Step in Time

Along with the decline of the art of conversation, chivalry and western civilization, let's add in parades.

Because they sure ain't what they used to be.

Admittedly, my only frame of reference is the annual Christmas parade, which I see every year as a take my usual morning walk the first Saturday in December. I could walk another route, but why not take in this harbinger of the upcoming season?

The light rain didn't seem to diminish the number of people patiently waiting along Broad Street and it certainly didn't affect the number of food vendors selling crap to children before 11:00, but it did crowd things a bit with so many umbrellas and canopies set up.

I never saw the pathetic Rudolph balloon that wore a Bandaid over its leak the past few years but I did see what looked like a several new balloons, although I wasn't much impressed with the fruitcake or Strawberry Shortcake versions.

When the handlers of the Tweety balloon tried to lower it to go under the traffic lights at Allen Street, they scraped the balloon on the ground for so long that a man behind me warned, "Step back! They're gonna pop that thing!" Instead, I just kept going.

My favorites were the Black Gum Saddle Club riding their steeds down the street and the Wells Fargo carriage looking just like the little metal banks they used to give away. The two Harlem Globetrotters I saw were working the kids on the sidelines magnificently, thrilling them with attention. That was impressive to see.

And, sure I can appreciate a good marching band or ten, although baton twirlers in pink Santa hats don't do anything for me.

When a school's corps of cadets went by, an older began yelling at them to step it up and look sharper like his corps used to do. "Get to it!" he instructed.

But what galled me about the parade was the number of people participating in it with no regard for their role. If you're going to be on a float, you should be waving, not texting.

Just as bad, if not worse, were the people marching in the parade on their phones. I'm sorry, children are sitting on cold curbs in the rain to see a parade - maybe their first or maybe a very big deal to them - so you are like a character in a play or movie to them.

And you don't break character by being on your phone.

No, you should be totally in the moment of the parade or not in it at all. Can't we at least leave the phone alone long enough to give children a Christmas parade memory that doesn't involve watching people look at their screens?

A parade should be about the here and now. Look at me, sounding like  the Grinch of Christmas Past.

Meanwhile, I'll go back to obsessing about the death of artful conversation...

Of Trunks and Batons

It's hard to resist a parade when it deposits itself practically at my doorstep.

Leaving for my daily walk, I head south toward Broad Street, just like I do most days.

Today, I am greeted by an inflatable Snoopy, fist ducking under the street lights on the west side of the intersection and then rising to his full height in the middle.

It's still not all that high, but then this is no Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade, either.

As I walk west on Broad, the parade is coming right at me with marching band after marching band from distant counties.

Just how early do you have to get up in Northumberland County to be here for a 10:00 parade?

Baton twirlers dressed in skimpy costumes throw, catch and occasionally miss, but their lipsticked smiles never waver.

The SEAL Team has a float and a cadre of OCD-looking people marching and probably wishing they were carrying logs or something.

One of the highlights is the River City Rollergirls, one of them carrying a sign saying "Seasons' Beating" as the they skate madly around her, attired in bright colors and knee pads.

My vote for most lurid entry in the parade is the partially-inflated Christmas tree, its brown trunk looking way too phallic as it wavered between full and flacid, and angled at the crowd below.

There were the Christmas Mothers doing the beauty queen wave from car dealerships vehicles.

Finally Santa came in view, accompanied by what I have to assume was the Snow Queen, although she looked young enough to be his granddaughter.

Mrs. Claus, take note.

Once himself had passed, the parade was over, so since it was time for me to turn around, I joined the gaggle of street vendors following the parade downtown and still hawking their  cheap, Chinese-made wares to a crowd of mostly families.

Cause nothing says Christmas parade like an inflatable SpongeBob Squarepants balloon on a stick.

And lots of Krispy Kreme donuts.

Didn't someone say this is the most wonderful time of the year?

Twirl That Baton

Who knew Fred Flintstone would be so enduring a character?

Every year the Christmas parade overtakes my daily walk, providing countless opportunities for me to wonder, pet, judge and laugh at what I see.

