(Elvis Presley, 1957)
Today Ron and I were browsing in a mountain home decor shop and the shop's phone rang. I was close enough to the counter to hear the man who answered thank the caller for an update. "Oh," I thought, "it must be an update on an ill friend or family member." Then, in a loud voice, the man announced, "Everybody, I have news. PARIS HILTON IS BACK IN JAIL. Let's have some applause." And everyone cheered and applauded.
What is wrong with this world? There are soldiers (and civilians) dying in Iraq every day. There are unspeakable things happening in Darfur, the Sudan and hundreds of other places in this world. Numerous families like Kelsey Smith's are learning what it's like to lose a loved one in a senseless tragedy. And yet on every news channel the top story is this unimportant story accompanied by the tear stained face of Paris Hilton as she realizes she's actually going to be held accountable for her actions. Poor, poor Paris. My heart doesn't even open up an itty bitty crack for you.
I happened to watch a segment on Anderson Cooper tonight and he pointed out that exactly 35 years ago today perhaps the most iconic picture of the Vietnam war was taken - the one of the young girl running down the road naked (I think because her village had been sprayed with napalm, but I might be wrong). The same photographer that took that picture also took the picture of a sobbing Paris Hilton. Anderson said something like "Both images show raw emotion." HOW DARE HE compare the suffering of that young Cambodian girl with Paris Hilton's suffering. Bad form, Anderson, very bad form.
It is such a sad commentary on the mentality of our country, isn't it? We can't seem to get enough of the car wreck lives of the likes of Lindsay, Paris, Britney, Anna Nicole . . . they're identifiable by their first names like they're everyone's best friend. I'd almost be willing to take a class on The Psychology of Idiot Young Girls Who Seem Hell Bent on Dying an Early and Senseless Death. But, then I'd just be feeding the frenzy, wouldn't I?
Friday, June 8, 2007
Thursday, June 7, 2007
The Sign
(Ace of Base, 1993)
There are signs posted ALL over RMNP that say "It is illegal to feed or approach the wildlife." Do people adhere to these strongly worded edicts? Noooooooo sireeeeeeee Bob. The first year we came here we wanted to get a bull horn and announce "Please step away from the wildlife." Now I want an air horn. I want to scare the pants off stupid people who would walk right up the elk and ask for an autograph if they weren't afraid they'd get spit on. Oh, wait, that's camels.
Anyway, I mentioned this dark desire to Ron tonight as we saw a group of three people about 15 feet away from a pretty large herd. He thought it would be great if I could hide in a thicket of aspens and time my blasts to coincide with the shutter clicking. I pointed out that if I did that I would be approaching the wildlife. So he said I should just lay out in the field and wait for the wildlife to approach ME. There are no signs posted that prohibit that sort of behavior. I'm game and I know the elk are (game, that is).
Ron and Tyler got to go to a millionaire's lair the other night. Our woodcarver friend, Jeff, invited them to a guys' night out with some of his church buddies. The ranch spans 165 acres, has five homes and a lake. You can fish, kayak, shoot arrows at one another, ice fish and skate (weather permitting), go ATV-ing and barbeque on a state-of-the-art grill. One building is completely dedicated to games - video, foosball, air hockey, pool, pinball and upstairs is a honkin' home theater. The place is fully stocked with all the requisite gear needed to indulge in these activities. Tyler said the fridge in the game house took up a whole wall. The guy who owns it was a founder of both Blockbuster and Boston Market. Ironically, Ron worked on both of those projects back in the day. This particular property (he owns 32 properties all together) is reserved for "God's work." So this group of guys head out there three or four times a year to smoke cigars, burn steaks and share their faith. I'm guessing it's also used for retreats and conferences.
Ron had told me that they'd be home early, so I started listening for the car about 11:00. At 11:30 I was convinced that they were in a ditch, hideously mangled and surrounded by salivating wolves. By 12:00, they were careening off a cliff in the park. By 12:30, when they got home, I was a mess (duh). A few tears even slipped out before they could tell me about the amazing time they had.
I thought all this blogging would drain my imagination, but nooooooooo sireeeeeeeee, Bob.
There are signs posted ALL over RMNP that say "It is illegal to feed or approach the wildlife." Do people adhere to these strongly worded edicts? Noooooooo sireeeeeeee Bob. The first year we came here we wanted to get a bull horn and announce "Please step away from the wildlife." Now I want an air horn. I want to scare the pants off stupid people who would walk right up the elk and ask for an autograph if they weren't afraid they'd get spit on. Oh, wait, that's camels.
