It's Fair Time!

I love county fairs, and if you've never been to one, then you don't know what you're missing. FFA and 4-H kids show the animals they've raised, and there are craft exhibits and a food show with ribbons awarded for best baked goods and preserves and more, and carnival rides and mutton bustin' and dog and cat shows and a fair queen contest and so much more.

My favorite, FAVORITE part of the county fair is the livestock auction, where steers, hogs, market lambs, and meat goats are shown by the kids and sold to the highest bidder. When my dad owned his farm supply store, he was a huge supporter of the local youth fair (as was my grandpa before him) and bought several steers each year in order to provide each of his employees with a side of beef (and let me tell you, we were thoroughly spoiled by this bounty, as we now have to BUY beef from the grocery store like regular people and it's REALLY EXPENSIVE). And although my friend Christine thinks I'm crazy, I love the hogs the best, because (a) they can't be forced to do ANYTHING, (b) they scream like little girls when they don't get their way, and (c) they entertain themselves in the show ring by eating poop.

Here's a little fun story: when we were first married and living in California, I made my husband go to the local county fair (we lived outside of LA in a rural county). He had never been to one before and was fascinated by the Grand Champion and Reserve Grand Champion steers, which would be auctioned off a few nights later.

"What happens when they get auctioned?" he asked me.

"They go to the meat processor and get butchered," I answered.

"WHY?!" he asked, aghast. "If it's a Grand Champion, wouldn't you want to breed it?!"

I took a long, hard look at him before deciding he was serious and asked gently, "Honey, do you know what it means to be a steer?"

He did not, and if you don't, either, then I'm totally laughing AT you, not WITH you. Look it up. (This also explains why, when we decided to move back to Missouri, my husband went to work for his dad at the mortuary rather than MY dad at the farm supply store.)

State fairs are like a county fair on steroids and are held in September and October. Besides all the livestock and 4-H exhibits, they also have big carnival midways, all kinds of food vendors, mostly of the fried variety, and entertainment in the grandstand, from tractor pulls to national recording artists.

The Missouri State Fair is in the middle of August. We used to go occasionally when I was a kid, but I hadn't been in exactly 30 years (at which time I did NOT go to see the livestock and I shall leave it at that). I've wanted to take my kids there, since we all enjoy the county youth fair, but it was always held right as school started and we couldn't do it (especially since it's a good three hour drive from here). But THIS year was different. My preschoolers don't start school until after Labor Day, which is really late this year, and I don't go back to work until two weeks before that, so I was free to go to the fair; I only needed someone to go with me. When I mentioned to my parents that I wanted to go and needed to find someone to go with me (both kids were already in school and my husband is still stinging a little bit from the whole "steer breeder" thing), my dad said, "Take me! Take me!"

So I did.

And I'll tell you all about it tomorrow....

Last Days Of Summer And Other Thankfuls

I had a busy, busy week, this last one before I return to work, and I was not only embarrassingly late with my Six Sentence Story this week, but I'm also running behind on Ten Things of Thankful; however, an endlessly rainy, thunderstormy day will make for a delightful writing atmosphere, so here goes it:

1. Last weekend, we let Emma take a friend with her to the lake house. We didn't leave town until AFTER the football jamboree at a neighboring town, but that turned out to be a thankful in itself, because the girls were wound up tighter than springs and chattered the entire way there. Now that Emma drives, I don't get the pleasure of driving her and her friends places anymore and hearing them talk, and I miss that. This was two hours of teen girl chatter, and my husband and I enjoyed every funny, shocking, silly minute of it.

2. We spent Saturday at Whitewater theme park; the girls rode every ride, flirted with lifeguards, ate, giggled, and enjoyed the last weekend before school starts. My husband and I mostly just enjoyed the girls, plus played my favorite game, Fat or Pregnant, and a new one we developed, called What Were You Thinking When You Chose THAT Tattoo? 

3. We went out to dinner that night with my parents and no one fell down.

4. After shopping all morning at the outlet malls and finding NOTHING TO WEAR ON THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL, we stopped at Mecca, i.e., Forever 21, on our way home and Emma and her friend both found cute clothes to start the school year. Whew! Crisis averted!

