Corn Dogs, Cannons, and Cotton Candy

 



My mother, aunt, and uncle grew up in what was technically a suburb but was really the country.  They had cornfields on two sides of their house and a neighbor who raised bantam chickens.  Every year, the township Volunteer Fire Company held a carnival the second or third week of September.  My mother, Aunt Pooh, and Uncle Hank had always gone and years later they would take me and my cousins.

The carnival was held in a large field in back of the firehouse.  A policeman would direct you to a parking spot in the beaten down grass and you hoped the ground wouldn’t be muddy.  As soon as you got out of the car, you could smell the carnival:  pierogies frying, the cotton candy swirling in its machine, the pony ride ponies simply smelling like ponies.

We were all supposed to stay together, which meant that the older ones had to stand around while the younger ones went on the baby rides and the younger cousins had to wait while the others did the flying swings and the house of mirrors.  I’d like to say we did this without complaining, but I know you wouldn’t believe me.  Aunt Pooh had told us stories about children who wandered off from their families and were never seen again.  That scared some of us, but later Jimmy pointed out that maybe the children had run away with the carnival, which didn’t seem so bad.

When it got dark, the strings of lights went on.  Local bands would play on the stage – country music or tributes to whatever rock group was popular.  The younger children would dance, while the older ones stood around and said how corny it was and then went on to talk about how corny the world was.

I liked to wait until it got dark to go on the Ferris wheel.  It seemed braver to go up in the dark and feel you were in the sky yourself in the middle of the stars.

Towards the end of the evening, a man would be shot out of a cannon.  We would spend the ride home talking about whether we would want to do that and arguing whether girls could be human cannon balls.

 

The carnival is still going on, and naturally Ed and I try to take the kids every year.  They sit in the back seat playing video games and asking if we are there yet.  Ed, who can be quite literal at times, says, “No.  We are on the way.  If we were there the car wouldn’t be moving.”

“What if you’re parking the car?  Is that being there?”

Josh had him on that.

“It depends on what you mean by being and what you mean by there.”

But eventually we are there, the car is parked and we are in the middle of the crowds and smells and noise.  The kids are discussing what they are going to eat, but I tell them they should go on the rides first.  They are still the same, including the “sit down ride.”  After Ed took Betsey and Josh on it last year, he had to sit down.  It’s one of their favorite stories, although, as Betsey pointed out, it would have been better if Ed had thrown up.

Then, of course, we have to eat, after we have walked around to see what’s available, so that no one gets stuck with something after they’ve seen something better, stopping at the game booths to try to win stuffed animals or tee shirts or outdated video games.  Cilla wins six stuffed animals at the skill crane, with Betsey and Josh cheering her on as Ed and I hand out the money.  I end up carrying them for the rest of the night.  Fortunately, I have some plastic bags in my pocket that I keep for Duke’s walks.

Finally it is time to go home.  Topics of discussion during the ride home are:

Why do they have only the sucky red candy apples and not the caramel ones?

Why wouldn’t working for a carnival be a good career choice, since you could probably go on the rides for free?  (Because carnival workers don’t have health insurance.)

                                                                  

                                                             

 

Are the ponies being exploited?

How many times did everyone see the ponies go to the bathroom?

Why do we say that animals “go to the bathroom” when they don’t have bathrooms, except, of course, those cats that are trained to use the toilet or cats whose litter boxes are in the bathroom?

Why don’t they shoot people out of cannons any more, or did I make that up?

By the time we get home, Cilla is asleep and even Betsey and Josh are rubbing their eyes.  Ed leads Cilla upstairs and tucks her in with her new stuffed animals. 

I give Betsey and Josh some cocoa and then herd them up the stairs. 

“Do you think they might shoot somebody out of a cannon next year?” Josh asks.

“Do you think they might have caramel apples?” Betsey wonders.

 

 

 

Memories Monday -- Catholic -- With Everything

Cilla’s friend Veronica invited her to go to “Mass” with her.  I thought it would be educational, and one thing I learned from the Unitarians was "Never pass up a chance to learn something."  Cilla came home talking about the incense (which smelled “neat”), the bells, and the “beauty-full outfits” the priests wore.  Unfortunately for Cilla, who likes as much pageantry as possible, our Episcopal church is “Low,” which can be described as “beautiful in its simplicity,” “no nonsense” or “dreary and boring.”

When she asked if she could go the next week, I said, “If it’s not inconvenient for Veronica’s family.”  I doubted that it would be.  How much trouble is it to save a soul from eternal damnation? 

The next week she came home all excited because Veronica’s mother had given her a dollar and she’d lit a candle and made a wish. “You’re supposed to say a prayer,” I said.  Then a thought occurred to me.  “Was there a statue by the candles?”

