The Fairest of Them All

When you grow up in a town that includes the state fairgrounds, you might, after so many years, begin to take the Fair for granted. You might develop a kind of ho-hum attitude toward it, and--worst case scenario--you might become so apathetic toward it that you don't bother to go at all during the Fair's traditional eleven-day August run.

That is, however, not the case with me. Even though I now live thirty-four miles south of my hometown, sometimes referred to as "The State Fair City," I can't recall a year when I didn't go to the Fair at least once. When I was a little kid, it ranked right up there with my birthday and Christmas as a highlight of the calendar year. For me, the Fair (which I honor even now with a capital letter) was big stuff.

The Fair is even bigger stuff now that I have six grandchildren to share it with. Ranking from five to twelve years old, they are all the perfect ages to enjoy the variety of entertainment and activity the Fair offers. Largely to humor their Googie, both families of children make it a priority to spend at least one day together scoping out freebies, indulging themselves with Fair food, checking out the goings-on, and getting their wristbands' worth of rides on the midway.

Although this year's event enabled us to once again enjoy some of our favorite Fair features, we got the chance to try out some new experiences as well. The photos that follow focus on some of the things we took on this year that we don't usually do.

If you have followed "Googie's Attic" through the Fairs of previous years, you know about our yellow T-shirts, which all of us except Heero (far right) and Beenie (far left--he is wearing a lookalike) still fit into. Wearing bright yellow, we do not do much at the Fair that goes unnoticed. We look a little like a flock of ducks, but--hey--two years ago, when the kids were four through ten, these shirts definitely helped us to keep the flock together. This may be our final yellow-shirt year, but you will be glad to know these trusty garments will be retired with honor, having served their purpose nobly.

This was the kids' first year to see the massive, majestic Budweiser Clydesdales up close and personal. Placards listing the horses' birth dates gave the kids a chance to brush up on their summer vacation math skills. Most of them found a horse with either a birthday near their own or one who was close in age.

 
It was also our first year to catch a hug from Sparky the Fire Dog, as Beenie, Heero, and Bootsie do here. A quick check on the website sparky.org reminds me that Sparky first began his fire prevention campaign in 1951, the year before I was born. Since then, he has appeared as an advocate of fire safety in coloring books, comic books, and videos.

Sixty-eight years may be an impressive career for a fire dog, but this year marks the seventy-fifth birthday of Sparky's cohort, Smokey the Bear. Here, Zoomie and Heero celebrate with Smokey, a Fair icon who still moves his arm up and down, points his finger at you, and delivers a recorded fire safety message with the push of a button, as Heero demonstrates.

This last photo shows Zoomie and Pooh visiting with my friend Kathleen, who is living a dream by impersonating Laura Ingalls Wilder, the much-loved author of the Little House on the Prairie series of children's books. Following her presentation, "Laura" encouraged participation from the audience and took time to answer impromptu questions. Sooby, Pooh, Bootsie, and Zoomie are familiar with Wilder's books as bedtime story material, so each of them--as well as their cousin Beenie--readily offered a question that Kathleen, in turn, fielded expertly.

What happened to Nellie Oleson (this "mean" girl was actually a composite of two real-life meanies)? To the Boasts (the Ingalls' neighbors)? To Pa (played by Michael Landon in the TV series)? To Mary (Laura's sister who went blind)? How many times in all did you move?

I was proud of the kids for their interest, attention, and willingness to speak out with their questions. If theirs are questions you wonder about as well, you may want to invite "Laura" to tailor a presentation for your group. (You can e-mail Kathleen Boswell at boswell@iland.net if you wish more info.)

The Clydesdales, Sparky, Smokey's birthday, and Laura Ingalls Wilder (plus the fact that everyone can now drive the bumper cars unassisted--this is BIG!) were just some of this year's Fair highlights. I can't express how much it means to me for these kids to share this much-loved institution of my own childhood.

When next August rolls around, it will be hard to top the novel experiences of this year's Fair--but there is this to consider: We plan to be pushing a stroller. It will be Baby Packee's first Fair, and that alone will make it special.

The Splash

You look at this photo and a thousand questions race through your mind. How can five children, holding hands and running toward the edge of the pool, possibly hit the water at the same time? Should they land at the same time? Will Zoomie (in red) and Heero (in blue) catch up with the rest of the group? Will Zoomie be able to keep a grip on his nose in the seconds to follow?

