Go my ABBA and fireworks display fix last night at Longwood Gardens, the former home of Piere duPont which he then gave to the nation.
We didn't have the greatest view as we were underneath a beautiful sprawling Cypress tree due to arriving a little after 4 p.m. and finding many had already staked their claim--leaving rugs and other personal belongings on the benches.
The fountains--installed by duPont in the 20s were spectacular, lighting up in an array of rainbow colors in time to the frantic beat of Dancing Queen, Take A Chance on Me, etc. And then came the spectacular finale to Waterloo, the hit that brought ABBA to the world stage when they won the Eurovision contest.
Only downer of the evening was a run-in with a Russian couple at the cafe--it was packed and they made everyone wait while they argued with first the server and then the manager because they wanted to mix-and-match menu choices that weren't available to them at the price they wanted to pay. (It has to be said they also cut the line.)
Helpfully (or so I thought), I said, "I think you'd be best just picking from the choices allowed as the manager's pissed off at you and the line for food is getting very long."
The woman looked at me--vulpine face with ice-blue eyes and a slash serving as a mouth--and said "Shut Up."
At that, the server ignored them and moved on to me.
Moral of the tale: There are nice Russian tourists and then there are the others.
Showing posts with label Abba. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Abba. Show all posts
Monday
An extraordinary woman
As a teenager, I idealized Agnetha from ABBA and Farrah Fawcett Majors, the glamorous one in Charlie's Angels, as she was known then. Both are/were powerful, attractive women who reached for the stars and achieved.
And then life gets busy and one moves fully to inhabit one's own life as one should and the crushes and people who inspired them are forgotten.
Last week, I watched Farrah's Story and I was struck again by the woman--not this time because of her head of golden hair and huge American smile, but by how human she was, how vulnerable, how strong and compassionate, how full of life. And her spirituality and deep faith--Roman Catholicism--astonished me because we don't really associate that with people living in Hollywood. It was astonishing to see her wheel her rosary beads in her fingers and watch her kiss the crucifix as my mother would
Having been brought up Roman Catholic, I knew intimately this woman's visceral need to continue believing in a benign God and last minute possibilities as she rested her head on her balcony and talked to God and said she's seriously in need of a miracle.
Her unflinching bravery as she allowed us to view the most intimate periods of her fight against cancer, her bouts of tears that weren't self-pitying, her desire to shield her aged father--a plain-talking Texan with a huge heart--from yet another death that would obliterate the last of his immediate family, the last moments when her son came to visit and she didn't recognize him, the medical peaks and troughs she traversed as she searched in Germany and the US for a cure, all showed what a truly remarkable woman she was and had become.
Michael Jackson's death--in itself a great tragedy--overshadowed this woman's last day on this earth. But she will be remembered.
Farewell Farrah and rest in peace.
And then life gets busy and one moves fully to inhabit one's own life as one should and the crushes and people who inspired them are forgotten.
Last week, I watched Farrah's Story and I was struck again by the woman--not this time because of her head of golden hair and huge American smile, but by how human she was, how vulnerable, how strong and compassionate, how full of life. And her spirituality and deep faith--Roman Catholicism--astonished me because we don't really associate that with people living in Hollywood. It was astonishing to see her wheel her rosary beads in her fingers and watch her kiss the crucifix as my mother would
Having been brought up Roman Catholic, I knew intimately this woman's visceral need to continue believing in a benign God and last minute possibilities as she rested her head on her balcony and talked to God and said she's seriously in need of a miracle.
Her unflinching bravery as she allowed us to view the most intimate periods of her fight against cancer, her bouts of tears that weren't self-pitying, her desire to shield her aged father--a plain-talking Texan with a huge heart--from yet another death that would obliterate the last of his immediate family, the last moments when her son came to visit and she didn't recognize him, the medical peaks and troughs she traversed as she searched in Germany and the US for a cure, all showed what a truly remarkable woman she was and had become.
Michael Jackson's death--in itself a great tragedy--overshadowed this woman's last day on this earth. But she will be remembered.
Farewell Farrah and rest in peace.
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