7:34, Sunny, and Funny #2

Projected time?  7:34 p.m. is what we told our son Spen when he called to see when we thought we'd arrive.  "Eat supper together or not?" that was his question.  DH, darling hubby, has joined me on another sunny drive north to Portland.  This time it's Friday evening and we plan to spend the night and the next day at the Tri-State Gas Engine and Tractor Show.

Yay!  There's Spen!  Yay, there's Cal!  Yay, there's Russ and his gang!  Yay, it's so nice to see our sons.  

We'd all had supper, but you know how it is at an outdoor festival, the vendors snacks call like the jingle of an ice cream truck.  

The Optimist Club where they serve suppers of tenderloins & taco salads was closing.  A telltale sign was the dumped ice from a cooler in the green grass at the side of the door.   Since the club members had cleaned up for the night they gave us the last drink for free and a final plate of free fries.  And, whoo-hoo, the sugar cream and pumpkin pie slices were half price.  Yay, yummy sweetness.

We left the building with our goodies to pile into the wagon hitched to the red Wheel Horse.  Going through the fairgrounds turned tractor show, most people drive golf carts, or riding tractors, sometimes they just walk.  Rarely is there a vehicle, just too many people, and too many booths of interesting things set out for sale.  As we picked up the 2 y.o. to plop her into the wagon, we wondered what Sissy was sucking on.  Oh no!  She'd picked up a piece of that ice!  "Ew.  Yuk.  Spit it out!"

Quiet time?  At 10:34, we had 26 minutes left.  Visiting ceases.  Fires get extinquished.  Music's turned down low.  As nice as that sounds, the night was horrible.  We'd thought it a good idea to just sleep in the truck sans RV or tent.  DH in the front seat and me in the back.  Ugh.  NOT a good idea.  Yard lights shine through the side windows.  Knees have to stay bent for the ol' bod to stay put.  And seat belts never quit, they never give, they never stop poking! 

Is there time?  It's 8:34, and the fat lady sings at 9 a.m.  LOL, actually we never know if she's fat or not, old or young, we never know who sings.  We just hear her.  We hear her sing over the loud speakers all through the exhibition section, all over the vast campgrounds, and all around Man's Land of acres of swap meet merchandise.  Before each mornings devotionals she sings the National Anthem, and "O Canada".  That's our sign.

Vendors can now sell, shoppers can cross from campgrounds to the show, and breakfast eaters can eat.

As we got in line for bacon, potatoes, pancakes, egg sandwiches and coffee, I see an old friend we haven't talk to since last year.  He's a big bellied man, taller than a refrigerator, and he's holding his paper plate of egg sandwich patiently in front of him ready to pay.  Without saying hi or making any sounds, I cruise by and smoothly take his plate and keep walking!  You should've seen the faces.  He's nonplussed.  Servers stare.  Hubby and sons laugh, but his wife guffaws!  Hee, hee, hee, jolly fun!

It's not exactly fun what happened to Cal, but it was worth noting.  It seemed to replicate so closely a video I'd seen on facebook where the author Vic was ticked off.  Vic says "I like to park far-r-r away.  I like the walk.  I like my car not getting dinged."  Then he fans his arm and hand wide, "Look at all these empty spots."  Then the camera focuses on a vehicle out his side window, "He's gotta park right next to me!"

To eat our sandwiches, we sat at a table in the middle of the room that only had a couple people sitting at the far end.  Cal, Spen and I looked around at all the empty seats.  We checked out the surrounding tables that were empty of people.  Why?  Because a tall, lean guy, with gray long hair and beard, a plate full of food, and a cane on his wrist, sidled up, pulled out a tan metal chair, hooked his cane on the table edge, and without even leaving elbow room or making eye contact, sat down right smack dab next to Cal!  It was the strangest thing.  We silently looked at each other with big eyes and raised eyebrows then shrugged our shoulders.  We shared a silent chuckle of disbelief that he had to "park right next to me!"