Will any unsuspecting swimmers be decapitated? Will the lady in the lounge chair behind the kids have a dry square inch left on her body? Is she thinking it might be about time to pack up her flip-flops and go home? 

Will the splash that is imminent make The Guinness Book of World Records? Do these kids have a future in synchronized swimming?

Let me assure you that the aforementioned splash was indeed huge--every time this scene was replayed during the course of last week. And luckily, no pool patron, either in or out of the water at any time, was harmed in the making of this picture.

Last week, all six grandkids came to Googie's house for a week of summertime fun. During the mornings they attended Kids College classes at our local community college. Sooby (who was busy talking to a friend during all of the splashing) attended a class in theatre arts; Bootsie designed beautiful creations in "Fabric Fun"; and Pooh explored the Oregon Trail. The other three boys attended the same workshop in Sensory Science, making tornadoes in bottles, making kinetic sand (one of the boys called it "Connecticut sand"), and constructing a primitive "lava lamp" from oil and water.

I think the thing that caught me by surprise most was the sheer amount of food six children can consume. It didn't take me long to learn that, when eating out at Steak 'n' Shake, the kids' menu is no longer an option. Thank goodness, though, for Sonic's half-price milkshakes after 8 p.m. Those gave everyone a chance to pick a special treat for just under $15.

At home we went through a large pot of navy beans and ham, a large pot of green beans with bacon and new potatoes, a large pot of chicken and noodles, a watermelon, three pans of cinnamon rolls, a big pot of corn on the cob, two blenders of banana-peanut butter smoothies, a 13 x 9" spaghetti casserole, two boxes of Texas toast, a huge bowl of fresh salad, a huge bowl of fruit salad--and those are just the things I can remember. It seemed like I was always planning a meal, grocery shopping while they were at school, cooking, or cleaning up the kitchen. That would be my only complaint if I had one--that and the fact that I sometimes forgot to factor in enough food for me and Pa-pa.

When we weren't eating, it was a week of Lego-building, superhero costumes, Barbie-dressing, and Ninja Turtle movies in the car while we were on the road. There was even a night when we reverted to our old habit of singing together at bedtime, with Pooh and me delivering our rousing rendition of "King of the Road" after everyone else had fallen asleep.

The pool picture offers a good visual metaphor for our week together, the week when all the grandkids joined hands and plunged into the otherwise ordinariness of my summer. The house is quiet now that they are gone, and I miss them.

On the Verge

I was not ready for this birthday. It might as well have crept up behind me and thrown a gunny sack over my head. Although I am usually more than excited for birthdays, this one totally blind-sided me.

I don't mean my own birthday, the one that came a month ago today and pushed me a notch closer to that next big decade. I mean the one that sneaked up yesterday and hammered me like a hurricane. Yesterday was the twelfth birthday of my first grandchild, the original Googie-maker. And as candles flickered atop a cheesecake in Kansas--and Sooby shopped for the first earrings for her newly pierced ears--I was here in Missouri thinking about her standing there on the threshold of her teens.

I don't know how to do this. With the six grandkids coming in a space of six years, I am used to thinking of "kid" things for us to make and eat and play and do. Now that one of those children is a beautiful young lady, I am anticipating the first major change in our dynamic. The teens open up territory I have not explored in a while. My step feels a little uncertain here.

The photo above shows Sooby a week ago tonight with her bag of early birthday presents from Pa-pa and me. Since her brother's birthday falls five days before hers, we often celebrate the two of them in one trip. Still, I have saved a few thoughts and wishes to share with her tonight.

Happy birthday, Sooby-Soo. Just last weekend your cousins and I were looking at a digicam video I took of you, Pooh, and Bootsie when you were not yet four. You were lying on the floor, giggling, with an orange bristle block on your belly button. I barely blink, and here you are today with a pretty new orange dress, a sweet smile, and--always--those gorgeous blue eyes. Where did those eight years go?

Pa-pa and I are certainly proud of you for your achievements in school, music, and 4-H, but the thing that touches us most is your kind heart, your thoughtfulness toward others, and your wish to do what is good and right. I used to cringe when you were always wanting to help in the kitchen, but now I welcome that help. You bake great desserts and can cook up a mean griddle full of bacon and pancakes. I imagine that is something that will just keep getting better as you check off those teen years.

As the oldest, you will be the one who blazes the teen trail just ahead of your siblings and cousins. When your new little brother arrives in a few months, you will be a great help for your mama and an able caregiver for him.

