In Carolina in the Morning Al Jolson sings, ‘Nothing could be finer than to be in Carolina in the morning …’ but this past Friday it was the evening that couldn’t have been finer. After a week of activities with the Grands and a day of errands, I decided to relax at our town’s Finally Friday event that takes place on the third Friday of the month during the summer. I took my hippie camp chair and journal, and set my phone alarm for 8:30–a half hour before the event was scheduled to end–and settled back for music by two live bands, Sho-Tyme and Cleo White and the Identity Band. I just planned to absorb the sights and sounds of the night. Planned to.

But when the drums started beating, the trumpet started blaring, the bass hit those deep resonating notes that vibrated across the lawn, my feet couldn’t help but move and I couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across my face. And when the band told us to put our hands together, the hands had a mind of their own reaching for the sky and coming together overhead.  One can sit and absorb the sights and sounds for only so long, then that energy has to release somehow. You have to Do the Twist with Chubby Checker, or Turn Right Back Around with Tracy Chapman … even if you’re still sitting in your chair. But plenty of people didn’t stay put.

A dad and his looked-to-be 10-year-old son slayed it when Cha-Cha Slide hit the night air. Everyone clapped and whistled when Dad answered the challenge of how low can you go? He made it all the way to the floor–or in this case the grass. Some songs, like the Commodores’ Brick House, we knew just by their first notes and even if we didn’t dance, we sang along to Darius Rucker’s Wagon Wheel, ‘Rock me momma like a wagon wheel …’ And of course, even though the words Bom-Bom-Bom (or is it Pom-Pom-Pom? Pah-Pah-Pah?) aren’t in the official lyrics of Diamond’s Sweet Caroline, we all sang them and fist pumped at the right moment, and sang the extra ‘so good, so good’ even though those aren’t part of the official lyrics either.

There were two different line dance groups; those in white fedoras and white shirts, and those in blue denim cut-offs and blue t-shirts. They weren’t competing–I don’t think–but each group had their routines and turned, shuffled, slid and cha-cha – ed with precision. But when Cupid’s Cupid Shuffle started and everyone was told to ‘… move to the right, to the right, to the right … and walk it by yourself, walk it by yourself …’ the chairs emptied and a group of young and old filled a side street blocked off for the event. (I did not join in. When I line dance, I cause the others to either wobble like Weebles or fall like dominoes. And I would’ve looked silly doing a line dance in a line of one.) And yet …

maybe I should’ve taken my cue from some of the others. Finally Fridays take place on a large grassy lot where a store or two once stood. So, while others danced in precision, kids danced to their own rhythms–arms, legs and bodies moving however the music swayed them.  They turned somersaults and cartwheels, played chase and crack the whip giggling and falling into heaps. I heard a mom play Red Light/Green Light off to the side between sets, tickled that game was still played. Tweeners danced with the little ones, gave each other piggyback rides, and posed for selfies.

A few couples took to the grassy dance floor when they heard Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get it On and when one of the female singers in the Identity Band crooned Etta James’ At Last. Other couples waited until the beats were livelier, and stepped into the Carolina Shag.

An aside, did you know Maurice Williams (who recently passed away) of Maurice Williams and the Zodiacs, grew up here? He’s famous for Stay and other beach and doo-wop music. Several members of Friday night’s bands have Lancaster connections, too.

In addition to the activity in front of the stage, there was a man weaving through the crowd pushing a cart selling bags of pink and blue cotton candy, popcorn, and light sabers and other light-up toys. The city doesn’t close off Main St., where the event takes place, so the rumbled cruising of trucks, cars, and Harleys was heard, along with whatever music drifted from their open windows on a warm breezy Carolina night. Murmurs of conversation provided surround sound white noise.

My phone vibrated at 8:30. I turned it off and ‘… stayed just a little bit longer …’ (thank you, Maurice.) Thank you See Lancaster, Sho-Tyme, Cleo White and the Identity Band, and DJ James Sherman Thompson for not letting me simply sit and absorb.

Sometime last week, I ran across this quote attributed to former president Jimmy Carter, “We become not a melting pot but a beautiful mosaic. Different people, different beliefs, different yearnings, different hopes, different dreams.” I thought of that Friday night as I watched and sang with people of different ages, different colors–the obvious differences–intermingle and swing and sway to the same music. I thought this is who we are, who we can be, and how our country needs more evenings like this.

Trying to finish up my book for next week’s Book Review Monday, but when I’m filling it with sticky notes and sticky tabs for all those ‘!!’ places, it makes for slow reading. I hope all of you have a great week–maybe turn up the music and dance.