The upscale suburban plaza with names that end with Walk or Terrace and begin with words like Evergreen or Peacock (then there's the Shoppes at ____ phenomenon) (all of which, for some reason, makes me think of this marvelous list), is taking over my mother's part of the world. Frustratingly, it's one of the few places to shop out here. We noticed the plaza we visited tried to distinguish itself from the nearby mall (oh so working class! garish colored lights! hot topic! santa's playland!) by piping in tasteful classical music rather than muzaked versions of "Feliz Navidad" and that perrennial Christmas favorite "The Heart Will Go On."
But strange and wonderous things do happen in the suburbs, and at this plaza we ran across a cadre of cloaked carollers: teenagers in black, cream and maroon hooded robes singing the Carol of the Bells and other unintelligible, but lovely, seasonal ditties.
Today on to Attleboro and possibly the great lights of La Salette. As I observed to my mother on my return, every region of the U.S. has its own particular take on gawdy, and I've missed the New England Catholic brand of ostentation.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment