I originally wrote this back in the early summer, after a tragic accident in our area. Then, as some things do, it got lost in the shuffle that is my summer. Here it is, and if you change the word ATV to snowmobile, it’s for the upcoming season also.
Why would you let an 8 year old drive one of those? What kind of moron lets a kid that age drive something like that? That was the first thing I asked my daughter about a tragic accident last week. A man, watching his girl friend’s children, and also watching another friend’s house, let his son take his two sisters for a ride on an ATV owned by the house owner. Not a ‘quad’, but the kind with a bench seat for two people and an open bed behind.
The boy is 8. One sister is 10, the other was 3.
Yes, sadly I said was. They had the vehicle in another neighbor’s driveway, somehow it hit a tree and overturned, throwing the toddler out and landing on her. My daughter responded, with our rescue squad. They did everything they could. Nobody could have done anything. Being on the steps of the hospital would not have helped. A 3 year old child is dead. The obituary called her ‘our little angel’. Yet she was not precious enough for them to use some sense and not put her in the seat with a too young, not trained enough driver. Nothing has been said about seat belts, but there are only two on the vehicle, and there were three of them.
In our region there have been I think four deaths of young people/teenagers on various types of ATV’s in recent months. I went to one several years ago, a man in maybe his 30’s, married, couple of kids, out riding with his buddies on their quads. He always wore a helmet. You could see where it hit the tree. You could see where the quad hit the tree. In between those marks you could see where his face hit the tree. And when his wife called a couple of weeks after the accident to talk to someone in the squad about the accident, if the outcome could have been any different than leaving her a widow, guess who got to talk to her.
These are not toys, people! These machines are built for adults, with adult size steering wheels, adult size pedals, at adult length reach from the adult size seat to these. Not an 8 year old child’s reach, an adult’s reach. And yet anyone under the age of 16 can ride one, if on their own property and supervised. This time it wasn’t their own machine, or their own property, although they were allegedly supervised.
And now a man has to live the rest of his life knowing that his permission killed a ‘little angel’. An 8 year old boy has to grow up and live the rest of his life knowing he killed his little sister. Responders have to live with knowing they could not do anything to save this ‘little angel’. Our crew had to have a critical incident debriefing to help them resolve this fact. The little angel will not grow up to have a little angel of her own.
These are not toys, people! They are machines, made to be driven by adults, who will still have their own share of unfortunate and tragic mishaps. So, please, don’t take the chance of making someone else go through what this man, this boy, this family, these responders, all of the people affected, are going through. Don’t be a moron. Don’t let kids play with adult vehicles like this. Save a life. We’ll all thank you.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
HEART WALK FOR ‘THE PEDUZZI FLU’
I had a pretty good weekend, and managed to avoid doing much for work, for a change.
Saturday I went with my niece to the American Heart Association Start! Heart Walk. Walks have become a big fund-raising event for many causes; it’s become a pick your weekend and your cause thing. I did one several years ago for diabetes, but this is the first since then I’ve gone on, although I’ve donated to some since.
Anyway, Mary sent me an email saying she was doing this, because given the history of heart disease in our family, her generation is getting to where they need to think about it.
I think my father was the first, in 1959, the summer after I graduated from high school. As I recall the events, he came home from work feeling sick, called the doctor somewhere along the line, who said ‘it’s probably indigestion’ and told him to go to bed. At some point, don’t remember exactly when (I wasn’t home at the time, was working over across the river as a waitress in a small resort and that’s another story) he ended up going to the hospital, where they did tests and he spent time walking around the halls visiting people he knew, when two doctors came and grabbed him and carried him to bed and told him he’d had a heart attack. He was in the hospital for a couple of weeks, and then home recovering for a while after that. I went off to college while he was still getting better, and he wrote me letters – in one he commented about the weather being warm one day and chilly the next and said ‘Oh, well, that’s September for you”.
