This is going to be a very happy post. I know this, because I'm playing a very happy little record. My Grandfather's little portable Victrola Model 50 is now blatting out "Where the Lanterns Glow." I love this song. It has no meaning whatsoever; it makes no effort for greater thought, nor does it ask the listener to contemplate his worldview.

I also love this song because it was one of Grandad's favorites too. It was "der Allerletzte" when he was seventeen, or so. Just about the time that he was given this little record player that I have now. Every time that I wind this Victrola, I wonder about the earlier D. Gibbs -- I'm pretty sure that he took this thing up to Carlin's Park, and out to Braddock Heights and Pen Mar.

In June, it gets right hot in Baltimore. You know, I was going to devote this entry to summer food, but now that I'm listening to Donald Gibbs' portable Victrola, I'm more interested in the ways that one might escape city heat.

Did you all know that the first purpose of the City's streetcar system was to get everyone to Druid Hill Park? To this day, car line #1 connects the center City with Druid Hill.

When you live in a rowhouse city, it is important to have beautiful green spaces. (See, how modern I am! "Green Spaces," indeed.)

In fact, Baltimore boasts one of the most beautiful Park plans of all American cities. We have--as I believe it is called-- The Necklace of Green around Baltimore's Crown.

That, in effect, is: Patterson Park, connected by Broadway to Clifton Park, which connects via the Alameda to 33rd Street Boulevard, to Wyman Park, to Druid Hill, then down Gwynns Falls Parkway through Leakin Park and southerly to Carroll Park. Now, that I'm thinking about taking some of my friends for a picnic lunch in one of our city's beautiful parks, I can hear my Grandfather's voice ringing clear over his own Victrola:

"Aw, sweet Jesus!!! What're you carryin' on about THAT shit for? Thought I trained you right. Ladies don't LIKE anything they have to think about too much. Fer Chrissakes get two car tickets and take her down to Bay Shore. There's a big dance hall! If you can't get em there you can't get em anywhere!"

When I left the City to go to college, my father--a very polite and proper, but very boring--gentleman, instructed me in the ways of our family's College. He was a bit annoyed by the idea, but he also handed over the banged-up hip flask that his father had taken to Williamsburg.

No one will ever accuse Donald Gibbs of propriety. He was a lot of fun, though. From what I've heard, the nice ladies -- perhaps some who weren't so nice-- of Proper Baltimore in the mid '20s would agree.

When he gave the Victrola to me, Grandad had already taught me how to dance. My father was far too dreary for such things. When my father should have been teaching me how to shave, my grandfather already had, and was busily teaching me how to take shots of rye whiskey, and to make a good Maryland julep.

Thus--no matter what happens, no matter what horrid thing might befall--in my heart, I will always hear my grandfather telling my father

"Sweet Jesus, John--shut up and have a good time won't you?"