5. Monday night, my husband, daughter and I went to a movie as a last hurrah before school started. A late movie, like at 10:00 p.m. AND an entirely inappropriate movie, as it turned out, because it was much, MUCH more graphic than I realized but funny as all get out. Okay, Trainwreck. We took our daughter to see Trainwreck. I KNOW, you don't have to say it.

Pretty much the only ones left in the entire theater.

6. We took the College Boy back last week, but, naturally, he forgot stuff, so on Tuesday, I rode to work with my husband, who was working that day in the same town where our son goes to school (he works several days a week in Springfield and the others here in Joplin). After Kyle and I had breakfast together in a cute little diner downtown, I spent the morning buying stuff he needed or forgot or wanted, dropped it all off at his new apartment, helped him clean his floors really well, then he and I went to a late lunch and went shoe shopping, AND WE FOUND A PAIR OF SIZE 15 NIKES THAT HE LIKED AND WERE ON SAAAAALE!

7. The whole shoe thing was worth two thankfuls.

8. My husband and I left Springfield and drove to a town between it and home where Emma was participating in a volleyball jamboree with her team. It was just exhibition, and nothing really COUNTED, but we ALL know it "counts, especially when you beat one of your biggest rivals. TWICE. Good job, Lady Eagles!

9. The previous weekend, while we were at the lake house with my parents, I was talking about how much I would like to go to the state fair, not having gone to it in 30 years. I've wanted to go for a long time, but school keeps starting earlier and earlier, making it impossible to go during the week, when there are less crowds. But since our school year is starting a week later than usual, there was actually time to go this week. My dad said, "Take me! Take me!" And I did. And no one fell down. And there will be a follow up post soon.

As if it weren't a bad enough picture of me,
my dad made a goofy face EVERY TIME I
took a picture. EVERY TIME.

10. And Thursday, my daughter started her junior year of high school, which is completely surreal. She's going to have a tough year, with one AP class, three dual credit classes, two weighted classes, plus volleyball this fall, show choir all year, student council vice president, theater, and a social life. Here's to hoping we BOTH survive it!

And now it's the weekend, my last before going back to work on Monday (meetings, cleaning the room, preparing for classes, but no kids yet). Be thankful with me and link up, below. 

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Grave: A Six Sentence Story

When they chose this desolate land to homestead on, with nothing but sweeping prairie and no neighbors for miles, it didn't occur to them that some day, they would want to marry off their daughter; Sarah was but two years old when they made the trip via covered wagon, bumping over rutted trails made by Indians long before being forced further westward, but it was here the little family made their home on this hostile land.

They made a life there, Sarah's father working from daylight to dusk to tame the rough land while her mother ran the household and taught Sarah to read and write and to sew and cook and keep house, and when she was nearing 16 years of age, Sarah's parents decided it was time to find not only a husband for her but someone who could help Sarah's father with the farm work. He made the long journey to the nearest town, returning a week later with a young man that he thought would fill the bill for both himself and his daughter, but Sarah demurred any feeble advances the young man put forth, and after a few weeks of homestead life, he asked to be returned to town.

Her parents tried once again when a fellow headed to Indian Territory passed by, and although the young man was not easily dissuaded, Sarah again refused all advances, and her parents sighed at her stubbornness and resigned themselves that she preferred to live her life in their home as a spinster.

Through years of harsh winters and searing hot summers, too much rain and too little rain, insect infestations and cyclones, they persevered, the three of them, until Sarah, hair gray and skin withered, buried her parents, first her mother, then a few months later, her father, in graves she dug herself in the hard ground and with great effort, on a little rise at the edge of their land, next to the other two that had been there for so many years now that they blended into the landscape. Sarah continued on her own for a short time, until the day she couldn't any longer, and the prairie then began to creep back and reclaim its territory, thistles taking over the cornfield and wildflowers pushing into the little house, while the tall grasses grew up and up, finally free, until nothing was left of any of them but the whispering of the wind.