And, if the cause is not hopeless, you may be able to re-train me to interact appropriately with a teenager. I can't help thinking we are on the verge of a great new adventure. We have a year to figure that one out, and I'm betting we will be okay. 





 

A Convertible for Zoomie

Sometimes I find myself with an awkward-sized birthday present that no bag from Dollar Tree will work for. This was the case earlier this week, when Pa-pa and I took a road trip to Kansas to celebrate Zoomie's seventh birthday.

With no workable bag, I then have to improvise, this time with some leftover Spiderman Christmas paper. Look closely--the tiny sprigs of holly, though discreet, are a dead giveaway.

Zoomie didn't know it at the time, but he was about to get the only convertible I could find on my down-to-the-last-minute shopping trip last Thursday. Despite the fact that we are in the middle of summer, all the convertibles seemed to be on car lots rather than on the toy shelves at Target.

Except this one--and I almost missed it. That's because this blue plastic convertible came a part of a tow truck/trailer set, shown here with Zoomie, Bootsie, and Pooh.

If I do say so myself, the truck is a pretty cool rig with all the bells and whistles--or at least the working horn, lights, and backup/engine noises--any self-respecting seven-year-old could want. It even includes winch and harness for moving the convertible on and off the trailer. The toy is a neat birthday story in its own right, but the story behind the gift makes it even better.

When Zoomie and his family visited us a couple weeks ago, their visit coincided with that of some other very special house guests. The evening of everyone's arrival marked the first time in fifty-one years that Pa-pa had seen a friend he served with in Vietnam in the late 1960s. It was the culmination of an effort he and I had begun as a long shot via Facebook message last September after Pa-pa recognized the man's name in a veterans' newsletter.

To make a long story short, the man and his wife answered our message (from me--a name they didn't recognize) several weeks later. Phone calls between the guys followed, and finally the two reunited when the couple took a short detour from their vacation route and stopped to spend the night with us. 

Here's where the convertible comes in--they were driving one. As they prepared to drive off, they put the top down and prepared for a ride toward the Black Hills on a perfect summer day. Zoomie, in particular, was fascinated by the way the car top receded behind the back seat, leaving its occupants to enjoy the open air. He talked about it all day, and that was when I knew, somehow, there would have to be a convertible for his birthday.

We left Zoomie and his family after our birthday lunch together at McDonald's (his choice), but I have been thinking ever since then about him and the things I wish for him as he turns seven and prepares to head into the second grade.

Happy birthday, Zoomie-Zoo. I wish you a great summer of fun. You are riding your bike so well now, and I hope you can put the finishing touches on those swimming lessons. I hope your allergies and asthma improve with the testing and treatments planned for summer. In some ways, you have had to grow up beyond your years, and in others you have hung tenaciously to your role as the "little brother."

In just a few short months, you will no longer be the "baby." Little Pookie (trying out a blog name here) will be the youngest, and for the first time you will be a "big brother." I am sure you will be a good one, and he will learn a lot from you about the sweetness and kindness and gentleness that have always been a part of what you are.

I hope you meet the coming changes bravely, sweet boy, and embrace this transition. This time next year, when you are turning eight, someone else should be about ready to learn just how that blue convertible works.

The Bunion

It is just a matter of bad timing.

Just as I am exhibiting some of the less attractive features of growing older, my grandkids seem to be taking an uncanny interest in my anatomical anomalies. Translation: If something about me looks weird, the kids are anything but shy about pointing it out and demanding explanations.

Several years ago, when Zoomie asked me why I had "witch fingernails," I didn't think much about it. A chronic nail biter through my childhood, teen, and even young adult years, I was proud that my nails (all natural, I might add) had grown to medium-long and were good for gently scratching little backs at bedtime.

It wasn't much different last summer when Pooh seemed to be staring at me with a strange, curious expression. Finally, in a tone of wonder and amazement, he pointed out a "really long hair" growing from my chin. Those stray single hairs, which I like to call "chin wires," are not all that unusual these days.

But during the past week I have been asked if a mole on my collarbone is "a raisin" (honestly, it is nowhere near THAT big) and why there is a "little seed" on my lower lip. This, in case you too are curious, was an especially persistent flax seed from my Uncle Sam breakfast cereal (those little rascals have a mind of their own).

"Why do you eat cereal with seeds?" Bootsie asked, to which I replied, "because it has 10 grams of fiber per serving." This, of course, led to a discussion of the benefits of dietary fiber, a conversation which needs not be repeated here.

