
                         Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: THURSDAY, September 15, 1994                   TAG: 9409210044
SECTION: EXTRA                    PAGE: 1   EDITION: METRO 
SOURCE: Beth Macy
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Medium

SURE, ROANOKE HAS THE STAR, BUT WHAT IT NEEDS IS LAWN ART

One of the best things about this job - or worst, depending on my current neuroses level - is that no matter what I write, someone will inevitably read something into it that I had no idea I implied or hinted at in the slightest way.

Two women readers have written to chastise me for ``bragging'' about my husband, accusing me of making him up by portraying him in a kind and helpful manner.

No, I am not making him up, and yes, he is still the Cheapest Man Alive - although he did end his practice of tearing Baby Wipes in half, figuring that the savings doesn't account for the extra time and energy spent washing errant baby poop off our clothes, hands and Scooter, the dog.

Another woman called about my recent column on Dr. Barbie - wherein I compared girls' fascination with the doll to my mom's fascination with Lucy, her 50-pound cement goose who comes equipped with a dozen homemade outfits (granny glasses and pink bikinis sold separately). The caller, who didn't give her name, accused me of making fun of my mom in an ``unseemly'' manner.

I realized why I had offended the caller when another reader, Lorine Schild of Salem, sent three feature stories clipped from the Akron Beacon Journal, including ``GOOSED! Dressed to the nines,'' ``Group has long discussion about cross-dressing, concrete'' and ``Winning goose has class.''

As Schild pointed out in her letter, ``Only another Buckeye knows the number of dressed geese in Ohio,'' relating how a friend of hers has come to know his Akron neighbors through their shared interest of dressing outdoor cement geese.

Cement geese are legion in the Midwest, which I failed to point out in my recent column, unfairly singling out my mother from the entire Midwestern region. Indeed, my mother-in-law in Indiana also has a cement goose with an array of homemade costumes, as do at least 27 other homeowners in the one-mile stretch between the interstate exit to my mom's house and her front lawn.

My husband and I first noticed the phenomenon four years ago during our annual August trek to our respective home states. Ever since, a palpable sense of excitement comes over us every time we drive past the cornfields, through the small towns and into suburbia, pointing out each bedecked bird along the way.

Our 6-month-old son even picked up on it this past trip, giggling hysterically each time his mature adult parents raced to sight a cement figure, pointing out the windows and shrieking at the top of our lungs: ``GOOOOSE!!''

At that stage of the Infant Road Trip from Hell, we did anything we could think of to entertain him. Around Chillicothe, we even entertained the notion of letting him drive but, responsible parents that we are, opted instead to let him slobber on the gear shift.

So you see I have come to appreciate my cement goose heritage, in the same way I look forward to rummaging the postcard racks at Stuckey's and going to yard sales with my mom - whom I adore (even if I am jealous that she sews more outfits for Lucy than me).

In fact, I wish Roanoke would adopt a similar lust for a specialty lawn ornament. A mascot for the masses.

Sure, we already have the Mill Mountain Star and those bright colorful flags people hang from their porches. We have enough outdoor light displays at Christmas to fund holiday-bonus hot tubs for all Apco officials. My friend Frances even has a bowling ball collection in her front yard and a life-sized plastic Mr. Ed out back.

But nowhere in all that is a unifying thread. Those Ollie North signs are flimsier than his integrity, and a cement Chuck Robb statue would be just too ironic.

We need something that shouts, ``We are Southwest Virginia!'' Something to rally behind, to talk to our neighbors about, something to look at while we're driving, other than the road and those cool new radar-detection displays I keep screaming past.

If you can help forge the bond of community spirit, let me know. If you think your lawn art could become as regionally in vogue as the Midwestern cement goose, write me at P.O. Box 2491, Roanoke, Va. 24010, or leave a message on my voice mail at 981-3435. Include your name and number and a description of your yard art, explaining its significance in your life.

And hurry. Without the geese to giggle at from the car, my son is screaming his head off.

Beth Macy is a features department staff writer and Thursday columnist.

by CNB