And the first balloon I saw was the 51-year old Fred Flintstone, a little limp in the extremities and not flying very high.

I am in awe that a cartoon figure a half a century old is still a viable part of our parade.

Kids know Wilma and Barney and Pebbles? Who knew?

I gave high points to the couple who each brought a ladder instead of chairs on which they perched to see over the heads of others.

Rudolph, the joke of last year's parade after he did a slow deflate, was right up front with a big Bandaid on his head.

I couldn't decide if that was funny or pathetic.

Lots of dogs were in attendance, but I only bothered to stop for beagles, tapping strangers on the shoulder to ask if I could touch their dogs.

One guy began to remove the beagle's sweater, saying, "My wife put this thing on and it looks stupid."

Well, yes, considering beagles are hunting dogs, a sweater is a bit much.

I saw lots of tiny babies being held up to look at the parade, as if they had any understanding of it.

One mom was doing a voice-over, pretending to be the baby talking, while dad shot the baby's face in close-up.

Really.

As I turned away from the parade route to go the two blocks home, I saw the perfect symbol of parade aftermath.

A big wad of pink cotton candy laying on the street with an obvious gray footprint on it.

Time to go home, kids.

Letting the Parade Pass Me By

The true meaning of Christmas parades must have changed while I wasn't looking and nobody told me. Given that naivete, there was no way I could have been prepared for joining the festivities on my morning walk along the parade route.

Truth be told, I wouldn't have even remembered that the Christmas parade was today except that when I went to open my living room shades, Clay Street was abuzz with cars of people unloading.

In fact, directly out in front of my house was a bus of fatigue-clad military guys, one of whom was directing traffic around the bus. Ah, yes, happy holidays and welcome to the (khaki) parade.

So when I set out for my daily constitutional, I knew it would be with a jingle-bell view. But who wouldn't get a kick out of seeing parade marshals the Harlem Globetrotters coming down Broad Street?

I'm even enough of a traditionalist that I marvel at watching baton twirlers throwing their batons impossibly high in the air and then somehow catching them mid-step.

I can appreciate a good marching band (or ten), admiring their high stepping musicality and snappy uniforms. The giant balloons don't impress quite like the ones I remember from the Macy's parade, but we're no NYC, either (the reindeer with the smooshed-in face was particularly unfortunate).

But when did Christmas become all about fitness? I was flummoxed to see the Navy Seal Personal Training group as part of the parade. Their float featured recruits "riding" bikes and waving their toned arms, as if to say, "Come sweat with us at 4 a.m.!" Um, no thanks.

Since when did the Triathlon Training Team put on the red and green and shoehorn themselves into the parade? And if anyone's answering questions, what's Christmasy about Dominion Chevrolet driving new vehicles with giant "Red Tag Event Sale" stickers in the parade? Is that supposed to be a gift suggestion?

Flagrant sales tactics aside, the funniest part of the health contingent joining the Christmas parade is the concession group that accompanies it.

Between here and the DMV, I could have bought cotton candy (okay, that's probably parade food), chili-dogs, Krispy Kreme donuts by the dozen and even a marked down grilled cheese (was $3, now $2!). No child left behind, though: every tot had a soda in hand.

And speaking of children, it seemed like the parade brought out the worst parenting imaginable. One Dad walking his little person through the crowd of adults slammed the kid into a chair and then yelled at the confused kid for not watching where he was going.

Another parent trying to effectively discipline pointed at St. Nick's approaching float and screamed, "There's Santa, so you'd better watch it, boy!" Some day we will license people to become parents, like we license dog owners.

After reaching the end of the parade route, I turned around and walked back with the end of it. The vendors had formed the final group and were loudly trying to hawk their leftovers to the crowd busy packing up. "Candy apples, cheap!"

A lone man carried a banner aloft: "Life is short. Eternity is not. R U ready?"

I feel sure I am, as long as eternity isn't like an endless Christmas parade of fit Seals and car salesmen.