“Oh, yes, Mary.  Veronica said we call her ‘the Blessed Virgin Mother.’”  Ed started coughing.  It’s too bad he wasn’t drinking anything at the time; it would have been a wonderful sitcom moment.  I always thought I was broad minded, but I suddenly understood how parents could have their children kidnapped from cults.

I almost told her to say a prayer at the Jesus statue next time, but I didn’t want to put the idea of a next time in her head.  I needn’t have worried.  “Can I have a dollar for next week?”

Ed gave her two.  “Here’s one for Veronica.”

I was glad Betsey and Josh weren’t around, or we would have had to give them money, too.

 

 

Memories Monday -- A Test of Faith or Something

I never really liked being a Unitarian.  The church didn’t have candles or statues or stained glass windows.   The minister and choir didn’t even wear robes.  In Sunday School we talked about helping other people (boring), taking care of the earth (depressing), and ending war (terrifying).  The potluck dinners were nice, though.

At home we had a tree and stockings for me and the dog and cat at Christmas, but when I wanted to get a manger scene, my mother said, “We don’t do that.”  The church had a Christmas Eve service and sang carols, but it was more like a hootenanny.

Julie, my college roommate, was the daughter of an Episcopal priest and when I went home with her one weekend, of course she had to go to church and I went with her.  I was fascinated.  Back at school, I started going to the Episcopal church.  Everyone was very nice and the church ladies made a big fuss over me, which I ate up. (My mother was not a fusser).  I got to know Father Bill and his family and by the next visit by the Bishop I’d been baptized and was ready to be confirmed.
My parents didn’t come to either service because I didn’t tell them.  By that time I was dating Ed and he gave me a beautiful cross and took me out for a fancy lunch.

When my parents found out, my father snorted about “a ridiculous phase.”  My mother told her Unitarian friends that she was too embarrassed to tell my grandparents and they told her that at least it was only “intellectual drugs” and not the illegal kind.    I wrote in my diary that I “identified” with all those Christians who had been “persecuted for their faith.”  (What can I say?  I was nineteen.)

So I always said I would never give the children a hard time if they weren’t happy with the Episcopal Church.

Then Cilla decided she wanted to be a Catholic.

 

 

They're back!

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Meet the McDonalds has been on hiatus.  Charlie and the gang went to Disney World.  I went to the hospital with a broken hip.  Everyone is home now.  The McDonalds are back to the routine of work, school, after school, church,  and Girls' Night In.  I have developed a new routine, for the time being, consisting of reading, therapy, and Law and Order Special Victims Unit, Friends, and Sex and the City on television.



Memories Monday -- It's that time again!

Right in the middle of the wedding planning, it was time for Back to School, the unofficial holiday between the Fourth of July and Halloween. There were paper leaves and cardboard school bells and apples all over the stores and back to school ads on TV, with kids dancing and singing as if new clothes and backpacks made up for losing their freedom.  They do help, of course.
I got Ed to take care of Josh; I knew he would get everything done quickly and efficiently.  So we went in separate cars, a jolly caravan of consumers.

Shopping with two girls is one of those experiences that “challenge you to grow,” as my mother used to say when I complained about having to do something.  I tell the children to “offer it up.”  And I was given a lot to offer.

Cilla and her friends have decided that “if it isn’t pink, they’re not wearing it.”  And on the first day, everything had to be totally pink.  After that they would condescend to wear contrasting pants or skirts.

Betsey told me I was “spoiling her” and looked superior until I reminded her of the year she and her friends wore purple all day every day; even their pajamas had to be purple.

I shouldn’t have said anything because Cilla decided that she needed pink pajamas and wanted to call her friends right now, please, please, please so they could get some too.

I told her we would get the pajamas now, but she’d have to wait until we got home to call her friends.

Betsey was a little easier, since she doesn’t have a bust or interest in boys yet.  She needed five pairs of jeans, a variety of tops, some with sayings I didn’t understand, but which she assured me weren’t naughty, and some sweaters for me to nag her to take with her, even if she didn’t wear them, because it could get chilly.

All around us mothers were squabbling with daughters and exchanging eye rolls.  It was a real sisterhood moment.

The girls wanted to stop at McDonald’s to celebrate their haul, but I told them that it wouldn’t be fair to Daddy and Josh, but we’d have pizza tonight.

On the way out of the mall, we stopped at the bulk candy store for the first candy corn and pumpkins of the season.

I said a prayer of thanksgiving that the girls didn’t see the McDonald’s wrappers in the trash when we got home.  Fortunately, Josh forgot to wave his Happy Meal monster in their faces.

Sometimes you get a break.

Memories Monday -- Hard Drinking Detectives

It’s been a year since Margaret was murdered.  There have been a few leads, but nothing has really happened.  I’ve been looking at the staff pictures in old yearbooks to see if anyone looked like William Powell or Anthony Hopkins, who were her favorite actors (See Move Over, Miss Marple, August 4, 2013),  but I haven’t  had much luck. 