Anyway, I mentioned this dark desire to Ron tonight as we saw a group of three people about 15 feet away from a pretty large herd. He thought it would be great if I could hide in a thicket of aspens and time my blasts to coincide with the shutter clicking. I pointed out that if I did that I would be approaching the wildlife. So he said I should just lay out in the field and wait for the wildlife to approach ME. There are no signs posted that prohibit that sort of behavior. I'm game and I know the elk are (game, that is).
Ron and Tyler got to go to a millionaire's lair the other night. Our woodcarver friend, Jeff, invited them to a guys' night out with some of his church buddies. The ranch spans 165 acres, has five homes and a lake. You can fish, kayak, shoot arrows at one another, ice fish and skate (weather permitting), go ATV-ing and barbeque on a state-of-the-art grill. One building is completely dedicated to games - video, foosball, air hockey, pool, pinball and upstairs is a honkin' home theater. The place is fully stocked with all the requisite gear needed to indulge in these activities. Tyler said the fridge in the game house took up a whole wall. The guy who owns it was a founder of both Blockbuster and Boston Market. Ironically, Ron worked on both of those projects back in the day. This particular property (he owns 32 properties all together) is reserved for "God's work." So this group of guys head out there three or four times a year to smoke cigars, burn steaks and share their faith. I'm guessing it's also used for retreats and conferences.
Ron had told me that they'd be home early, so I started listening for the car about 11:00. At 11:30 I was convinced that they were in a ditch, hideously mangled and surrounded by salivating wolves. By 12:00, they were careening off a cliff in the park. By 12:30, when they got home, I was a mess (duh). A few tears even slipped out before they could tell me about the amazing time they had.
I thought all this blogging would drain my imagination, but nooooooooo sireeeeeeeee, Bob.
A Mighty Wind
(Mitch & Micky, The Main Street Singers, 2003)
Have you ever heard the wind howl? I mean really howl? You cannot begin to imagine what it sounds like outside our cabin. It's blowing the blinds inside the cabin and the windows are completely shut. I imagine it's what Dorothy heard as she made her way back to the farmhouse. I'd go outside right now and try stomping on the cellar door but I'm afraid I'd end up representing the Lollipop Guild.
And . . . it snowed today. June 6. The upper elevations got 18 inches - of SNOW! The mountains were already snowcapped, but you can see the dusting of new snow from where we are. We contemplated stealing our neighbor's supply of firewood but Ron wouldn't let us. He'll be sorry when he finds out his bed's been shoved in the fireplace. With him in it.
I was flipping through channels tonight and came across a special on John Denver. Of course I parked myself in front of the tube and Ron promptly went to bed. Tyler hung with me for a couple of songs and then fell asleep. It's freaky what that music does to me. I think it's been proven that smell and music are two of the highest memory triggers. My eyes started stinging the second I heard "Thank God I'm A Country Boy." The program was part of a PBS pledge drive and I swear if I'd been alone I would have pledged money to the Denver PBS station. Why? Because his music makes me lose my reasoning capacity. And I could have gotten two free CD's of his music. Tyler said it would be cheaper to go buy the cds at the oldies cd place. Wise guy. I asked him to promise to have "Annie's Song" sung at his wedding. He almost spewed his water across the room. Maybe he'll go for "Sunshine on My Shoulders."
On a much sadder note . . . we all were devastated to hear about Kelsey Smith. I was mad, sad, scared . . . As a parent I don't how you even begin to recover from something like that. I suppose a good place to start would be to rely on God's grace and acceptance that I should not lean on my own understanding, and the hope everlasting of His heavenly kingdom that has many, many rooms. What an awesome God He is.
Have you ever heard the wind howl? I mean really howl? You cannot begin to imagine what it sounds like outside our cabin. It's blowing the blinds inside the cabin and the windows are completely shut. I imagine it's what Dorothy heard as she made her way back to the farmhouse. I'd go outside right now and try stomping on the cellar door but I'm afraid I'd end up representing the Lollipop Guild.
And . . . it snowed today. June 6. The upper elevations got 18 inches - of SNOW! The mountains were already snowcapped, but you can see the dusting of new snow from where we are. We contemplated stealing our neighbor's supply of firewood but Ron wouldn't let us. He'll be sorry when he finds out his bed's been shoved in the fireplace. With him in it.