High Noon!  12:00, I hear engine rumbles and putt-putts.  The big tractors, bulldozers and front loaders, are demonstrating their prowess on a mountain of dirt.  I had to go look.  If it didn't loom so large and wasn't as big as life I'd have swore I was seeing Mike Mulligan's Steam Shovel!  Another strange phenomenon happened.  I got out my camera and was scoping out the best angle for a good shot when like bees to honey, people started coming out of nowhere.  A hand-holding married couple sauntered up.  A man and his son briskly approached.  Two men, one checking the under carriage, the other checking out the engine, got between us. Even a golf cart and a dump truck came on the scene.  If I'd have had a bull horn, I'd have steamed,  "There's free food at the Optimist Club!  Go!"  "Why are you all parking right next to me?" 

Before we could leave, our son Russ wanted us and 4 y.o. Bubby to experience the Spark Show.   As best as I can explain it, it's like a fire box on a steam engine train.  The workers shovel into the fire box loads of wood chips.  Then they pull the whistle, and it all funnels up and out the spout in a whirling hurricane fashion.  A gazillion embers of yellow-orange bright sparks shoot to the sky!  It's quite stunning.

Bed time?  9:34, the show's over, the nights dark, and the golf carts and riding mowers make a train of red tail lights as they exit the arena to return to camp.  Contented sighs, and happy conversations, and laughter waft back to us.  Sleepy babies, and gratified he-men have had their fill of fun.

For another year, the show's over.

Wait, did I hear someone say "midnight snack"?  Then I heard that question repeated, "Well, do we eat together or not?"

7:02, Sunny, And Funny

7:02, a beautiful sunny morning, and a second breakfast, that was Thursday. It's a one and half hour drive to the annual, and this year 54th, Tri-State Gas Engine and Tractor Show in Portland, Indiana.  We've been attending for at least 20 years!

7:02, sunrise, according the the weather channel, and that's my start time!  "Be behind the wheel at sunrise," cried my inner guide.  At sundown the night before, I'd organized my purse, counted cash, and laid out clothes.


"Tooling down the highway doing [fifty] nine" to misquote Nervous Norvus' song Transfusion, I saw them.  I saw those 2 semi trailers full of pedal tractors -- and became dubious about the weather.  THEY ARE ALWAYS IN THE EXHIBITION AREA.  But now they were going west, the opposite direction!  Ut oh, wonder if it's raining.

One day every year at the show it gets buckets and barrels of rain!  One year, middle of the night, wind and rain and lightning, the young boys in their green tent with flaps flying and sides swelling in and out, sang their war cry of SOS, Save Our Ship!  They'd staked their tent on the bank of the creek that was a mere 20 feet away and were sure to go sailing!  We knew this because we were nearby in our RV listening, listening to their singing for signs of watery gurgles, distress signals, you know, LOL.

So here I thought, "Oh no!  The show's been rained out!"  After a phone call to confirm sunny weather, I didn't know any more about the pedal tractors than before 'cause no one knew why they left the show 2 days early.

8:32 I arrived to find my family still moseying around, sleepy eyes, hungry bellies, and kids wanting hugs.  They hadn't had breakfast yet!  So off we went!  This is where I got my second breakfast, LOL.

It was a good day.  The morning was spent with Russ and his gang going through the arts and crafts and antique barns, then the afternoon was spent with Cal and Spen going to city wide yard sales.  Friday was on reserve for them to all go to Man's Land aka acres and acres (about 40) of parts and pieces of engines and mechanics for swapping.

Right away, leaving the breakfast table, we browsed a booth full of trinkets - two dollars each or 10 for a dollar.  Fun!  We dragged our fingers through owl pins, necklaces with tarnished hearts, key chain tigers, and mood rings.  Loved the jewelry.

In the round barn, a friendly older couple's booth was full of toys.  This time horses for a dollar.  The 4 y.o. Bubby wanted a brown horse with full bristling tail.  2 y.o. Sissy wanted one similar.  At least I think she wanted it.  When she promptly plopped to the ground, laid it on it's side and picked up hand fulls of dirt to bury it, I wasn't so sure, ROFL.