Linking up with Ivy at Uncharted for Six Sentence Stories with the prompt "grave."
  

The-College-Boy-Is-Back-At-School List Of Thankfuls

We moved our College Boy back to school this week. It's bittersweet to see your kids go off to college; we spend 18 years getting them ready for this moment, only to want to turn back the clock and make them small again. 

That's freshman year. By the time they're, say, juniors, you kind of finding yourself counting the days until summer vacation is over and you can send them back to college, even if you feel a lump forming in your throat the night before they go and shed a tear or two after you drop them off. Here's my somewhat feeble attempt to find the thankfuls in his leaving:

1. Most (but not all) of the stuff he brought home in May and PROMISED to take to his room before Memorial Day weekend is now out of my house and in his new apartment.

2. We will all have enough hot water for our showers.

3. Ruby can nap in peace without threat of him swooping her up and forcing her to be carried against her will.

4. He and his sister won't be fighting over the car anymore (which is kind of funny, really, since we have crappy cars and they're fighting not over who gets the good car, but who gets the LEAST crappy car).

5. We won't have to hear the old bowling pin he uses to prop his door open (old house, nothing plumb) fall over onto the hardwood floor when he trips over it.

6. Our salsa bill will plummet.

7. Actually, our entire grocery bill will plummet.

8. We'll be able to see the top of the little table in the entry hall where he piles his stuff when he comes in the door.

9. Pasta can go back on the menu, since he won't eat it.

10. He's halfway through with his undergraduate degree!

I'm not going to think about how I'm going to miss talking with him, his bear hugs and shoulder rubs, his laugh, even those size 15 shoes in the middle of the floor. 

For the record, he does NOT go to Arkansas;
it was a free shirt.

What are your thankfuls for the week? Link up with us. Please?

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Wind: A Six Sentence Story

"I'm sorry," she whispered from her perch on the porch steps, the gentle evening breeze stirring her cotton skirt around her bare feet, and she watched through tear dampened lashes as he turned and walked away from her. As he retreated down the gravel lane, she wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging them to her as though she were trying to hold all of her grief inside until eventually, profound sadness overcame her, her head dropping to her knees, and she wept, first silently, then with increasing intensity until she was sobbing uncontrollably, her body rocking to and fro with the rhythm of her sorrow.

She cried until long after the crunching of his footsteps faded away, and when she had used up every tear, she lifted her face to the setting sun, her tear-streaked cheeks glistening in the waning light, and inhaled deeply, her body shuddering with exhaustion. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the porch rail and pictured the box of memories of him she had stored in her mind: his face, his voice, his laugh, his smell, the feel of his arms around her, of his lips against hers. She tenderly removed each memory, one at a time, recalling each moment with him and causing a stirring so deep within her at each thought that it sent a tingle all the way down to her toes. But as she finished reliving each cherished memory, she tore it into bits and made an imaginary pile in her lap, and when the box was empty, she rose with a sigh and slowly walked into the house, the bits and pieces of him falling to the porch floor, where, stirred by the wind, they scattered down the lane and disappeared from her sight.

Linking up with Ivy at Uncharted for Six Sentence Stories with the prompt "wind."

Hot Enough Fer Ya?

Last weekend's Ten Things of Thankful post was written from a hotel room while we were on our itty bitty mini vacation to Nashville. I wish I were writing THIS week's post from there, or a beach or the mountains, but alas, I'm in my bedroom, in my chair and a half, kitty at my feet, wearing my new coolie hat, which translates to back to the real world. Following is a long, largely dull, recap of my week and some of the thankfuls contained therein:

Sunday morning, as we were packing up and preparing to check out of our hotel room, my husband, who had the morning news on, found out the Tennessee Titans had practices that were open to the public (good), free (better) and one was scheduled that very morning (best). We quickly packed the car and took off for their practice field. I'm not particularly into football, but it was REALLY, REALLY COOL to watch professional football players run through drills and the like (those guys are HUGE). We got to see rookie quarterback Marcus Mariota, the first round draft pick and Heisman Trophy winner, which was pretty neat, because even someone who isn't that much of a football fan knows first round draft pick + Heisman winner + quarterback + rookie is a player worth noting. He also happens to be a darn cute kid. 