I was flipping through channels tonight and came across a special on John Denver. Of course I parked myself in front of the tube and Ron promptly went to bed. Tyler hung with me for a couple of songs and then fell asleep. It's freaky what that music does to me. I think it's been proven that smell and music are two of the highest memory triggers. My eyes started stinging the second I heard "Thank God I'm A Country Boy." The program was part of a PBS pledge drive and I swear if I'd been alone I would have pledged money to the Denver PBS station. Why? Because his music makes me lose my reasoning capacity. And I could have gotten two free CD's of his music. Tyler said it would be cheaper to go buy the cds at the oldies cd place. Wise guy. I asked him to promise to have "Annie's Song" sung at his wedding. He almost spewed his water across the room. Maybe he'll go for "Sunshine on My Shoulders."
On a much sadder note . . . we all were devastated to hear about Kelsey Smith. I was mad, sad, scared . . . As a parent I don't how you even begin to recover from something like that. I suppose a good place to start would be to rely on God's grace and acceptance that I should not lean on my own understanding, and the hope everlasting of His heavenly kingdom that has many, many rooms. What an awesome God He is.
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Rocky Raccoon
(Beatles, 1968)
Tonight Ron and I were sitting outside our favorite paper/card/ink pen/irreverent magnet store, minding our own business, when a bushy raccoon came careening around the corner like the lead car in the Indy 500. Ron reacted like I do when I see a mouse - he dang near hopped up on the bench. It was quite funny, although Ron failed to see the humor of the situation.
It reminds me of another humorous story involving Ron, a dog and a prayer vigil. "Ah," you're thinking, "this will be good."
We were taking part in a 24-hour prayer vigil and were scheduled to pray at our church from 1:00-2:00 a.m. As we walked outside our home in the wee hours of the morning, we were greeted by a semi-large dog of questionable breed. He was wagging his tail, so I started down the stairs, talking to the dog in a friendly manner. Ron, who had just come outside, ordered me to stop and come back up on the porch. I know my jaw dropped and I said, "Excuse me?" Ron said, "Do you know that dog?" I found this extremely funny and proceeded to approach the dog. Ron, again ordered me to get back on the porch. He obviously was acquainted with this dog and knew that I was in grave danger of having my hand severely licked.
We finally got in the car (without petting the dog) and it was silent as a tomb. Ron was still irked at my unsubmissive wifely behavior and I was trying to prepare myself for the hour of prayer. About a half mile from the church I started giggling. It quickly turned into one of those honking, gasping, tear rolling laughs. Ron saw nothing even remotely funny about it. I finally managed to get out "Do you know that dog?" He shot a deathray my way and yelled, "Well, did you?" By this time I was screaming laughing and I was pretty sure I would never be able to focus my thoughts on the Almighty. Thankfully, Ron finally started laughing, too, and by the time we reached the church we had calmed down enough to keep the prayer vigil going. I had already decided that if I got the giggles during our prayer time that I would chalk it up to laughing in the Spirit.
Tonight Ron and I were sitting outside our favorite paper/card/ink pen/irreverent magnet store, minding our own business, when a bushy raccoon came careening around the corner like the lead car in the Indy 500. Ron reacted like I do when I see a mouse - he dang near hopped up on the bench. It was quite funny, although Ron failed to see the humor of the situation.
It reminds me of another humorous story involving Ron, a dog and a prayer vigil. "Ah," you're thinking, "this will be good."
We were taking part in a 24-hour prayer vigil and were scheduled to pray at our church from 1:00-2:00 a.m. As we walked outside our home in the wee hours of the morning, we were greeted by a semi-large dog of questionable breed. He was wagging his tail, so I started down the stairs, talking to the dog in a friendly manner. Ron, who had just come outside, ordered me to stop and come back up on the porch. I know my jaw dropped and I said, "Excuse me?" Ron said, "Do you know that dog?" I found this extremely funny and proceeded to approach the dog. Ron, again ordered me to get back on the porch. He obviously was acquainted with this dog and knew that I was in grave danger of having my hand severely licked.
We finally got in the car (without petting the dog) and it was silent as a tomb. Ron was still irked at my unsubmissive wifely behavior and I was trying to prepare myself for the hour of prayer. About a half mile from the church I started giggling. It quickly turned into one of those honking, gasping, tear rolling laughs. Ron saw nothing even remotely funny about it. I finally managed to get out "Do you know that dog?" He shot a deathray my way and yelled, "Well, did you?" By this time I was screaming laughing and I was pretty sure I would never be able to focus my thoughts on the Almighty. Thankfully, Ron finally started laughing, too, and by the time we reached the church we had calmed down enough to keep the prayer vigil going. I had already decided that if I got the giggles during our prayer time that I would chalk it up to laughing in the Spirit.