I wasn't too sure that Bubby wanted his hot dog, either.  At lunch time he asked for it, but didn't like the mess the ketchup made and kept biting it while it laid on his plate. Finally, we were all finished eating 'cept him, so we wrapped it in aluminum foil, twisting the ends like a big piece of candy.  This 4 y.o. happily carried it out the building, and up to the wagon where he and sissy would ride, then gave it a circling swing.  It, slick as a skater on ice, slid out of the foil and "Plop!" landed in the wagon.  Everyone's faces showed shock and awe!

1:22, now, its well into the afternoon.  City wide yard sales, they can't be beat. You can get kids clothes 1/2 price -- fancy tulle skirts with rhinestones for the girl, spiderman hooded jacket for the boy.  You can get brand new material for $1 a bundle, Christmas candy dishes for 25 cents each for coffee creamers for Euchre Troupe night, or new jeans for darling hubby, or Bath & Body wash for men.  

But rules are rules.  Tractors have to have slow moving vehicle signs or be fined, 168 dollars, sheesh!  The drivers have to obey road rules or get the siren.  And you know jovial Spen, he jabbers and drives, and makes funny remarks, and enthusiastically waves to oncoming cars that they have the right of way, or gives high fives to vehicles he particularly likes that day.

He approached an intersection when darling hubby voices, "There's a cop ahead, see 'im?"  3 of us are perched on the wagon behind the riding mower, a yellow Cub Cadet, while Spen drives around the town.   "Oh, yah, I need to "stop"!" he grabs the low gear, grinds to a stop, and sticks out his left hand to signal a right turn.  Being nonchalant, and pretending we intended acquiescing, we all blithely waved to the black and white lawman.

10:42, just minutes until quiet time.  Quiet time is 11 to 7.  All engines off, all peoples use four inch voices, all fireworks cease, all dogs lie down.  It's the end of a fun and sunny day.  But wait, there's one more.  

On the way from the camp's showers we were told of another time when the boys were rowdy in their tents.  (Hummmm, a story we hadn't heard before!  My ears tune in.) They were happily making animal noises.  Next campsite over their irritated uncle raised his voice in authority, "Stop making animal sounds.  Knock it off"

Time for me to do the same, knock it off.  
Until tomorrow; sunny, funny animals part 2.  See you!

Tickle Lips and Hot Breath - ANIMALS!

"I Went To The Animal Fair", remember that song we learned as kids?  Well, we didn't go to an animal fair on Sunday, but we did go to the state fair.

Why am I thinking of this song?  Because one of the new additions to the state fair was a red & white striped circus tent. Their show times didn't coincide with our visit, but we still had fun going through the animal barns.

Tex Ritter sang that silly song of many verses but I only remember the first verse.  Our mother sang it to us and we promptly learned it but we wouldn't quit repeating the last words for the jolly fun of it -- "the monk, the monk, the monk, the monk...," LOL.

Here ya go, in case you don't know:

I went to the animal fair, The birds and the beasts were there, The big baboon by the light of the moon, Was combing his auburn hair, The monkey lit some punks, And burned the elephants trunk, The elephant sneezed and fell on his knees, And that was the end of the monk, The monk, the monk, the monk, the monk, the monk, the monk.

But I digress.  Back to the fair.  Encouraged by an elderly lady friend and our youngest son, we went to the fair to enjoy its fare -- elephant ears and Italian sausage sandwiches and boba tea -- and to tour the many barns of art and horticulture, and to show our youngest son's girlfriend all the animal barns.

Of course, you can't visit a horse with an ice cream cone in your hand!
Nor can you say "Aah, and ooh" with corn from a cob glinting on a front tooth!
But, you can rub the noses of the goats and gloat when they feed from your fingers.
Their rough tongues always tickle as their lips gather, and their hot breath snorts, chuckle.

The girlfriend had been to the state fair many times, yet we showed her several areas and buildings where she'd never been before.  One was the swine barn.  While I chewed on my sugary elephant ear, I'd asked her if she'd seen the World's Largest Boar.  "No-oo", this little sprite of a girl dubiously answered as she licked her roasted buttered corn on the cob.  After she gawked at the World's Largest Boar she asked if they were all males, so we steered her by the shoulders to the Best In Show Sow and Litter.  When she finally got through the crowd, right up next to the red barred pen, she squealed "Piggies!  They're so cute!" and as she turned to us we had to smile; she was truly awed, with big eyes she made an O with her lips.

