Author Archives: John Cutrone

Some Mother’s Day

Nunleys

I am not known for my powers of memory, but the paradox to that is I am known for remembering the finest details of the strangest things. Like the time when I was a little boy, probably no more than four years old; it was me and my whole family, my parents, my sister, my grandparents, in the basement of our house in Valley Stream, and it was a Sunday, and I’m pretty sure I wanted to go to Nunley’s, the amusement park that was not all that far away. “No, Johnny,” I was told, “we’ll go some other day.” But I heard it as, “We’ll go some Mother’s Day,” and I always thought that some Mother’s Day we’d go to Nunley’s.

As it turns out, we never did go to Nunley’s on a Mother’s Day, though we did go plenty of times outside of Mother’s Day. My favorite ride was the track car ride. Going to Nunley’s was probably a lot more fun for me than it was for anyone else in the family (though they were all pretty good at Skee-Ball compared to me). But these are some of the things you do when you have kids: you do what you can to make them happy, even if it means setting them down in a kid-size slot car that has not one but two steering wheels and watching them as their little car motors around the wooden track, waving at them as they watch you. It seems I was always watching my folks while the car drove me around; I was never watching the road (it’s a good thing those cars were on tracks), although I am pretty sure my hands were always somewhere on the wheel.

And so today it is Mother’s Day, and we remember all that our mothers have done for us. We honor them, our mothers given and our mothers chosen, for sometimes there are more than one in our lives. It does take a village, as the saying goes, to raise good children. And so I think of my mother, and my grandmother, and my sister, who all were part of the raising of the me that was a little boy. I hope I was not too much of a handful. It is a job that comes, at times, with little thanks. Like the time I barfed in the car on the Merritt Parkway in Connecticut. Mom took care of that. It was not a pleasant task, but she did it, because when we are small we are not very capable and our moms know this and they look out for us and they take care of all that is not right so that it is, eventually, right again. To all of our mothers on this Mother’s Day: Thank you. A thousand blessings upon you all.

 

Image: The track car ride at Nunley’s Amusement Park in Baldwin, New York, circa 1960. That’s not me in the picture but ten years later it could’ve been me. Look closely and you’ll see the two steering wheels in each car. The amusement park closed in 1995. Its historic carousel was saved and relocated to Garden City, New York, where it now is part of the Cradle of Aviation Museum. The rest of the rides and amusements were dismantled and sold off piecemeal. They say that now there’s a Pep Boys on the site of Nunley’s, there on Sunrise Highway in Baldwin. So in a way, it’s still about cars. The last time I was there was probably about 1976; it wasn’t long after that that we up and moved away to South Florida.

 

Your May Book of Days

Maple

The cover star for this month’s Convivio Book of Days Calendar is a freshly-leafed swamp maple that resides outside my family’s home in Boca Raton, Florida. I bought it at a native plant sale probably 15 years ago, a little tree in a little pot. Now it’s much taller than the house. Here, in this strange green land, swamp maples drop their leaves and sprout new ones in a matter of a couple of weeks. This one is donning the fresh new green of spring… or summer, for by traditional reckoning of time, we enter summer with May Day, Beltane, as the calendar shifts from April to May. The month is full of days summery or that conjure the idea of summer.

The calendar is a printable PDF, standard letter size. It’s a fine companion to what you read here on the Convivio Book of Days, and it’s our gift to you each month. Enjoy!

 

Come, my Corinna, Come

Queen_Guinevere's_Maying

It’s May Day, Beltane, the start of summer by traditional reckoning of time. The morning calls us to the things of this world.

CORINNA’S GOING A-MAYING
by Robert Herrick

Get up, get up for shame, the Blooming Morne
Upon her wings presents the god unshorne.
                     See how Aurora throwes her faire
                     Fresh-quilted colours through the aire:
                     Get up, sweet-Slug-a-bed, and see
                     The Dew-bespangling Herbe and Tree.
Each Flower has wept, and bow’d toward the East,
Above an houre since; yet you not drest,
                     Nay! not so much as out of bed?
                     When all the Birds have Mattens seyd,
                     And sung their thankful Hymnes: ’tis sin,
                     Nay, profanation to keep in,
When as a thousand Virgins on this day,
Spring, sooner than the Lark, to fetch in May.
Rise; and put on your Foliage, and be seene
To come forth, like the Spring-time, fresh and greene;
                     And sweet as Flora. Take no care
                     For Jewels for your Gowne, or Haire:
                     Feare not; the leaves will strew
                     Gemms in abundance upon you:
Besides, the childhood of the Day has kept,
Against you come, some Orient Pearls unwept:
                     Come, and receive them while the light
                     Hangs on the Dew-locks of the night:
                     And Titan on the Eastern hill
                     Retires himselfe, or else stands still
Till you come forth. Wash, dresse, be briefe in praying:
Few Beads are best, when once we goe a Maying.
Come, my Corinna, come; and comming, marke
How each field turns a street; each street a Parke
                     Made green, and trimm’d with trees: see how
                     Devotion gives each House a Bough,
                     Or Branch: Each Porch, each doore, ere this,
                     An Arke a Tabernacle is
Made up of white-thorn neatly enterwove;
As if here were those cooler shades of love.
                     Can such delights be in the street,
                     And open fields, and we not see’t?
                     Come, we’ll abroad; and let’s obay
                     The Proclamation made for May:
And sin no more, as we have done, by staying;
But my Corinna, come, let’s goe a Maying.
There’s not a budding Boy, or Girle, this day,
But is got up, and gone to bring in May.
                     A deale of Youth, ere this, is come
                     Back, and with White-thorn laden home.
                     Some have dispatcht their Cakes and Creame,
                     Before that we have left to dreame:
And some have wept, and woo’d, and plighted Troth,
And chose their Priest, ere we can cast off sloth:
                     Many a green-gown has been given;
                     Many a kisse, both odde and even:
                     Many a glance too has been sent
                     From out the eye, Loves Firmament:
Many a jest told of the Keyes betraying
This night, and Locks pickt, yet w’are not a Maying.
Come, let us goe, while we are in our prime;
And take the harmlesse follie of the time.
                     We shall grow old apace, and die
                     Before we know our liberty.
                     Our life is short; and our dayes run
                     As fast away as do’s the Sunne:
And as a vapour, or a drop of raine
Once lost, can ne’r be found againe:
                     So when or you or I are made
                     A fable, song, or fleeting shade;
                     All love, all liking, all delight
                     Lies drown’d with us in endlesse night.
Then while time serves, and we are but decaying;
Come, my Corinna, come, let’s goe a Maying.

Image: “Queen Guinevere’s Maying” by John Collier. 1900. [Public domain] via Wikimedia Commons.