He went on to be as active as before, pretty much. Then in the 1970’s, he had bypass surgery. This was back when it was still fairly new, and he had to go to a hospital in New York City for it. My then mother-in-law had it done a few years before his, and I remember we took an ambulance down to NYC to bring her home-stopping in a diner along the way for lunch and saying we needed an order to go for the person on the stretcher. When my folks said that their daughter could bring a rig to take him home, the doctor said ‘an ambulance! How did you get here?’ ‘On the train.’ ‘Well, then take the train home’. They didn’t, my cousin who lived in the city and used to come up many weekends anyway gave them a ride.
There was something in the hospital about the ‘Zipper Club’, because the scar looks like a zipper down the chest.
I went down to the house a while after he’d been settled down, and he had a glass of scotch – ‘It wasn’t on the list of what I can’t have!’ he said.
Anyway, after his, I forget the order, but six of his brothers and sisters had heart attacks, a couple had the bypass surgery, at least one did not make it to that point.
Then, my Uncle John and his family at the time had gone to Florida, to Disney World. They came home to find an ambulance parked in front of the house, and my cousin, his youngest son, on the stretcher, I think maybe in his early 40’s at the time, having a heart attack. After being told that Mark was doing well and would be all right, Uncle John looked at him and said ‘Don’t worry, you’re just having the Peduzzi Flu!’
There’s a picture of my father and his three brothers someplace, the ‘Coronary Quartet’.
By now a few others of my generation have had heart attacks and/or bypass surgery. So far my ticker’s in good shape, they say. Still….
So I signed up for the walk and we went and had a dandy time. It was in a large community park, with paths to walk on that made a 3-mile loop. A lot of people, I won’t even try to guess but several hundred easily. Many families, work groups, school kids, people with photos of loved ones gone on t-shirts, at least one woman on a motorized wheelchair, a few with walkers and canes, many with strollers or kids in wagons. Several displays of heart-healthy things, a board to sign a remembrance on, healthy snacks and sandwiches after the walk, a radio live broadcast and singers, someone to do a warm-up exercise and even a ‘brass band’ to play as we started walking. Brownie scouts handing out water and more healthy snacks along the way. Pretty enough scenery for a place on the edge of the city, and some dance, yoga and music groups to watch as we walked. At each mile point there were people to cheer us on. Near the end there were more cheerers, and one woman said ‘this is the last hill’ and Mary and I, we’ve both hiked up mountains, said this isn’t a hill, this is a ‘rise’. A group congratulating the finishers. We had our sandwiches and a nice talked with a woman with a group called ‘Sistah’s With A Heart’, from a church group in Albany that raises thousands of dollars (made our paltry $500 + pretty skinchy, but every bit helps). Decided we need to get more of us and do it again next year. Oh, and we need at least one dog, too, there were lots of dogs, some wearing the same t-shirts the people with them had on. We can call ourselves ‘The Peduzzi Flu Crew’.
Here’s what I think: that these things are great. It’s a way to raise awareness – and money – that’s fun and gets you out in the fresh air, meeting new people and sharing experiences. Doesn’t get any better.
Saturday I went with my niece to the American Heart Association Start! Heart Walk. Walks have become a big fund-raising event for many causes; it’s become a pick your weekend and your cause thing. I did one several years ago for diabetes, but this is the first since then I’ve gone on, although I’ve donated to some since.
Anyway, Mary sent me an email saying she was doing this, because given the history of heart disease in our family, her generation is getting to where they need to think about it.
I think my father was the first, in 1959, the summer after I graduated from high school. As I recall the events, he came home from work feeling sick, called the doctor somewhere along the line, who said ‘it’s probably indigestion’ and told him to go to bed. At some point, don’t remember exactly when (I wasn’t home at the time, was working over across the river as a waitress in a small resort and that’s another story) he ended up going to the hospital, where they did tests and he spent time walking around the halls visiting people he knew, when two doctors came and grabbed him and carried him to bed and told him he’d had a heart attack. He was in the hospital for a couple of weeks, and then home recovering for a while after that. I went off to college while he was still getting better, and he wrote me letters – in one he commented about the weather being warm one day and chilly the next and said ‘Oh, well, that’s September for you”.
