Tag: memories

Memories, Art, and Adele

~ thoughtsatlarge ~ Leave a comment

Forrest Gump is revered as a movie, in part because Forrest is a witness to or active participant in many historical events. he interacts with many cultural touchstones throughout the movie. These touchstones exist throughout popular culture, and when we participate in them or witness them, we are historians, chroniclers of culture, a modern-day Pliny.

Throughout our lives, we occasionally find ourselves in these situations. Sometimes we are unaware of the cultural significance at the moment; other times, we know we are creating memories. The birth of our child, the death of a family pet, or seeing a famous landmark on a business trip or personal vacation all qualify as these moments of instant memory. Still, at other times, we are made aware of the significance of the event we find ourselves in, either as witnesses or participants. Examples of these situations might include being in downtown Manhattan on September 11, 2001, seeing a young, unknown Jimi Hendrix perform in a nowhere club or as a background musician for another act, or seeing your favorite baseball team win in person as they start the fifteen game winning streak that propels them into the playoffs and to a World Series title. 

This is a long-winded way of saying that memories, be they known at the moment or recognized after the fact, are branded into our conscience. My father used to say, “A good day is any day you create a memory.” I would edit that to limit it to a “good” memory. Bad memories are just as searing, just not as welcomed. 

The previous few paragraphs represent the (half-formed) internal conversation I had in my head this past Saturday evening as my wife and I waited for Adele to take the stage as part of her Weekends with Adele residency at the Colosseum at Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas. No opening act, no warm-up-the-audience comedian, just her and her band. She was outstanding. The show started with her and her piano player, Eric, performing about five songs together. Just them. She didn’t change outfits twelve times (she never changed outfits), and she didn’t have a choreographed dance routine for every song (she didn’t dance at all (and neither did anyone in her band)). I was just her, her powerful voice, and her band performing hit after hit. She honestly didn’t need a microphone or speakers. Her voice could have shaken the rafters and The Strip without them. Seeing her perform was one of those significant moments- an instant memory. And I knew it at that moment. 

I reflected internally on how fortunate I was to be there to see her perform in her prime. I was at Red Rocks in Colorado once to see the Denver Philharmonic Orchestra perform Rachmaninoff and Tchaikovsky. The organic, cathedral-like venue cut into the mountain, and the moving music brought me to tears with the same emotions. How fortunate was I to:

  1. Appreciate art forms in their purest representation?
  2. Have worked hard enough to achieve the means to have enough disposable income to spend on the arts?
  3. To be in the right place at the right time to experience such artistry?

Dad would be proud to know I had a good day where I made a (good) memory.

Field of Memories

~ thoughtsatlarge ~ Leave a comment
Newport Historical Society Collections Online

Baseball has the ability to transcend time. Look at that photograph. Can you hear it? Ball meeting bat. Can you feel the contact in your hands? Not the connection of springtime baseball, the shock traveling from your seemingly electrocuted hands through your arms and into your teeth, but the solid contact made only in deepest summer. What position are you playing? Are you the batter? The pitcher? Infield? Outfield? On deck? On the bench? Can you hear the people in the stands? Can you smell the grass during the warm summer months? Look up. Can you see the soft white clouds watching the action as they carelessly pass overhead. That is baseball, and this was Basin Field in Newport, RI, in 1910.

Basin Field has hosted baseball games since the railroads backfilled the area initially used as a drainage area for steam engines. It is one of the oldest baseball fields in the United States and a gem.

Bernardo (Vlardino) Cardines was born in Venafro, Italy on November 15, 1895. After his father emigrated to Providence, Rhode Island, and paid for his son’s transatlantic crossing in 1907, they worked as tailors on Thames Street, eventually living with his aunt and uncle a block from what would become his namesake ballpark. Bernardo registered for service in June 1917, was drafted in April 1918, and was killed in action in France during World War I in September of that same year. Initially buried in France, his remains were exhumed and reburied in his hometown of Venafro at his father’s request, who had returned to Italy. Basin Field was renamed Bernardo Cardines Field in 1936. He may have been watching this game in 1910.

Perhaps it’s the story of the Italian immigrant, who, it is said, played baseball at the YMCA, or maybe it’s that baseball field that lives in my soul. It might be remnants of the recently played Field of Dreams game in Dyersville, Iowa, between my beloved Cincinnati Reds and the Chicago Cubs intertwined with scenes from the movie. It might be the link I share with my late father and brother, knowing we all played at Cardines. It could be that I’m just getting older and find myself warmed by the glow of glory days past, thinking of my teammates and adversaries, games and plays, moments and memories. Maybe it’s memories of watching Sunset League games played under the lights as a kid, knowing the 9 pm horn would sound from the fire station across the street and still jumping out of my skin when it went off. Cardines was the equivalent of Fenway Park or Yankee Stadium as a kid. The dream of eventually playing there was the equivalent of playing in the major leagues.

The photograph above struck me as a handshake reaching across time. The players in that photo are long gone. And yet, we share the experience of playing baseball on the same spot of land in Newport, Rhode Island. I know nothing about them other than they enjoyed the game. And that’s enough for us to be teammates and foes, brothers and friends.