Karen has been talking to the old ladies at the Methodist church.  “I asked them if Margaret had grown up in the church, and they said she came about twenty years ago.  They said she was ‘a very nice girl,’ but Marian, who is the biggest gossip, said that there was always something about her that you couldn’t put your finger on.  That could have her imagination after the fact, but I kind of doubt it.  Those old ladies are shrewd.”

Nikki snorted.  “Do they think you’re a nice girl?”

“Well, I am,” Karen said and took another sip of wine.  “Of course, Methodists don’t drink.”

“Are you going to quit drinking or quit the church?  The Episcopalians don’t have a problem with it.”

“No, I just won’t let them see me.  If I left, I’d feel like those spies who make friends with people they’re spying on when they really don’t like them and may end up killing them.  It wouldn’t be honest.”

I didn’t point out that maybe not letting people see you drink wasn’t honest.  I’d had two glasses of wine already and I didn’t think I could argue logically.

“Well,” Nikki said, “I stopped in at the liquor store in her neighborhood.  I didn’t expect anything, but the woman and I got to talking about what kind of wine to get, and I mentioned that I was going to have a dinner party, but it would be a little sad, because just a year ago, my friend Margaret had been murdered.”

I was impressed. “That’s really creative.”

“Thank you.  So the lady said, ‘Oh, yes, she used to come in here.  Very nice lady, but quiet.’  I asked her what she liked.  I guess as one of her friends I should have known, but she didn’t notice.  She said she liked wine and she sometimes got scotch.”

“So . . . “ I said, “she got that for her friend, so it probably was a man.  Women don’t like scotch.”  I felt relieved, since I don’t like scotch.

“You never know,” Nikki said.  “Maybe Lesbians aren’t so wussy.  But at least you’re in the clear.”

“Why don’t you ask Janet and Kate if any of their friends drink scotch?”

I sighed.  “You know, Karen,  every gay person in the world does not know every other gay person in the world or even in history.  Gay people get that all the time.”  I felt very worldly, and I threw in “And they find it very annoying,” even though I didn’t know that for sure.

“You’re lucky that she told you.  Liquor store clerks may have to sign confidentiality pledges.”

Then Karen got an idea.  “Maybe we could go to a Lesbian bar and get to talking.  Maybe someone might know Margaret.”

“First of all,” I said, “I don’t where any Lesbian bars are.  And second, I don’t think we could pass.  They might think . . . I don’t know what they’d think, but it wouldn’t be a nice thing to do.”

Nikki snorted again.  “Listen to you, the big sophisticated liberal.  You’re just afraid someone would hit on you.”

“No, I’m not!  I would just say I was in a relationship and change the subject.”

“Maybe you’re afraid no one would hit on you, and you’d feel rejected.”

By that time we had to go look for another box of Girl Scout cookies and some more Valentine candy, so I didn’t have to answer.  I was relieved about that, too.

Memories Monday -- Strategy Session

I always dread the end of the Christmas season, when things are going to go back to normal, except that the weather is terrible.   But a few days after Epiphany, when it seems like Christmas had never happened, I feel relieved.  I always think things will slow down and I can relax a little.  Once in a while, things are quiet for a day or so.

Karen and Nikki and I got together to see if we’d made any progress in our investigations.  They had tried to get in touch with Margaret with a Ouija board on Halloween.  “The candle acted really weird. The flame kept going up and down.  But that’s about all.  I think the problem was that she didn’t know us.  She probably would have talked to you.”

I am afraid of Ouija boards.  I read that they are a gateway for evil spirits.  Karen and Nikki think that’s crazy, but I don’t think they have any room to talk.

Nikki had not had much luck with the stores in Margaret’s neighborhood.  “You really can’t strike up a casual conversation with someone and say, ‘By the way, did Margaret Edwards ever come in here and what did she buy?  And who do you think whacked her?’  Maybe I should have said I was a cop.”

“You could have gotten arrested.” I’m glad she hadn’t.  Ed would have had a fit if I had had to bail her out.

Karen had had some luck.  She was getting to know people at the Methodist church.  “I’m still getting the feel of the place.  I mostly know the Sunday School moms and they weren’t buddies with Margaret.  I’ve got to cultivate the old ladies.”

“Offer to help at Coffee Hour,” Nikki advised. “Next month it’ll be a year since she died.  You could bring it up.  Find out who the biggest gossip is.  And don’t forget the old guys.  They’d be thrilled to have you pay attention to them.  Have any of them hit on you?”

“Nikki, what do you think goes on in churches?”

“The same things that go on everywhere else.”

When I thought it over, I saw she was right.