He went on to be as active as before, pretty much. Then in the 1970’s, he had bypass surgery. This was back when it was still fairly new, and he had to go to a hospital in New York City for it. My then mother-in-law had it done a few years before his, and I remember we took an ambulance down to NYC to bring her home-stopping in a diner along the way for lunch and saying we needed an order to go for the person on the stretcher. When my folks said that their daughter could bring a rig to take him home, the doctor said ‘an ambulance! How did you get here?’ ‘On the train.’ ‘Well, then take the train home’. They didn’t, my cousin who lived in the city and used to come up many weekends anyway gave them a ride.
There was something in the hospital about the ‘Zipper Club’, because the scar looks like a zipper down the chest.
I went down to the house a while after he’d been settled down, and he had a glass of scotch – ‘It wasn’t on the list of what I can’t have!’ he said.
Anyway, after his, I forget the order, but six of his brothers and sisters had heart attacks, a couple had the bypass surgery, at least one did not make it to that point.
Then, my Uncle John and his family at the time had gone to Florida, to Disney World. They came home to find an ambulance parked in front of the house, and my cousin, his youngest son, on the stretcher, I think maybe in his early 40’s at the time, having a heart attack. After being told that Mark was doing well and would be all right, Uncle John looked at him and said ‘Don’t worry, you’re just having the Peduzzi Flu!’
There’s a picture of my father and his three brothers someplace, the ‘Coronary Quartet’.
By now a few others of my generation have had heart attacks and/or bypass surgery. So far my ticker’s in good shape, they say. Still….
So I signed up for the walk and we went and had a dandy time. It was in a large community park, with paths to walk on that made a 3-mile loop. A lot of people, I won’t even try to guess but several hundred easily. Many families, work groups, school kids, people with photos of loved ones gone on t-shirts, at least one woman on a motorized wheelchair, a few with walkers and canes, many with strollers or kids in wagons. Several displays of heart-healthy things, a board to sign a remembrance on, healthy snacks and sandwiches after the walk, a radio live broadcast and singers, someone to do a warm-up exercise and even a ‘brass band’ to play as we started walking. Brownie scouts handing out water and more healthy snacks along the way. Pretty enough scenery for a place on the edge of the city, and some dance, yoga and music groups to watch as we walked. At each mile point there were people to cheer us on. Near the end there were more cheerers, and one woman said ‘this is the last hill’ and Mary and I, we’ve both hiked up mountains, said this isn’t a hill, this is a ‘rise’. A group congratulating the finishers. We had our sandwiches and a nice talked with a woman with a group called ‘Sistah’s With A Heart’, from a church group in Albany that raises thousands of dollars (made our paltry $500 + pretty skinchy, but every bit helps). Decided we need to get more of us and do it again next year. Oh, and we need at least one dog, too, there were lots of dogs, some wearing the same t-shirts the people with them had on. We can call ourselves ‘The Peduzzi Flu Crew’.
Here’s what I think: that these things are great. It’s a way to raise awareness – and money – that’s fun and gets you out in the fresh air, meeting new people and sharing experiences. Doesn’t get any better.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Animal Abuse
Is it just me or are there a lot more instances of animal abuse being reported in the news? Am I more aware of it after my Camp Katrina experience, is the news media more aware that animal stories will sell papers – or viewers? Or is there just more of this happening, just as it seems there are more of all other types of crimes?
Either way, it is bringing attention to this terrible thing. From animals being abandoned to a cat wrapped in duct tape like a mummy to hoarders having dozens of animals and not caring for them, to pets being stolen and killed, there is at least one story in the news just about every day.
That’s disturbing. That’s disturbing not just because of the suffering the animals, and the owners of the pets must go through, but because it indicates a general trend towards an absence of caring, of feeling, of doing things for more thrills, ‘just for kicks’ that seems to be happening in our society. Or, in the cases of the perpetrators, the absence of society. In so many of the cases, we are reminded that people who commit crimes against people often start out with crimes against animals.