Perhaps the most interesting of our recent chats, however, centered on the bunion that protrudes from my right foot.

As you can see, the abnormal and rather unsightly condition of my foot offers tantalizing fodder for conversation. When interrogated, I spilled out the sad story of The Curse of the Narrow Heel. This, I told the kids, often required me to wear shoes that were too narrow for the wider part of my foot in order for them not to slip up and down on my heels. (Shoes with too-big heels, I explained, tended to fall off at inopportune times.)

The fact that my right foot is a little bigger than my left one only compounded the problem, resulting in a bunion that has worsened gradually over the years. The kids seemed satisfied with this explanation--but first they all had to actually touch the bunion to see if I was making all this up. "Poor little bunion," Pooh said, and I considered the subject closed.

That is, until the kids' parents brought them, from the weekend garage sales in our little lake village, a magnetic dart board. In the process of tossing darts and comparing scores, they found that some darts, because of their magnetism, stuck sideways out from the board rather than landing flatly on the face of it.

The kids labeled these errant shots "bunions." "Bunions" in darts, I guess, are kind of like "leaners" in horseshoes; they are not quite "ringers," but they ought to count for something.  Following are some of the "scores" I heard coming from the kids' room during an especially competitive game of darts:

"Twenty points and a bunion."

"Oh, man, I just missed getting a bunion."

"Oh, wow--TWO bunions this time."

"Darn it, I didn't even get a bunion."

"One more bunion, and I would have won."

"I beat you by a bunion."

Most people wish secretly and fervently for something to be named after them. They hope for one thing that will stand out long after they are gone--that one thing that will honor their memory in years to come.

I am so proud to have accomplished this while I am still living. I foresee that, down the line, the game of darts will be forever changed--all because of me and my unsightly right foot. At least, I think that will happen.

To the normal eye, I may appear to be just a Googie with a wire on my chin, a raisin on my collarbone, and a seed on my lip. But as you see here, I am so much more than that. I can only hope the full significance of this will dawn on you the next time you find yourself in a heated game of darts.

Goin' Fishin'

Pa-pa and I have high hopes for the prospect of grandkid fishing. That's partly why, nearly two years ago, we picked up lock, stock, and barrel to relocate our lives half an hour south near Truman Lake.

We had reason to think this was a good idea. Our son Teebo and his boys, Heero and Beenie, were already spending a lot of time at our farm pond in pursuit of the wily schools of bass, which we introduced there as tiny baby fish many years ago. Beenie, particularly, has embraced the fine art of fishing to the point where he enjoys posing with his catch after reeling it in.

He has even learned to cast proficiently and to contemplate the pond bank patiently while waiting for his bobber to first rock and then sink.

With Beenie already hooked (pun intended), Heero not far behind, and the other two grandsons ready to play catch-up, Pa-pa deemed the time right to add this brand new beauty to our fleet:

This way we can introduce the boys (and maybe the two girls as well) to the joys of fishing in the lake for crappie (pronounced "KROP-ee," in case you are not from around these parts), undoubtedly the most delicious fresh-water fish to ever tantalize the taste buds of a human being.

John Lasseter, a Walt Disney filmmaker and executive, expresses concern about the frantic pace at which many kids experience childhood today. "I worry about kids today not having time to build a tree house or ride a bike or go fishing," he says. "I worry that life is getting faster and faster."

Pa-pa and I want to make sure that doesn't happen here at the lake. Since the kids now range in age from five to eleven, we hope to give them the chance to enjoy the recreational opportunities this area offers. We also hope these six keep us young enough to offer this opportunity to any additional grandkids that come along, including the one slated to arrive at the end of September.

We learned just this week that he is a boy--and we sure hope he will like to fish.

The Easter Report

Memo to: "Googie's Attic" Readers
From: Googie
Re: Easter Celebration of April 2019

Number of bunnies spotted: 6

Ages of Bunnies: 5-11
Preliminary Bunny Activity: Hopping

Major Bunny Objective: Egg Hunt
Number of Eggs Hidden: 175 (new record)

Number of Eggs Found: 173

Evidence of Egg Hunt:

Secondary Evidence:

Evaluation of Event (Scale of 1-5): 5+
  
Report Submitted by: Sooby, Pooh, Bootsie, Beenie, Zoomie, and Heero

Long-term Goal: Increase egg supply to 200 for next year in anticipation of new bunny.