July 4th weekend spawned a variety of commentary on what it means to be “patriotic†— some of it thoughtful, some of it less so. I’m not sure where I’d fall in the mix, but my weekend was celebratory, and further endeared to me this place I call home.
We kicked it off on Thursday with a wine and cheese tasting at nearby Blue Bistro. They’re holding these events from 6pm to 8pm every Thursday in July, but this one was especially tantalizing, paired as it was with the work-free Friday following it. It’s $20 a person for samples of three wines and three accompanying cheeses. This past Thursday included a champagne cheddar served with champagne, a something something served with a something white, and a “true†Stilton served with a something white and sweet. You can tell how seriously I take these things. Seriously, I’m all about the tasting, less about the remembering. We’ll call it, “living in the moment.†And the moment was enjoyable, largely due to the company. The event itself was, well, not so much of an event. I pictured something with a little more ceremony, but they just brought out three glasses and a plate for each person, told us about all six of the items, then left us alone. I guess I was expecting each cheese to come out separately, and in retrospect wonder if that would have made it feel more ceremonious. But whatever. The full menu was also available, and both the red pepper bisque and the polenta — which they were kind enough to serve on its own, no order of less-stellar-salmon required — were outstanding. Their polenta must be half butter, but mmmm is it good.
After we finished our cheese, we returned to the house to continue the “wine tastingâ€, by which I mean the “wine overindulgenceâ€. This was the first time we’ve had non-family at the new house for any length of time, and if we’d planned it ahead of time things would have been cleaner and more organized, but I also probably would have had less fun.
Friday was all about recovery, doing the cleaning I should have done before guests came over on Thursday, and then heading downtown to see Brasilian-by-way-of-Pittsburgh singer Kenia at the Hilton. Fun music, but we were both zonked, so we headed home relatively early, just in time to hear the fireworks but, due to the opaque buildings lining Second Street, not see them.
Fireworks then became the plan for Saturday, with my family scheduled to come for dinner and a short walk down to the river. At the last minute, though, I checked the schedule again, and saw that Saturday called only for “mini-fireworks†down at Vine Street — about a mile away. So we walked, and as we walked it became clear that I had not been the only one who misunderstood what and where the fireworks for the evening would be. For a while it looked like maybe we were going have them all to ourselves, until a clarifying announcement was made over the loudspeaker, and the droves began walking south.
The mini-fireworks were to accompany the Harrisburg Symphony Orchestra’s rendition of the 1812 Overture at the conclusion of their performance. We got there early enough to hear the preceding song or two as well, stayed for the very mini-fireworks display, and then walked back along the river amidst an ever-thinning crowd while the loudspeaker intoned, “RIVERFRONT PARK IS NOW CLOSED. PLEASE EXIT THE PARK.â€
And so fireworks became the plan for Sunday, despite that day’s pairing with the work-laden Monday following it. By this point we were really zonked; so zonked, in fact, that we got it in our heads that it would be a good idea to go to Toys R Us and buy bicycles. Yes, bicycles from the toy store. Whatever. We got two Schwinns, apparently models that are so low-end they’re sold only at Toys R Us and Wal-Mart, and aren’t even listed on the Schwinn website. However, they are cute as hell and have two wheels each, and they helped us propel ourselves from here to the north end of Riverfront Park and back again. I’m looking forward to travelling south from here as well, now that the festival stuff has vacated and that section of the park is again open to bikes. Just not for a few more days, until my legs recover.
Luckily, we didn’t have to walk far to get to Sunday’s fireworks. Actually, we walked several blocks further than we had to, in pursuit of a Brasilian/Bluegrass band playing the festival. The plan was to drop in there, then head up to Suba, and then make our way back to the river. We got waylaid, though, by a sign outside the Civic Club of Harrisburg, right next to the stage where the B/B band was playing, indicating that they were serving dinner. Dinner! The woman at the gate suggested that many people like to eat, then hang around for the fireworks. The Civic Club has a lovely lovely building and lovely lovely yard, and is located between the north tip of City Island and the Harvey Taylor Bridge. We were convinced.
According to our server and the menu, the Civic Club is open as a “restaurant†during the three major Harrisburg festivals — ArtsFest, American Music Festival, and Kipona. Food is ably prepared by Karen’s Catering, and apparently service is performed by members of the Civic Club. I still haven’t figured out what the Civic Club does, except that they have a lovely lovely building used mostly for weddings and banquets.
And a yard with a perfect view of the fireworks.