Today’s news reported a story of two teens who tortured and killed a dog, and were given sentences that included community service, getting a GED, a few days in jail – enough of a return for a dog’s life? Enough of a lesson that they did wrong? Most of those who commented did not think so. I don’t. What would be enough? Apart for being put into a small room with a few animal rescuers with tire sticks and broom handles, I’m not sure. But there’s got to be something.
Meanwhile, those of us who do care can do something. We can be on the lookout for animal abuse instances and report them. We can try to educate young people. We can get involved. And maybe it will save a life and cure another. Maybe.
Spay and Neuter! Hmm – maybe spaying and neutering a few people – oh, that’s just too radical, but don’t we all have a story about seeing or knowing someone that it wouldn’t be the worst idea for?
Either way, it is bringing attention to this terrible thing. From animals being abandoned to a cat wrapped in duct tape like a mummy to hoarders having dozens of animals and not caring for them, to pets being stolen and killed, there is at least one story in the news just about every day.
That’s disturbing. That’s disturbing not just because of the suffering the animals, and the owners of the pets must go through, but because it indicates a general trend towards an absence of caring, of feeling, of doing things for more thrills, ‘just for kicks’ that seems to be happening in our society. Or, in the cases of the perpetrators, the absence of society. In so many of the cases, we are reminded that people who commit crimes against people often start out with crimes against animals.
Today’s news reported a story of two teens who tortured and killed a dog, and were given sentences that included community service, getting a GED, a few days in jail – enough of a return for a dog’s life? Enough of a lesson that they did wrong? Most of those who commented did not think so. I don’t. What would be enough? Apart for being put into a small room with a few animal rescuers with tire sticks and broom handles, I’m not sure. But there’s got to be something.
Meanwhile, those of us who do care can do something. We can be on the lookout for animal abuse instances and report them. We can try to educate young people. We can get involved. And maybe it will save a life and cure another. Maybe.
Spay and Neuter! Hmm – maybe spaying and neutering a few people – oh, that’s just too radical, but don’t we all have a story about seeing or knowing someone that it wouldn’t be the worst idea for?
Monday, September 21, 2009
A beagle named Lemon
What’s that line: ‘If you have ESP, raise my hand. . .’? Well, I’m not really claiming there’s some of it in my family, but there have been some things take place that, as I like to put it, ‘have no other ‘rational’ explanation’. I’ve had things happen, and my daughter has as well, and now I think maybe the grandson is on the same wave length. Actually, I’m pretty sure he is, starting from the day he was born.
My good friend Dawn and her family were very much in favor of Sara and Goeff getting married, even though mixed race couples were not a big thing in our area. Dawn had gotten married over the winter, and was looking forward to their wedding, when she was killed in a freak car accident. Dawn had always wanted children and couldn’t have any, and it was one sadness in her otherwise happy life. Sara’s wedding was two months after Dawn’s death. Stephen was born a year to the day after it.
Now, I am told, Stephen has gotten himself a dog, a cute little beagle. What the hell he needs with a dog, let alone a hunting dog, escapes me, but whatever. My father had beagles; he enjoyed rabbit hunting a lot. He loved going out in the winter, up in Indian Lake, after the snowshoe rabbits, and even got a beagle specially bred for that. She got named Mame, because she had sort of reddish marking, and the grandkids, very young at the time, had just seen the show ‘Mame’ at the theatre, in which the star had red hair. (Oh, don’t get me started on naming animals, how we named the cows is a story of it’s own.) Mame had pups, and one had sort of yellowish markings, so she got named ‘Lemon’.
Now, all of this was long before Stephen was even a thought, in fact my father died and my mother gave the dogs back to the person my father had gotten them from when Sara was a teenager. We may have told a story about the dogs when he was around, but nobody remembers doing that.
Stephen’s beagle has sort of dark yellow markings, and he has named it Lemon.
Go ahead – if you have ESP, raise my hand. Or raise Stephen’s hand. Or pet the beagle.
My good friend Dawn and her family were very much in favor of Sara and Goeff getting married, even though mixed race couples were not a big thing in our area. Dawn had gotten married over the winter, and was looking forward to their wedding, when she was killed in a freak car accident. Dawn had always wanted children and couldn’t have any, and it was one sadness in her otherwise happy life. Sara’s wedding was two months after Dawn’s death. Stephen was born a year to the day after it.
