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WHERE THE WORLD COMES TO A WONDERFUL HALT
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The internet was down at our house and I couldn't figure out
why. I had just finished reading a complicated story about sea level rise
and global warming. My cell phone kept inexplicably butt-dialing friends,
who were getting irritated, as was I.
"I need to simplify my life," I cried to my wife.
"Let's go to the Marin County Fair."
She gave me her usual incredulous look. "Why?"
"Because I need to step back in time," I answered as
I perused the list of events in the brochure that someone had sent me .
"I'm sick of technology and complications. We can go to 'The Greatest
Pies in the USA' culinary contest at 5:30.' It doesn't get much better than
that."
"Sounds fascinating," she said as she looked over my
shoulder at the brochure. "And we don't want to miss the Great American
Pig races at 3 p.m., the horse shoeing at 4:30 and the Mule driving at
6:00."
She may have been being a bit facetious, but she's nothing if
not a good sport, so off we went a week ago Sunday for a trip down memory
lane.
It had been about 20 years since I last went to a county fair.
Our kids were still young, and still wanted to hang with us. In
appreciation, we'd take them to the fair, where they would gorge themselves
on junk food, play games they had no chance of winning, and go on rides that
would make them sick. Summer days don't get much better.
Now it's 20 years later, and to my delight, nothing has
changed. In this ever-changing world, it was refreshing to see virtually no
progress.
There's a reason, of course. County fairs only last an average
of five days, and people come back every year to enjoy their favorites. If
it was open 365 days, they'd be forced to change to stay fresh. But five
days a year is inherently fresh.
We walked in the gate that led directly to the rides and games.
Since neither of us felt like throwing up, we nixed the rides and went right
to the games.
"I'm going to win you a five foot stuffed bear," I
announced to my wife as I eyed the basketball game where only one successful
shot wins the big prize.
"Oh goodie," she replied. "And then I can walk
around all afternoon and night looking like a complete idiot."
I ignored her and stepped up to the line, where the nice
carnival huckster told me it would be $5 for two shots and $10 for five.
Some things do apparently change. All the games were that
expensive, whether it was knocking over milk bottles or throwing darts at
balloons. After some moaning and whining, I forked over $10 for five shots,
none of which had much chance of going in the undersized, impossible hoop.
With that out of the way, we headed for the exhibits, where the
latest generation of adorable and not so adorable animals resided, at least
for five days. Then it was off to the school science exhibits, where it
seemed everyone got a ribbon (old Marin joke).
We were so busy at the flower and art exhibits that we lost
track of time and missed the The Greatest Pies in the USA contest and the
cow milking. There just wasn't enough time.
Besides, we had to eat. Choices abounded, all of them heart
stopping. Giant corn dogs, cheese steaks, flaming hot Cheetos in a cup,
funnel cakes, and if we were in the mood for dessert, deep fried Twinkies
and Oreos.
I had to have a giant corn dog, at least once every 20 years.
It was delicious. My wife chose to starve.
It was getting late. I bought a glass of wine for her and a
beer for me, and we found a place on this warm summer night to sit on the
grass within hearing (but not seeing) distance of the concert stage. I
munched on my corn dog, sipped my beer, and reflected on how lovely it was
to see that some things never change.
Best of all, the concert was about to begin. With time frozen,
it couldn't be Beyonce or Bruno Mars, or any current stars. It had to be
from the past, and it was.
The Beach Boys. Perfect. Who cared that Mike Love was the only
original member still with the band. He knew all the songs, and so did I.
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