*Slogs in and lies down*
Ugh Mr. Blog. Sick again. Five kids were sick
over at Green Pond elementary Monday.
They were hacking up all over the place. Bleh.
I can only describe the Street Fair as a people zoo.
I was stunned on arrival to park under my old church
to see the back walls of it covered with graffiti
and four homeless people sleeping there.
When our family joined UCC in the 1920s it was fairly new.
When my mom started taking me in 1956,
there was still a strong code of decency in the country.
Young people in the fifties were taught to respect their elders
and love their country.
I moved out of Seattle to Bothell in 1980, when Seattle
got too full and scary for me.
So I hadn't been to the street fair since 1972 when I was fourteen.
It was only one block long then and pretty crowded.
Now it is a bajillion blocks long but you would not
believe the fantastic infrastructure they have designed to
make it work!
It is like each block is its own street fair with staff.
So once I unloaded my stuff and parked I got to my booth
and being sick with the flu made everything seen awful.
The young drunk hanging around my booth was the epitome
of life in much of America.
Healthy, handsome and a waste of life.
Booze should so be eliminated Mr. Blog.
There is not one instance in my fifty-three years
where I have seen booze improve anyone,
especially myself.
If everyone could stop after one or two drinks it would be fine
but that is rarely the case.
So a staffer ran off my drunk
and I got set up
but I had such a headache
I should have just stayed home.
You know how when you don't feel good
everything irritates you?
Right as I finish setting up
I hear a loud, high-pitch warbling of
Yellow Submarine next to my booth.
The pretty thirtyish lady was draped in lovely
hippie drapes including a mesh veil from head to waist.
I would have gladly paid her twenty dollars to NOT SING.
It was like fingers grating on a chalkboard to my ears.
Normally I would have loved that and talked to her
but I was sick as a dog and could barely just sit there.
I also wouldn't have minded the zillion poop machines
that people led around on leashes for two days.
One tiny bug-eyed Boston Terrier did his job
next to my booth and the man
just walked away leaving me to clean up.
The mess was as big as the dog! UGH.
There was very little interest in my driving game
Mr. Blog and a dozen people said they would
buy it but they were jobless and broke, like me.
I notice half of those ladies went to Amy's booth
next door and bought earrings and peacock feather
hair decorations. Amy was honey on feet Mr. Blog.
She was vending solo too so we watched each other's booths
for restroom dashes. I was happy she had lots of sales
and was too sick to even muster jealousy Saturday.
But you know what Mr. Blog?
I saw someone I had been wishing to see since 1967.
I saw a lady my age walking past and she turned at an angle
and I automatically whispered, "Carol."
I thought NO WAY could it be her after all these years Mr. Blog.
She turned and I said, "It's me Carol. Gretchen Lehde."
She ran over and hugged me and it was like we were eleven again.
Right there on that sidewalk in the middle of a million
people, time stood still.
Then it spun backwards.
We were in her basement and we had on our long dresses
and all the little neighborhood kids were sitting
in rows in front of our little stage.
Her sister put the needle to the record
and flipped on the light switch
and we came up singing strong:
"Stop, in the name of love, before you break my heart..."
We WERE the Supremes Mr. Blog!
When we did, "Respect" you should have seen our dance moves.
We had synchronized steps and arm and hand movements
that would have got us on the Ed Sullivan show if
we had ever been discovered. *Smiles at the thought.*
We took a short intermission at the end of our Supremes
set and changed from gowns to polo t-shirts and cut-offs
for a few Beach Boys songs.
We sang all the greatest hits that summer in 1967
and closed every time with what we thought
was a song to inspire little kids by Three Dog Night called,
"One is the Loneliest Number."
Man we poured our little hearts out on that song!
The kids paid two bits each and we wanted repeat
business so we'd constantly work on new dance routines.
We made enough cash to walk to the corner store
on 27th and 65th NE to buy licorice and ice cream bars.
You know what Mr. Blog?
I made $80.00 in two days selling at that fair.
My booth fee was $250.00.
But I would have paid hundreds of dollars to find
Carol Greathouse!
She was as bubbly and effervescent as ever.
When they invented the internet a few years ago
and then Google, I tried to find her.
But I didn't know her married name.
Carol Greathouse Smith.
So now, when I feel better, I can't wait
to go to Everett and find out what the heck she
has been doing since 1967!
Marcia Proctor had warned me to be careful at the fair
and I did see some slightly unsavory-looking characters.
But I like people Mr. Blog.
I really do.
As long as they are nice to me.
Even the tattooed, pierced, mohawked people were
nice to me because I acknowledged them.
That is all most people want Mr. Blog.
To be acknowledged that you think they are valuable
because they are living, breathing people with hearts and souls.
On Sunday I felt a tiny bit better despite the vomit
I had to clean off the back of my tent
and I was SO DELIGHTED
to see Meagan Colella and her sons Chris and Michael.
We had one hundred and one fun scouting adventures together
with our sons. Meagan and I shared an evening of star-gazing
up at Camp Brinkly in 2006 after the little rascals went to sleep
that was one of those priceless moments in time
you wish you could just bottle up
to open when you are blue.
Sean Lettic wanted to hike to the top of the hill
and didn't want to go alone, so we went with him.
It was a warm summer night in July
and the meadow where the boys had field games daily
was deserted.
We laid down right smack dab in the middle of the field
on our backs.
The moon and stars were so bright you could see the
outline of the fir trees surrounding our sloped field.
All of a sudden there was a meteor shower!
We squealed like piglets at a trough with delight.
Well, Sean couldn't squeal because he is a man,
but Meagan and I sure did.
Then, after the meteor shower, there were
random shooting stars and satellites.
It was like the sky had lowered to
right above our faces.
And that was not all that lowered to our faces!
BATS! Huge bats woke up and started dive-bombing
the mosquitoes that were hungrily smelling us!
Meagan and I started screaming our heads off
and we grabbed Sean and yelled,
"Help! Help! Save Us!"
Then he started laughing really really hard
and we all jumped up and ran up to the road.
We ran into some people on the road and something funny happened
but I don't remember what. I'll find out.
So back to the fair Mr. Blog.
I was happy to see Stan Tappe, who was
a young clerk at the Bothell Post Office
when I transferred into there in 1980.
I wanted to say hi to his new wife but he couldn't find her.
I was saved by another scout mom, Joan Hardy,
who went and go me a cup of coffee that made it
possible to get through the last four hours of the fair.
She is like the nicest person in Kenmore.
I have never heard her say one bad word about anyone ever.
Good role model for me.
Then some brothers I knew from subbing at Arrowhead stopped
and recognized me and visited for a bit. That was nice.
So, despite feeling horrible Saturday,
and merely awful Sunday,
I stayed in my cage at the people zoo.
Thousands of people went past
and some looked at me
and others poked me and tried to get me to talk
and others threw peanuts at me.
And I smiled
and gawked back
and talked
and gave them their money's worth
to the best of my ability.
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