Now, I am told, Stephen has gotten himself a dog, a cute little beagle. What the hell he needs with a dog, let alone a hunting dog, escapes me, but whatever. My father had beagles; he enjoyed rabbit hunting a lot. He loved going out in the winter, up in Indian Lake, after the snowshoe rabbits, and even got a beagle specially bred for that. She got named Mame, because she had sort of reddish marking, and the grandkids, very young at the time, had just seen the show ‘Mame’ at the theatre, in which the star had red hair. (Oh, don’t get me started on naming animals, how we named the cows is a story of it’s own.) Mame had pups, and one had sort of yellowish markings, so she got named ‘Lemon’.
Now, all of this was long before Stephen was even a thought, in fact my father died and my mother gave the dogs back to the person my father had gotten them from when Sara was a teenager. We may have told a story about the dogs when he was around, but nobody remembers doing that.
Stephen’s beagle has sort of dark yellow markings, and he has named it Lemon.
Go ahead – if you have ESP, raise my hand. Or raise Stephen’s hand. Or pet the beagle.
Friday, September 11, 2009
September 11
A date that forever changed for all Americans eight years ago. Ceremonies are being held in many places to commemorate the day, the events, the victims. Even if you don’t go to one, take a moment and have your own. Say whatever type of prayer you do for the victims, that their fate was as easy as it could be. Say one for those they left, that they are able to continue their lives in as much peace as possible. Say one for all of us, that we can continue to use this to make our country, our patriotism, our selves stronger and braver. Say one that we and our children and our children’s children never know this again.
Being involved with the rescue squad and fire department, I am especially saddened by the number of those victims. Someone had the photo of the firefighters carrying Father Michael Judge out of the rubble on their blog this morning; the photo always makes me tear up. Likewise the one of the firefighters raising the flag on a beam sticking out of the pile of destroyed building. When I was down there the sight of the destroyed fire and EMS equipment was heart-wrenching.
Last night at intermission of dress rehearsal we spent a few minutes playing ‘what were you doing when’. Andrew had been working and his wife called to tell him. Lynne remembered me coming to their house to tell them ‘turn on your tv – we’ve been attacked’. I was home, heard then-President Bush’s statement on the radio station I had on, and put on the tv to see the second plane hit. I watched for a while, and when they declared no flying, I went to the cast house, I was supposed to take one of the company guys to fly home later that day – told him he wasn’t flying anywhere for a while. Then I went to Lynne and Linda’s to tell them.
Called Sara, called my sister – my sister and I went to lunch on Main Street later, and noticed that the village flag was still at the top of the pole. Happened one of the police force was in the restaurant, and I asked him why and he said something to the effect they hadn’t said to put it at half mast but they probably would. So, my sister, and I (being doers, not waiters) went and put it at half mast.
Talking to my daughter the next day I mentioned I hadn’t slept well last night and she wisely said “I don’t think anybody in America slept much last night”.
I did go to NYC about 10 days later, with the rescue squad, and it was an experience I will never forget. http://www.picturesandwordsbybarb.com/WTC.Story.pdf
As I write this, the radio station (WKLI, 100.9 FM: albanymagic.com) is playing a song that has many clips from things like the Kennedy assassinations; they’ve played ‘God Bless America’ and other patriotic songs this morning.
It’s sobering, the number of events of this nature we’ve seen happen in recent history. Let’s see what we can do to keep any more of them from happening in the future.
God Bless all those who lost their lives, those they left behind, and all those who continue to do so helping and protecting the rest of us.
NYC still has tributes to the fallen; every fire station was affected and many have plaques listing their fallen. The hotel we stay in for auditions has a plaque in the elevator lobby commemorating those from the fire station around the corner who were lost. A friend put on Facebook that he was heading for the train to go to the city for remembrance ceremonies this morning.
They remember. We should all remember. Never Forget.
