins.

We vowed to try and do it every year, but the whole kids growing up and going to college and getting jobs thing got in the way. That's just an excuse. But it's real.

Steve's son Riley married Sophie in October 2023. Charys' son Josh married Maddie last August. Matt and Meghan hitched it up, and in two weeks Steve's daughter, Dr. Natalie Hart, marries Ryan in Flagstaff, AZ. I'll be at a very different family gathering that weekend and hate to miss it.

It's easy to take family for granted. The dynamic is much different when you live closer. There is regret from distance. But it makes getting together so much fun. And, after 48 hours, you go home and sleep for almost 10 hours, like I did last night.

I treasure family time, however brief and infrequent it is. Let's do it again! After we all get some sleep, of course.

From left, Hart siblings Charys, Stephen, Kathy and some dork.