Monday, June 4, 2007
Ain't No Mountain High Enough
(Diana Ross, 1973)
Oh, my feet are sore, sore, sore. Today Tyler took me on a hike that made me realize that I have passed the age when activities such as this are invigorating and exciting. I feel pretty much dead and mutilated. Ok, it wasn't that bad, but the spring chicken in this body has definitely turned into one tough old bird. Tonight I just want to soak my feet and wrap up in a big blanket. How sad is that?
For about the first five times we came to Estes Park we stayed pretty much on one side of the park. Then, one year, our accommodations were on the west side, closer to the Fall River entrance. It was then we were introduced to bighorn sheep. Or, I should say, the concept of bighorn sheep. We would go daily (sometimes multiple times during the day) to try and see them. There's an area called Sheeps Lake that has vitamin rich mud that lures the sheep down from their lofty mountain perches. Ron was determined to see them and would sneak off at 6:00 to try and catch them. This was before he became an ad for Orvis and took up flyfishing. Now he sneaks off to try and catch fish, which most days also prove to be elusive.
Anyway, back to the silly sheep. We had maybe seen one from about a mile away. At least Ron says it was sheep. Personally I think it was the backside of some hiker answering nature's call, unaware that he was being mistaken for a bighorn sheep. BUT WAIT! This trip we've not only seen bighorn sheep, we've seen them on two separate occasions! The first time was our first day here and we came around the corner to the Sheep's Lake area and there they were! I thought Ron would start hyperventillating and wreck the car, but he was nonplussed. I took that as a sign. Don't keep Ron Martin waiting or he'll just move on to some other obsession. Like he did with the fish.
Today, we saw something really remarkable - something we'll probably never ever see again. A bonafide showdown between four bighorn sheep and a coyote, There were two ewes and two yearlings taking their OneADay mud supplement and a coyote approached to within about six feet, They locked eyes and stared each other down for about three minutes and then the coyote turned and walked away, finally settling about 50 yards away. He kept a watchful eye on the foursome, who resumed their feeding, although at least one of the two ewes kept the coyote in sight the whole time. We left before the sheep made their way back across the highway and up to safer ground. It was cool.
I'm almost finished with "Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee" and plan to watch the HBO special tonight. I hope it's an accurate representation of what really happened. If it was produced by white men I have my doubts. I'm also now reading "Truman," by David McCullough, a mammoth book of nearly 1,000 pages about the President from Missouri. I was a little disappointed because I thought it was going to be about that movie with Jim Carrey. I guess my first hint should have been the picture of Harry Truman on the cover. Hee hee,
I'm dying to upload some awesome pictures but Tyler's Mac doesn't have a program to resize photos. So much for Macs being all that. It'll just have to wait until I get back home to my sweet little Dell. I guess that makes me the farmer.
Oh, my feet are sore, sore, sore. Today Tyler took me on a hike that made me realize that I have passed the age when activities such as this are invigorating and exciting. I feel pretty much dead and mutilated. Ok, it wasn't that bad, but the spring chicken in this body has definitely turned into one tough old bird. Tonight I just want to soak my feet and wrap up in a big blanket. How sad is that?
For about the first five times we came to Estes Park we stayed pretty much on one side of the park. Then, one year, our accommodations were on the west side, closer to the Fall River entrance. It was then we were introduced to bighorn sheep. Or, I should say, the concept of bighorn sheep. We would go daily (sometimes multiple times during the day) to try and see them. There's an area called Sheeps Lake that has vitamin rich mud that lures the sheep down from their lofty mountain perches. Ron was determined to see them and would sneak off at 6:00 to try and catch them. This was before he became an ad for Orvis and took up flyfishing. Now he sneaks off to try and catch fish, which most days also prove to be elusive.
Anyway, back to the silly sheep. We had maybe seen one from about a mile away. At least Ron says it was sheep. Personally I think it was the backside of some hiker answering nature's call, unaware that he was being mistaken for a bighorn sheep. BUT WAIT! This trip we've not only seen bighorn sheep, we've seen them on two separate occasions! The first time was our first day here and we came around the corner to the Sheep's Lake area and there they were! I thought Ron would start hyperventillating and wreck the car, but he was nonplussed. I took that as a sign. Don't keep Ron Martin waiting or he'll just move on to some other obsession. Like he did with the fish.