Being involved with the rescue squad and fire department, I am especially saddened by the number of those victims. Someone had the photo of the firefighters carrying Father Michael Judge out of the rubble on their blog this morning; the photo always makes me tear up. Likewise the one of the firefighters raising the flag on a beam sticking out of the pile of destroyed building. When I was down there the sight of the destroyed fire and EMS equipment was heart-wrenching.
Last night at intermission of dress rehearsal we spent a few minutes playing ‘what were you doing when’. Andrew had been working and his wife called to tell him. Lynne remembered me coming to their house to tell them ‘turn on your tv – we’ve been attacked’. I was home, heard then-President Bush’s statement on the radio station I had on, and put on the tv to see the second plane hit. I watched for a while, and when they declared no flying, I went to the cast house, I was supposed to take one of the company guys to fly home later that day – told him he wasn’t flying anywhere for a while. Then I went to Lynne and Linda’s to tell them.
Called Sara, called my sister – my sister and I went to lunch on Main Street later, and noticed that the village flag was still at the top of the pole. Happened one of the police force was in the restaurant, and I asked him why and he said something to the effect they hadn’t said to put it at half mast but they probably would. So, my sister, and I (being doers, not waiters) went and put it at half mast.
Talking to my daughter the next day I mentioned I hadn’t slept well last night and she wisely said “I don’t think anybody in America slept much last night”.
I did go to NYC about 10 days later, with the rescue squad, and it was an experience I will never forget. http://www.picturesandwordsbybarb.com/WTC.Story.pdf
As I write this, the radio station (WKLI, 100.9 FM: albanymagic.com) is playing a song that has many clips from things like the Kennedy assassinations; they’ve played ‘God Bless America’ and other patriotic songs this morning.
It’s sobering, the number of events of this nature we’ve seen happen in recent history. Let’s see what we can do to keep any more of them from happening in the future.
God Bless all those who lost their lives, those they left behind, and all those who continue to do so helping and protecting the rest of us.
NYC still has tributes to the fallen; every fire station was affected and many have plaques listing their fallen. The hotel we stay in for auditions has a plaque in the elevator lobby commemorating those from the fire station around the corner who were lost. A friend put on Facebook that he was heading for the train to go to the city for remembrance ceremonies this morning.
They remember. We should all remember. Never Forget.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
The Fair
The county fair was the past weekend. Besides marking the end of summer and meaning that school would start in two days, the fair was quite a deal when I was a kid.
When I was – oh, gosh, maybe 7 or 8, my sister and I were in the Juvenile Grange. We had made things to put into the Grange exhibit at the fair and my parents were going to take us to look at them – except it kept getting put off because of things to be done on the farm, and by the time we got there on the last night of the fair, the exhibit was taken down. My parents promised us that would never happen again. And, since during the year following we got involved with 4-H, it never did. From then until we quit farming, every year summer was all about getting ready for the fair. Mainly getting the cows we were going to show ready, although we did also practice making pies or cakes or cookies or whatever other food things we were going to enter, and also putting finishing touches on our sewing projects. But mostly it was about the cows. They had to be taught to wear halters and walk on the lead, had to be brushed, washed and clipped. Then they had to be loaded into the truck and taken over and put into the stalls and brushed some more and fed and cleaned up after and washed – and shown. They went into the appropriate age class, and we did Fitting and Showmanship, and any other classes we could qualify for. Ribbons piled up along the rail above the animal’s heads. I think the fair was three days long when we started and may have gone to four days at some point. My sister and I usually spent the whole time there, sleeping in piles of hay next to the cows (I remember one afternoon I was taking a nap, laying against my cow, when she got up and proceeded to lift her tail and crap all over me!). We’d talk to friends, compare cows and prizes, and of course take time out to go to the midway. Got in some fair food, although my mother always made sure to have lots of ‘good food’ for us. We would have those little packets of cereal that used to come with wax paper in the boxes, so you could eat right out of them. We’d wait until some ‘city people’ were coming along and take a box and go to the cow and squirt milk onto the cereal so they could see it – grossed the city kids out every time.
