An Artist’s View Of The Cown-Tee Fair

I’m calling myself an artist now. I hope that’s not too presumptuous of me. Next thing I know, I’ll be calling myself a photographer!

You can’t go the the fair and not take lots and lots of pictures of the ferris wheel.

The fair was a big thing when I was growing up. The Hartford Fair back home was the place to be every year. Kids love the fair, but for an adult, twice can be one time too many.

 

However, now I look at everything, including county fairs, through the eye of my camera. And suddenly, I was excited, too.

 

Of course, I didn’t go on any rides. I was just content to snap away – and eat some funnel cake. That’s the best!

The Cown-Tee Fair And Elvis

I went to the fair last weekend and I met Elvis.

He said “Come on over at 8 o’clock to the stage and hear me sing, thank you very much.”

 

The girls decided to do some rides instead. Nothing personal Elvis.

 

I believe they thought almost throwing up after a ride was more fun.

 

Again, nothing personal.

 

Besides, there were plenty of other creepy characters to entertain us.

Matt's Place – Proof That God Exists

The golf tournament was to benefit Matt’s Place. It was fun but there is always a story behind everything.

 

Four years ago, a boy named Matt Bertolaccini died tragically. He was accidentally hanged on some play equipment, in his backyard. His mother found him.

Matt’s Place is a foundation that is rooted in that tragedy.

I see his mother, Debbie, all the time. Every time I see her, my heart does a little lurch. It’s not because I feel sorry for her, because she wouldn’t want that. It’s because as a mother; I can imagine what it would be like to have a child die. It’s a fear that every mother lives with. It’s why we startle in the middle of the night and place our hand on our baby’s belly, to make sure they are still breathing. It’s why we have a rush of adrenaline when our five year old wanders off at the grocery store. And it’s why we turn the car keys over to our teenager and hold our breath until we hear the the front door open. And it’s why we live with the thought that we shouldn’t outlive our children, no matter what.

I’m glad the boy and the girl aren’t driving yet.

The boy turned fourteeen this year and I remember the last time I was at a fourteen year old’s birthday; it was at Matt’s own funeral. I remember looking at Matt’s lifeless body in the casket, on his 14th birthday, and his mother over my shoulder, telling me, “He’s having a heck of a birthday party right now in heaven.”

I don’t know why Matt died, but this year, Matt’s Place will be offering after school programs for kids. Kids can go there after school and have a place where they can connect to their community and be safe and be themselves. A mother’s heartache can be channeled into good for her community, a life is taken but perhaps another child can be saved.

If this is not proof that good comes from somewhere, I don’t know what is. If this is not proof that there is purpose for all in this life, I don’t know what is. Why else would Matt have lived and died? Why else are we all here? Fourteen years can be a lifetime to another person.

Debbie knows that God took Matt for a reason but it doesn’t stop her from wanting him here, on earth, in the flesh, where she can hug him – hard. I can’t blame her. Which is why I look at her and am inspired by her smile, her grace, her joie-de-vie, even when I know  the depth of her sadness.

This is how I know.

A Golf Outing

A few weeks ago I was a at a charity golf tournament. I volunteered last year too, and I had so much fun that I was compelled to lend my time again. I took time off from work – though that was not a hard decision.

This year, I was placed on the 5th hole along with my friend Maria. It was the $10,000 hole-in-one par 3 hole and our job was to verify the hole-in-one if it were to ever happen. It really was a very big job, one that required a couple of very mature individuals to handle. After all, it was ten thousand dollars!

After the first couple of groups go by, Maria and I started to realize that NOBODY was going to get the hole-in-one. So we amuse ourselves by talking loudly during the tee off and laughing at golfers’ swings. Only kidding, we were only giggling.

We were also checking out the golf outfits. Terry looks really dapper don’t you think?

There was a duck at our hole and we took a lot of pictures of him.

I also took pictures of trees and stuff, trying to be artistic and all.