Today, we saw something really remarkable - something we'll probably never ever see again. A bonafide showdown between four bighorn sheep and a coyote, There were two ewes and two yearlings taking their OneADay mud supplement and a coyote approached to within about six feet, They locked eyes and stared each other down for about three minutes and then the coyote turned and walked away, finally settling about 50 yards away. He kept a watchful eye on the foursome, who resumed their feeding, although at least one of the two ewes kept the coyote in sight the whole time. We left before the sheep made their way back across the highway and up to safer ground. It was cool.
I'm almost finished with "Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee" and plan to watch the HBO special tonight. I hope it's an accurate representation of what really happened. If it was produced by white men I have my doubts. I'm also now reading "Truman," by David McCullough, a mammoth book of nearly 1,000 pages about the President from Missouri. I was a little disappointed because I thought it was going to be about that movie with Jim Carrey. I guess my first hint should have been the picture of Harry Truman on the cover. Hee hee,
I'm dying to upload some awesome pictures but Tyler's Mac doesn't have a program to resize photos. So much for Macs being all that. It'll just have to wait until I get back home to my sweet little Dell. I guess that makes me the farmer.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Laughing
(The Guess Who, 1969)
Well, we’re here, happily ensconced in our cabin/suite. A fire is crackling in the fireplace and there’s a thunderstorm quietly raging outside. It’s heaven on earth.
There are times when I start laughing and nearly lose my life. I can’t stop, I can’t get a breath and it’s funnier than hell. Tonight I bought a book thong, a really cool type of bookmark that is made of waxed string and really beautiful beads on either end. Tyler reminded me that he and Kate tried to make them one year when I couldn’t find any in my favorite EP bookstore. The next day they got a new shipment in and I remember saying “Praise the Lord,” because, despite their best efforts, the Kate and Tyler thongs were pretty pitiful. I told Tyler (tonight) that their thongs looked like they were made at a sheltered workshop. (WARNING: the following is quite possibly politically incorrect - I apologize in advance). For those of you who don’t know what that is (as Tyler didn’t) it’s a place where mentally challenged people work, usually assembling stuff. “Comb and brush sets,” I said. “Comb and brush sets?” asked Tyler. Then, in one of those moments when the brain becomes completely disemboweled and hears something that clearly wasn’t said, he said, “Gary Coleman has comb and brush sets?” There I went. In seconds I was honking and gasping for air, with tears streaming down my face. If you’ve never laughed like that you should really try it. Just hang around Tyler and me for an hour or two.
Well, we’re here, happily ensconced in our cabin/suite. A fire is crackling in the fireplace and there’s a thunderstorm quietly raging outside. It’s heaven on earth.
There are times when I start laughing and nearly lose my life. I can’t stop, I can’t get a breath and it’s funnier than hell. Tonight I bought a book thong, a really cool type of bookmark that is made of waxed string and really beautiful beads on either end. Tyler reminded me that he and Kate tried to make them one year when I couldn’t find any in my favorite EP bookstore. The next day they got a new shipment in and I remember saying “Praise the Lord,” because, despite their best efforts, the Kate and Tyler thongs were pretty pitiful. I told Tyler (tonight) that their thongs looked like they were made at a sheltered workshop. (WARNING: the following is quite possibly politically incorrect - I apologize in advance). For those of you who don’t know what that is (as Tyler didn’t) it’s a place where mentally challenged people work, usually assembling stuff. “Comb and brush sets,” I said. “Comb and brush sets?” asked Tyler. Then, in one of those moments when the brain becomes completely disemboweled and hears something that clearly wasn’t said, he said, “Gary Coleman has comb and brush sets?” There I went. In seconds I was honking and gasping for air, with tears streaming down my face. If you’ve never laughed like that you should really try it. Just hang around Tyler and me for an hour or two.