One year A couple of older ladies came down through the barns, got to the animal at the end of our group and started their conversation: “Oh, look at that one laying down – I think it’s going to have a baby”. “Oh, it might be” and to me: “Is that one going to have a baby?” “No, Ma’am, it’s not.” “Ooh, are you sure? It looks to me like it is.” “Yes, Ma’am, I’m pretty sure it’s not.” “Oh, I think it is. Are you really, really sure.” “Well, yes, Ma’am I am really sure that one’s not going to have a baby. That one’s the bull.”
Yeah, the fair was fun.
We couldn’t wait to get there, and at the end couldn’t wait to load up and go home. If we had food in the 4-H building, we’d go get it as soon as we could on closing day, and eat it, prize winner or not.
I get my nostalgia fix, walking through the 4-H building (and getting my baked potato with all the fixings, which they didn’t have when I was there), and going to the barns and looking at the people and their animals. And I’m very glad there are still people bringing exhibits and animals to the fair. I hope that never changes.
When I was – oh, gosh, maybe 7 or 8, my sister and I were in the Juvenile Grange. We had made things to put into the Grange exhibit at the fair and my parents were going to take us to look at them – except it kept getting put off because of things to be done on the farm, and by the time we got there on the last night of the fair, the exhibit was taken down. My parents promised us that would never happen again. And, since during the year following we got involved with 4-H, it never did. From then until we quit farming, every year summer was all about getting ready for the fair. Mainly getting the cows we were going to show ready, although we did also practice making pies or cakes or cookies or whatever other food things we were going to enter, and also putting finishing touches on our sewing projects. But mostly it was about the cows. They had to be taught to wear halters and walk on the lead, had to be brushed, washed and clipped. Then they had to be loaded into the truck and taken over and put into the stalls and brushed some more and fed and cleaned up after and washed – and shown. They went into the appropriate age class, and we did Fitting and Showmanship, and any other classes we could qualify for. Ribbons piled up along the rail above the animal’s heads. I think the fair was three days long when we started and may have gone to four days at some point. My sister and I usually spent the whole time there, sleeping in piles of hay next to the cows (I remember one afternoon I was taking a nap, laying against my cow, when she got up and proceeded to lift her tail and crap all over me!). We’d talk to friends, compare cows and prizes, and of course take time out to go to the midway. Got in some fair food, although my mother always made sure to have lots of ‘good food’ for us. We would have those little packets of cereal that used to come with wax paper in the boxes, so you could eat right out of them. We’d wait until some ‘city people’ were coming along and take a box and go to the cow and squirt milk onto the cereal so they could see it – grossed the city kids out every time.
One year A couple of older ladies came down through the barns, got to the animal at the end of our group and started their conversation: “Oh, look at that one laying down – I think it’s going to have a baby”. “Oh, it might be” and to me: “Is that one going to have a baby?” “No, Ma’am, it’s not.” “Ooh, are you sure? It looks to me like it is.” “Yes, Ma’am, I’m pretty sure it’s not.” “Oh, I think it is. Are you really, really sure.” “Well, yes, Ma’am I am really sure that one’s not going to have a baby. That one’s the bull.”
Yeah, the fair was fun.
We couldn’t wait to get there, and at the end couldn’t wait to load up and go home. If we had food in the 4-H building, we’d go get it as soon as we could on closing day, and eat it, prize winner or not.
I get my nostalgia fix, walking through the 4-H building (and getting my baked potato with all the fixings, which they didn’t have when I was there), and going to the barns and looking at the people and their animals. And I’m very glad there are still people bringing exhibits and animals to the fair. I hope that never changes.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Last day of the theatre season
Today is the last day of the theatre season – or at least the last day of what we now call the ‘regular’ season. We still have Footloose happening for the next two weekends, but most of the company will be leaving after tonight. It’s always a bittersweet time. No matter how talented the group is, and how much we like them, after being together almost 24/7 for 3 ½ months, it’s time to break. This group was very talented and a good bunch to have around, very nice, all got along well as far as I ever heard, anyway. Many of them we’d like to have back, but of course that all depends on what our shows are next summer and what they are doing. No doubt a few we’ll try for.