Next year we'll have to try the Hawaiian Haminator, and Deep Fried Ice Cream Cookie.  Oh, and visit the rabbits, "What's up doc?"  We'll see what she thinks of that.  And then we'll see what she thinks of the water slide in the water trough where yellow baby duckies climb up then glide back down.

I'm sure we'll get a big O and a squeal of delight,  "Duckies!  They're so cute!"

p.s.  In case you're interested, here's a link to said song:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1q3EmqLX7GE

Where's Boots?

"My turn!"  I told DH, darling hubby.  "I'll feed the cats this time," I typed into the cell phone's messaging app.

They're feral cats, but oh-so-feral they're NOT.  They sleep on the door mat and DH scratches their bellies upon arriving home, and he feeds them like beggars at a buffet!  They also have affectionately chosen names, yet they do survive in the great outdoors.

Anchovy, the momma, is gray like the little fish on a pizza, and we love pizza!
Boots, is what they call a tuxedo cat, because of his black and white coloring.  He's a tom alright, stubborn and hungry.  He's not the father, tho he's fatherly.
Gizmo, gray striated with white paws, misjudges distances, and constantly accidentally steps off the deck, or misses a step and bumps his chin.  He's lively.
Sprocket, scawny, colored like his brothers, eats more times a day but still looks the runt.
And, then there's Pig.  Gray Pig eats everything.  Gray Pig is first.  Gray Pig is fast.  Gray Pig still nurses and Anchovy lets him!  Why?!?

Now, you know sizes, colors and some personalities.

So, I volunteered to feed the cats.  This isn't normal for me as I have asthma and am allergic to long haired animals but I donned some disposable gloves, popped a top on the tuna super dinner, and doled out the food.

First, because he's a slow eater, a big portion for runt Sprocket.  I pick up him and his plate and plop him onto a table so his portion isn't stolen by Boots or Pig.

Where's Boots?  Oh well, if Boots were around I'd have to play guard dog.

Second, the momma.  Anchovy is skinny and won't wean them totally, so I give her a larger portion.

Third & Fourth, Gizmo and Pig get equal portions.

"Boots," I call.  No sign of him.  "Here kitty-kitty."  Where's that cat?  Hopefully, he's hunting, sniffing out some mice or vole or piney squirrel.  Then it happens.

Zoo-oom!  Zip!  A black streak zings by my ankles and slurps at Anchovy's dish.  "No, you don't,"  and I set him at his own dish.  He finishes in record time as I knew he would.  He began helping himself to Anchovy's.  "No you don't."  And I pick him up again and dangle his feet in the kiddie pool of water.

Cats usually like to preen after being in water and I thought this would stall Boots and give the others time to finish.  So, dangle, swing, white toes in the water and out, "Let's dance and splash, Boots, whatdya say?"  His body goes stiff, his language says "I'm not having non of this!"  I put him down.

Zoo-oom!  Zip!  It's a black streak deja vu!  He's back at the food dishes budging for his place at any dish.  Well, shoot that didn't work.  I check the plates, most are almost empty but Anchovy and Sprocket are still at it.  So, I pick up Boots again, deciding this time he's gonna get a little more wet, hopefully this time he'll stop and shake off the water and do some cat grooming, lick and swipe.

So,  I dangle his white toes in the water up to his black furred legs, all four.  We get the tail wet, he's still not buying it, so I lower him further and get his belly wet and some of his chin whiskers, too.  I play with his legs, ding-dong his tail, and scratch between the ears.  There.  That'll do the trick.  The kitties will surely have time enough now to finish their dinners plus Boots gets a little extra exercise and play time.

He never gave me a blink!  He didn't pause a nanosecond.  He didn't wonder at his flattened fur.  He thought I was a nut.  

Without a thought, without a smile, he was gone!
Zoo-oom!  Zip!

"Boo-oots!"