Friday, June 1, 2007
Jesus Freak
(DC Talk, 1995)
Ok, a Jesus freak is not what immediately came to mind tonight as Ron and I drove by Old Shawnee Town in, of course, Shawnee (new and recently improved with an awesome pool). The carnival was in full swing, with ferris wheels, merry-go-rounds and enough cotton candy to give the whole town a ca-razy sugar high. I told Ron we should go because it would give me something good to write about. He kept on driving. "Ha!" I thought to myself. "I have enough carnival memories to write a whole novel. So there." Actually, they're not carnival memories, but Missouri State Fair memories. Growing up, we lived only thirty minutes from Sedalia, the home of the MO State Fair. We made the trip there frequently to shop and go to the orthodontist. I remember seeing a sign in this one yard that said "Rooms for Fair People." I totally thought it was a racist sign. Not even kidding. Anyway, my dad was a state representative and each year they had one day designated as "State Representative Day" or something of that nature. We got to go on all the rides free! And go to all the sideshows, too. That's where the "freak" comes in. Most of them were really pathetic and I remember thinking what a sad life it must be to travel from state to state, sitting in a really hot, dark tent and having people come in and just stare and point and whisper behind their hands. Ugh. The one freak I really remember was a drug addict. He was a pale, skinny guy with thin hair and red-rimmed eyes. Scared me straight for sure. Until I realized that he probably HAD to be high all the time (this was, of course, years later, when I understood what being high meant). As I was weighing my career options in my senior year of college, I briefly contemplated being a drug addict freak in a traveling show. But I got married instead. I think it was a good choice.
One of the other great things about the state fair was getting to see Bobby Goldsboro and Bobby Vinton (not in the same year - that would have sent me over the moon into the stratosphere) in concert. And the best - THE CARPENTERS! I love the Carpenters almost as much as I love John Denver. I think I liked them because Karen's vocal range matched mine perfectly; we had kindred voices. I knew (know) all the words to "We've Only Just Begun," "Close to You," "Superstar," "Rainy Days and Mondays" - just about all of them. I swear I honestly thought my life could not get any better when I saw them. I use the term "saw" loosely, because even though it was State Rep Day we still had "you're really just like everybody else" seats.
So, as we drove past the blinking lights and hordes of people toting sticky-faced kids, strollers and funnel cakes I was overwhelmed with this thought: keep on driving, Ron, keep on driving. Nothing will top my adolescent state fair escapades. Besides, I hear they're looking for a drug addict freak and business has been kinda slow lately . . .
Ok, a Jesus freak is not what immediately came to mind tonight as Ron and I drove by Old Shawnee Town in, of course, Shawnee (new and recently improved with an awesome pool). The carnival was in full swing, with ferris wheels, merry-go-rounds and enough cotton candy to give the whole town a ca-razy sugar high. I told Ron we should go because it would give me something good to write about. He kept on driving. "Ha!" I thought to myself. "I have enough carnival memories to write a whole novel. So there." Actually, they're not carnival memories, but Missouri State Fair memories. Growing up, we lived only thirty minutes from Sedalia, the home of the MO State Fair. We made the trip there frequently to shop and go to the orthodontist. I remember seeing a sign in this one yard that said "Rooms for Fair People." I totally thought it was a racist sign. Not even kidding. Anyway, my dad was a state representative and each year they had one day designated as "State Representative Day" or something of that nature. We got to go on all the rides free! And go to all the sideshows, too. That's where the "freak" comes in. Most of them were really pathetic and I remember thinking what a sad life it must be to travel from state to state, sitting in a really hot, dark tent and having people come in and just stare and point and whisper behind their hands. Ugh. The one freak I really remember was a drug addict. He was a pale, skinny guy with thin hair and red-rimmed eyes. Scared me straight for sure. Until I realized that he probably HAD to be high all the time (this was, of course, years later, when I understood what being high meant). As I was weighing my career options in my senior year of college, I briefly contemplated being a drug addict freak in a traveling show. But I got married instead. I think it was a good choice.
One of the other great things about the state fair was getting to see Bobby Goldsboro and Bobby Vinton (not in the same year - that would have sent me over the moon into the stratosphere) in concert. And the best - THE CARPENTERS! I love the Carpenters almost as much as I love John Denver. I think I liked them because Karen's vocal range matched mine perfectly; we had kindred voices. I knew (know) all the words to "We've Only Just Begun," "Close to You," "Superstar," "Rainy Days and Mondays" - just about all of them. I swear I honestly thought my life could not get any better when I saw them. I use the term "saw" loosely, because even though it was State Rep Day we still had "you're really just like everybody else" seats.
So, as we drove past the blinking lights and hordes of people toting sticky-faced kids, strollers and funnel cakes I was overwhelmed with this thought: keep on driving, Ron, keep on driving. Nothing will top my adolescent state fair escapades. Besides, I hear they're looking for a drug addict freak and business has been kinda slow lately . . .
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