As if seeing Mariota wasn't enough, I was scanning the roster when the name "Dorial Green-Beckham" popped out at me. This kid (Mariota is 21, Green-Beckham is 22, so yes, KIDS) played school ball at Hillcrest in Springfield, an hour to the east of us. (Remember when I tried to free the lizard from the hairball at a volleyball tournament? Same school.) A high school standout, we saw him play school ball against us. So while my husband was annoying the hell out of everyone at the time, because he was already packed and was watching tv while bugging the rest of us about getting OUR stuff packed, this little activity turned out to be one of the best parts of our trip!

After an hour or so, we reluctantly left the Titans training camp, because we had promised the College Boy we would go to The Hermitage, the home of President Andrew Jackson, before we left town. It had been many, many years since I'd been to The Hermitage, and I'd forgotten how much walking was involved. It didn't help that it was 95 degrees outside and not a cloud in the sky. We sped through the tour pretty quickly because (a) we were on a time table, having an eight and a half hour trip ahead of us to get home and (b) see last sentence about it being 95 degrees. We went through the house, though, and the flower gardens, which also includes the family burial grounds and the graves of Jackson and his wife, and one of the slave quarters. It was too freaking hot to see anything else, and besides, there was one last chance to stuff our bellies with something fried before we left town.

We made it home safely and without any major bickering or missing that tricky turn that, if missed, sends you quite a ways towards St. Louis before you figure out what you did wrong.

The kitties were very glad to see us, Ruby spending the next two days practically glued to my side. So thankful she doesn't get all pissed off at me when I leave town anymore!

I didn't want to leave Nashville, but at least I had something to look forward to on our return home: Marian Days! I've written extensively about this festival in a neighboring town, and you can read about it here, but the short version is that it's a pilgrimage for Vietnamese American Catholics and brings 70,000 of them to the grounds of the Congregation of the Mother Co-Redemptrix headquarters. We go to people watch and to eat the food, namely, pho, which we can't get here any other time. 

Laying that spring roll on the paper towel turned out to be a HUGE
mistake; when I tried to pick it up, the paper towel was stuck like glue,
and I couldn't get all of it peeled off, leaving me to eat more
paper towel than I care to think about. Peanut sauce helped.

Some of the 70,000 attendees.

My friend Kristie, who GLADLY went with me when
the rest of my family said they were filled to the brim
with pho plus a heat index of 105 degrees.

There was more this week. Volleyball try outs, which I wasn't too concerned about, but my daughter made Varsity, at least for now; such things are often fluid. Made a couple of Pinterest recipes that turned out to be wins. Another successful run at Six Sentence Stories. Oh, yeah, and it was my 22nd wedding anniversary.

Link up your thankfuls here.

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Reservation: A Six Sentence Story

She approached the desk with confidence and, seeing no one there, rang the bell and waited somewhat impatiently, fidgeting with her jacket and picking imaginary lint from her skirt, until a heavy wooden door behind the desk opened, and a white haired gentleman stepped through it. 

With a nod to her, he asked for her name as he lifted a large, leather-bound ledger from beneath the desk and flipped it open, thumbing through the pages as she announced in a clear voice, "Meredith Kelly."

The gentleman pulled a pair of spectacles from his pocket and put them on the end of his nose as he ruffled through the pages, bending closer as his eyes followed his finger down a page, then stopped suddenly and closed the book with a soft whoomp.

"We have no reservation for Meredith Kelly," he said coldly as her polite smile faded and her eyes grew confused.

"There must be some kind of mistake," she began, but he interrupted her, firmly stating, "We don't make mistakes here, Miss Kelly."

"But--" she began, but before she could finish her protest, the gentleman reached beneath the desk, and as he did so, the floor opened beneath her, dropping her down into the fiery abyss.

Linking up with Ivy at Uncharted for Six Sentence Stories with the prompt "reservation."