Nice as it will be to have evenings free again, I’ll miss the music. Won’t miss things like solving all the problems, like last night when I was so tired after a long, long day, and one of the girls ran a car out of gas so at midnight I was holding a flashlight under my arm and trying to fit the too short spout on the gas can into the gas tank and getting gas all over my sandals – all the while hoping nobody came over the hill and clipped the back of the car that was just barely off the highway.
Will miss Quinto and his outrageous actions – like fully flashing me by lifting his shirt up as I was going past him out the door to the deck – and comments like his ‘It’s a fat kid’s Christmas’, about the chocolate fountain at the opening night party. Laura, peeking into the office as she waited for her entrance in aisle 4, telling me about what’s on stage: ‘Did you know there’s a big fight happening on your stage? You should check that out!’ and ‘Did you know there’s a trolley car on your stage? You should check that out!’ Rich: ‘Is this a record for the number of straight guys you’ve had here in one season?’ The apprentices: ‘Barb, what do we do with……’ And many more.
Yeah, there’s some things I won’t miss but I won’t go into that. Well, I won’t miss having to call the ambulance every other thing, it seemed like. I have to count up how many times, but way, way more than any other year, or any couple put together. And the whole thing with leaking roofs, seems like every single building we owned had that problem, and the house the tree fell on still isn’t fixed, 5 months later! But that’s another story. And cars – every one of them had a problem this year, and right now two are out of service and both the others need work but are running – except when out of gas. And air conditioners, two went belly up, a small one in the rehearsal room and one of the big, old ones in the theatre-that wasn’t a problem because it was pretty cool all summer, but the rehearsal room one was missed both at dance rehearsals and during coffee house. Nope, won’t miss that – oh, wait, I still have to deal with all that, to get things fixed for next year. Sigh.
There will be a lot of tears tonight, as always. There already were, at the cabaret yesterday, as always. But the summer has formed friendships and given growth and helped people move along in their careers and lives. And given a lot of people a lot of pleasure. And that’s what we’re about.
Nice as it will be to have evenings free again, I’ll miss the music. Won’t miss things like solving all the problems, like last night when I was so tired after a long, long day, and one of the girls ran a car out of gas so at midnight I was holding a flashlight under my arm and trying to fit the too short spout on the gas can into the gas tank and getting gas all over my sandals – all the while hoping nobody came over the hill and clipped the back of the car that was just barely off the highway.
Will miss Quinto and his outrageous actions – like fully flashing me by lifting his shirt up as I was going past him out the door to the deck – and comments like his ‘It’s a fat kid’s Christmas’, about the chocolate fountain at the opening night party. Laura, peeking into the office as she waited for her entrance in aisle 4, telling me about what’s on stage: ‘Did you know there’s a big fight happening on your stage? You should check that out!’ and ‘Did you know there’s a trolley car on your stage? You should check that out!’ Rich: ‘Is this a record for the number of straight guys you’ve had here in one season?’ The apprentices: ‘Barb, what do we do with……’ And many more.
Yeah, there’s some things I won’t miss but I won’t go into that. Well, I won’t miss having to call the ambulance every other thing, it seemed like. I have to count up how many times, but way, way more than any other year, or any couple put together. And the whole thing with leaking roofs, seems like every single building we owned had that problem, and the house the tree fell on still isn’t fixed, 5 months later! But that’s another story. And cars – every one of them had a problem this year, and right now two are out of service and both the others need work but are running – except when out of gas. And air conditioners, two went belly up, a small one in the rehearsal room and one of the big, old ones in the theatre-that wasn’t a problem because it was pretty cool all summer, but the rehearsal room one was missed both at dance rehearsals and during coffee house. Nope, won’t miss that – oh, wait, I still have to deal with all that, to get things fixed for next year. Sigh.
There will be a lot of tears tonight, as always. There already were, at the cabaret yesterday, as always. But the summer has formed friendships and given growth and helped people move along in their careers and lives. And given a lot of people a lot of pleasure. And that’s what we’re about.
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