Where's My Sense of Adventure?

Somewhere along the way, I changed. Well into my thirties, roller coasters couldn't go fast enough and spinning rides caused me to laugh continuously. This was, of course, in times before coasters could pull G forces sufficient to get you away from the Earth's atmosphere and on your way to the moon. Today's roller coasters no longer roll or coast, rather they test the outer limits of the endurance of the human body.

Sometime after the birth of my daughters, I noticed that spinning rides made me quite queasy, and I was ashamed of my new found weakness. My sense of balance or something changed, and I no longer enjoyed being centrifuged to a wall of a circular room with a floor that dropped away. Rather, I pondered while spinning around if I threw up if it would just drop to the floor, come back on my own face, or worse yet, hit the person across from me.

Sadly, I shake my head when my son asks me to take him on fair rides, and send my older daughter to ride with him. I stand below and pray that the "carnies" put the ride together well and had taken all their medication that day. You think I over-react?

While at this particular county fair, we stood in line to ride a "kiddie" roller coaster in which a sea serpent train traversed a tubular track. The ride operator walked over to a track support and as I watched, he hand tightened a nut on a bolt that had come loose.

"Alright, we're not going to be riding this ride," I told the boy as I dragged him away. "How about the nice slide?"

"Why can't I ride this ride. Why?"

I checked back later, and the nut was again at the end of the 3 inch bolt, ready to fall out. Several moms looked in panic at their kids on the ride as I pointed out the bolt to the kids. "See, this ride is still falling apart. You can't ride it." To my knowledge, the ride is still operating with the man still hand tightening the bolt when he thinks of it.

I bravely climbed aboard the Ferris wheel, figuring it doesn't really spin and I can still handle drops, just not spins. Sitting high in the air, I noticed that large cables hold it together, and I thought of the girl that had her feet severed at a local amusement park on a ride when a cable broke. A ride that my girls rode two $^&$%& weeks before the accident! I did manage to finish my ride and keep my lunch down.

Not so two poor souls that will forever remember the summer they, after a ride, threw up in front of their girlfriends. Not cool. Two young teen boys (at least I think they were both boys, the jury is still out on one of them) could not take the spinning either. Perhaps it's not just a sign of my aging. Perhaps it is a sign of un-coolness.

More on the county fair tomorrow.

Small Town Memorial Day

While it lacked the shooting of cannons by frail, 90 year old men like in dh's hometown (which frankly, always made me a little nervous), the service we attended this morning had all the ceremony, complete with a vocal group and county band. My eyes could not help being drawn to the old woman in red hair wearing bright orange and lime green (to the right of the blue state flag). Will that be me someday? Nah.

Treasures

Have you ever felt bereft of something or someone that you didn't know mattered, until it or they were gone? My children have always begged to be allowed in the Treasured Child toy store on Main Street. Though much higher priced than Stuff Mart, it was filled with quality toys and fun things you'd likely not find anywhere else but in catalogs.

The other thing you would find unusual was the owner, Trish, who always seemed to be there in her long flowing dresses and a huge smile on her face. I remember her saying things like "Let me show you this!" or "You've gotta see this!" and her enthusiasm for toys was contagious. In the paper, she is quoted as saying that the store is for kids of all ages, because "How sad if you don't still enjoy playing". That makes me think that Trish and I should have gotten to know each other better, for I feel much the same way. But now, she's gone at 57 after a brief illness. I was quite surprised and sorry I couldn't go into the store just one more time and see her standing there, smiling.

Her obit surprised me - for she was more than what she appeared to me, an eclectic toy store owner. She'd been in the Air Force during the SE Asia Conflict, a graduate of two universities, a councilor for the UN, teacher, artist and cared for refugees in Turkey, Yugoslavia and Rwanda for the United Nations. But all I knew is that she ran a small shop in a small town. How often we make assumptions that what we see is all there is.

I'm sure her store will go on, run by her husband and by Faith, a friend of Trish's that worked there. But somehow, it won't be the same. Another lesson in appreciating the here and now.

http://oldhamera.com/articles/2007/05/24/obituaries/obit01.txt

Small Town Life

If you live in our small town long enough, you'll likely hear someone claim to have special powers. These powers manifest themselves in the pessimistic ability to call trains. You see, in our small town the tracks run down the middle of Main Street, dividing our residential area from the highway and just about every business in town. You need be only five minutes late to an appointment and you can guarantee there will be a train stretching to Kansas pulling through town.

In their ability to think far into the future, our city forefathers declined an offer by CSX years ago to relocate the tracks to avoid "downtown". The train was considered integral to the town's image, even reflected in the town motto, "We are on track". I suppose it does lend an old town feel, and we've all learned patience with something beyond our control, but thirty trains a day roll through a town much larger than they could ever have imagined. Eating dinner at the Irish Pub, diners smile at each other, and raise their voices a notch as a train rumbles by less than ten feet from their tables.

Dh and I felt at home in this town that had the look and feel of both of the towns where we grew up. Eleven years ago, few people lived here. Now, driving to the grocery, two miles from my house, can take 20 minutes without a train. It has to make one wonder where this town is going.