This was once the largest Catholic church in The Far East, but stood just a few hundred feet from the center of the atomic bomb blast that devastated the city in 1945.. CONTINUE READING >>
This was once the largest Catholic church in The Far East, but stood just a few hundred feet from the center of the atomic bomb blast that devastated the city in 1945.
However, a handful of statues survived the destruction and are now displayed in front of the rebuilt church.
Before the rebuilding, one small section of an original wall that remained standing was moved and placed on display at ground zero.
So we walked along the Shimonokawa River down to the hypocenter, the point directly below the explosion which was exposed to the center of the bomb’s destructive force, to see… continue to see the epicenter >>
It was my first fear conquering – as kids today say – “epic fail.” Not pretty at all.
Maybe I was too jet lagged. Maybe it was too early in the morning. Maybe it was the ten extra pounds of delicious-food Europe weight. Maybe 50-ish is a bit too old to take up a new trick this physical – the reflexes ain’t what they used to be! Maybe I should shut up and stop… CONTINUE READING and watch the video >>
It was my first fear conquering – as kids today say – “epic fail.”
Not pretty at all.
Maybe I was too jet lagged. Maybe it was too early in the morning. Maybe it was the ten extra pounds of delicious-food Europe weight. Maybe 50-ish is a bit too old to take up a new trick this physical – the reflexes ain’t what they used to be! Maybe I should shut up and stop making up excuses.
WATCH:
Our oldest Spawn, The Piglet, and I wanted a fun mother/daughter outing and, after seeing a troupe perform in a park on Governer’s Island last summer, we decided that trapeze school would be just the ticket for a daredevil bonding adventure.
We woke up early on a Saturday morning and took the subway to Brooklyn to The España-STREB Trapeze Academy for an introductory class.
David tagged along as videographer/cheerleader, proclaiming that the circus life was not for him… unless it involved clowning.
After a run-down of tips and tricks, and time to practice on a stationary, barely-off-the-ground low bar, I was strapped into a safety harness and was escorted to the ladder that led to the platform I would be launched from.
Knee-knockingly scared, I climbed rung by rung and cautiously stepped from the ladder to the platform — EGAD! it was high! — not certain I was going to be able to go through with it.
As my coach switched my safety cable from the one that kept me from falling down the ladder to the two cables that would keep me from breaking my neck on the trapeze, I wondered if it were too late to turn back. Would I have been the first?
The only reason my determination to succeed remained intact was my unwillingness to slow down the entire class – just standing there doing nothing took away precious time from my fellow flyers.
The REAL panic set in when I had to reach for the swing itself. Seriously, I had to lean forward over what might as well be miles of empty space and grab onto a bar that is trying to pull me off the platform?
Clearly, I hadn’t thought this through. Even though I was being held from behind by a big strong man and had a coach next to me explaining every step, it still took every ounce of guts I could muster to hold on to the bar and just stand there.
Rigor mortis had set in.
What if I can’t hold on to the bar? Is the guy in charge of the safety cables paying attention? When was the last time they inspected the swing for cracks?
My brain screamed my panic mantra, “People do this everyday and do not die…people do this everyday and do not…” I wasn’t fully convinced of the second part of it.
After a few awkward false starts, I let go and screamed my way across the gym. Exhilarating!
The night before, when The Piglet and I were excitedly talking about our upcoming adventure, all I thought I needed to do was a swing from the bar. That would be enough, I didn’t need to learn any fancy tricks. But now, the adrenaline had kicked in and I wanted more. It was time to attempt a knee hang.
My attempts weren’t pretty, and I knew it (and wow – after seeing the video – it was worse than I’d thought), but I was proud of myself anyway.
After a few runs, I had the knee hang down, but realized that my responses to the shouted commands of my instructor were slowing and my heretofore unused muscles needed for the task weren’t responding anymore. The Piglet and the other young whippersnappers in the class were getting better with every run, I had hit my peak, and I knew it.
It was at this point that we were informed that we could attempt a catch – if we felt up to it. One of the instructors would be swinging on the other side and if we properly executed our knee hang and reached out as we were taught, we would be caught by our wrists and glide as gracefully as a seasoned circus performer to the far side of the gym.
The Piglet, huge determined grin on her face, scampered up the ladder and flawlessly achieved just that. I was in awe of her grace and beauty. I had that Mommy-proud surge of love and joy as she hit the mat triumphant. After happy hugs and high fives, it was my turn.
I was proud of my progress as I grabbed the bar and left the platform without much fear – and no screaming. I heard my coach’s shout to begin my knee hang just fine. Problem was, my muscles were played out. My legs just wouldn’t go over my head.
After dropping down to the mat on this failed attempt, I had to admit to my coach (and myself) that I couldn’t go any further.
I sat on the sidelines and watched as The Piglet and the rest of my classmates flew though the air with the greatest of ease. I was jealous. And a bit embarrassed. And mad at myself. I was pouting inside. I’m not proud of it, but there it was.
Rather than basking in my own private pity party, I made the decision to defect over to the cheerleader side and stood with David, his arm around my thickening waist, proudly watching our beautiful daughter in all her glory. She was truly spectacular.
I guess we’re never to old to bask in our children’s accomplishments.
Epic fail or not, it was a blast! Next time I’m in Brooklyn, I’m giving it another go – maybe with a little rest and another lesson under my (safety) belt, I can lick this challenge!
Clarksdale, Mississippi is home to one of the most unique inns we’ve ever encountered, The Shack Up Inn. This collection of sharecropper shacks on the old Hopson Plantation look like they haven’t been touched in decades, but inside… CONTINUE READING >>
Clarksdale, Mississippi is home to one of the most unique inns we’ve ever encountered, The Shack Up Inn. This collection of sharecropper shacks on the old Hopson Plantation look like they haven’t been touched in decades, but inside each one is fixed up into a comfortable little cottage.
Guy Malvezzi was great about showing us around and telling us the story. A few years back a couple songwriters started hunkering down in a shack down here to get away from it all and write.
Their idea started catching on and soon Guy bought up a bunch of authentic sharecropper shacks, moved them here, fixed them up and started renting them out. Fast forward a few decades and one of America’s coolest accommodations is going strong. (click here to see our full story on the Mississippi Blues Trail!)
Bedroom in our first night’s shack.
And the kitchen!
The “Office” Shack is where we spent our second night.
After our night in a shack we were ready to absorb all of the blues history we could, and Clarksdale has a ton. What better place to start than The Crossroads? A big sign marks the spot of the alleged devil deal but we had our doubts.
Back in 1941, on KFFA, King Biscuit Time, named for the sponsor King Biscuit Flour, began its run and has since become the radio show with the largest number of broadcasts ever. Everyday at 12:15, to coincide with worker’s lunch breaks, The Blues is still sent out across The Delta… CONTINUE READING >>
But the explanation did give us a good destination for our final stop on our Blues Trail tour. Helena has played a huge role in the history of The Blues, as a town where many of the musicians came to play, but mostly as the place where Blues found a home on the radio. (click here to see our full story on the Mississippi Blues Trail!)
Back in 1941, on KFFA, King Biscuit Time, named for the sponsor King Biscuit Flour, began its run and has since become the radio show with the largest number of broadcasts ever. Everyday at 12:15, to coincide with worker’s lunch breaks, The Blues is still sent out across The Delta.
At first this was the only station anywhere playing live Blues, with Sonny Boy Williamson and Robert Lockwood, Jr. performing in the studio, and what was known at the time as race records, but the show’s popularity inspired other stations to follow.
These days the show is broadcast from a studio in The Delta Cultural Center, so that the public can come in and watch. We made sure to be there a few minutes early and when we arrived “Sunshine” Sonny Payne was already behind the mic getting ready, just as he has done for over sixty years.
He was more than cordial and happy to greet us and answered questions from all of the visitors. Then with the signature phrase “pass the biscuits, ’cause its King Biscuit Time!” the 16,405th show was underway.
Figuring there was no way we were going to top that as a finale to our Blues Trail tour, we knew it was time to head even farther down south to dodge the cold up north.
Juke joints were extremely influential in the spreading of blues music and used to be everywhere across The Delta. With the rise of recorded music, the jukebox became the entertainment of choice… CONTINUE READING >>
That night we were in luck, one of, if not the last rural Juke Joint still going happened to be open. About twenty miles outside of Clarksdale, literally sitting on the edge of a cotton field, Po’ Monkey’s is only open Thursday nights. (click here to see our full story on the Mississippi Blues Trail!)
Juke joints were extremely influential in the spreading of blues music and used to be everywhere across The Delta. With the rise of recorded music, the jukebox became the entertainment of choice, and joints sprung up for nearby folks to hear the latest songs, have a few drinks, and dance the night away.
Willie Seaberry, known to one and all as Po’ Monkey, met us at the door and, since we were early enough to beat the crowd, gave us the lowdown on the joint.
Back in the early sixties, when Po’ Monkey was still a teenager, he turned his house, an old sharecropper’s shack, into a juke joint. Not much has changed since then, other than the myriad of stuffed monkeys people have stapled to the walls and ceiling and a DJ serving up tunes instead of a box.
When we asked the inevitable question, “Why do they call you Po’ Monkey?” He said they always had, since he was a kid, then grinned and added, “Look at this face!” After chatting, we shot a few games of pool, quaffed a couple cold ones and soaked up the R&B soundtracked ambiance before heading back to our own sharecropper shack.
The idea here is to show the progression of The Blues and how it gave birth to so much of our current music. This is accomplished by using a most amazing collection of records and memorabilia laid out as… CONTINUE READING >>
Bellies filled, we were ready to take on Clarksdale. Home to Sam Cooke, Ike Turner, The Delta Blues Museum, The Riverside Hotel, The Ground Zero Blues Club, and one of the funkiest dives anywhere, Red’s Lounge. (click here to see our full story on the Mississippi Blues Trail!)
But of all of the attractions we took in, The Rock & Blues Museum was our favorite. The idea here is to show the progression of The Blues and how it gave birth to so much of our current music. This is accomplished by using a most amazing collection of records and memorabilia laid out as a timeline.
From some of the earliest 78s ever made, to almost every classic from any baby boomer’s teenaged 45 and LP collection, to disco and then modern pop, this place is a trip down memory lane that anyone who’s ever owned a good old vinyl record can get lost in. Curator Theo Dasbach, who collected most of this himself, gave us an in-depth overview. But seriously, we can’t even begin to list the treasures displayed here, it would take page after page and we’d still leave something huge out.
A homemade Diddly Bow.
“Crazy Blues” by Mamie Smith was the first Blues record. It was recorded on August 10, 1920.
We love concert contract riders. Here’s one of Muddy Waters’.
The Rolling Stones were greatly influenced by the Blues, their first record covered a Willy Dixon song that was originally performed by Muddy Waters.
As was Eric Clapton. Here his band Cream covered Robert Johnson.