I also realized as the day wore on that – lets just put it this way – there was a big variation in the skill levels. Mind you, I wasn’t playing…

The husband was a little rusty. Hadn’t played in oh – six years, but he makes me tea every night – that he’s home. He’s perfect. Moving on.

Anyway, I was talking to the girl on my cell phone when I hear a swish go by my ear, and the word “Fore!” –  in that order. I yelled, “Holy crap, I almost got hit by a ball!” I hear this little voice on the other end say, “Mommy? Are you alright? Did you get hit?”

She’s so sweet, I don’t know why she has a mother like me. I didn’t realize I was taking my life in my hands when I volunteered to do this.

Everyone had a great time, like this guy.

And these guys took the occasion of a golf tournament to smoke the cigars their wives would disapprove of. I hope they aren’t reading this. The guy on the left, worked shift all night then just stayed up to golf. The guy on the right? That’s Pat. He’s a golf pro at one of the other golf courses and he won the $750 putting tournament at the end of this thing. He’s a ringer.

This is Matt. Matt is a really good kid, a golf lover, someone who used to babysit the girl and the boy. He will also kill to win. Look at that form, and that face. I love this kid. He’s going to be President some day.

It was almost the end of the day and I was fooling around, taking pictures of my friend Danny, when…

I hear loud - I mean loud - yells from up the hill. Someone hit a ball that was this far away from the hole. Eighteen inches from $10,000. I almost missed it.

Next year, I may just serve hot dogs at the club house instead.

The End Of The Week 9/26/2008

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s Friday.

The Love Of Her Life

This is Pixie. Ain’t she cute?

This is Fudgie. He needs a shave.

This is Shadrack. Like in the Old Testament.

But for the girl, there’s only one horse.

She has loved Joker for two years. The problem is…Joker is a registered paint pony something or other and she has papers. A horse with papers is a lot of money, and Joker costs many many thousands of dollars.

So I’m taking donations, let me know how much you are willing to contribute.

In the meantime, Joker remains leased and remains the love of her life.

Political Correctness And Shuttlecocks

It’s a shuttlecock. It’s a funny name and in some circles, it has a double meaning. But that’s what it is. So we should call it that, a shuttlecock. Do we really want to live in a world where a shuttlecock can’t be called a shuttlecock? It’s just not right.

Years ago, the husband was stationed in Arizona, teaching kids – yes, kids – how to fly one of the fastest fighters in the world, the F16. While we were there, I got a part-time job as a check out girl at Pier One. While the husband was trying not to get killed by a 20-something student pilot, I was stacking perfumed candles. I worked there for the bennies (I love the store) and I had to get out of the house every once in a while. I had three kids at home, the boy, age 4, the girl, age 2 and the husband, age 38.

My boss was from Thailand, just like me. She and I hit if off right away of course. She did tell me that I couldn’t call her “oriental” because it was no longer politically correct. I said, “OK”. In the recesses of my ever active imagination, I thought, “What?”.

I still don’t get it.

That’s my social commentary for today.

Badminton Anyone?

I had to look up the spelling of badminton. It just doesn’t sound like it’s spelled. Does anyone say badmiNton?

At our not-so-annual Home Owner’s Association picnic, the guys were bored with the chit chat and decided to start a macho game of…badminton.

Badminton’s like canasta or table tennis. No one plays it seriously. Maybe it’s because of the little birdie thing. Except for Neighbor Leigh. I like the intensity in his face.

It just doesn’t have the masculinity of touch football or rugby, the competition of a H-O-R-S-E basketball game, or the dignity of – I can’t think of a dignified picnic game. Neighbor Ted is one of the most competitive people I know. Even in badminton.

Nobody can hit that silly thing anyway. It can make even coordinated athletes like Neighbor Rob look like a dork. Sorry Neighbor Rob.

And it puts people in weird, kick-up-your-heels type positions. Like Neighbor…Neighbor…I don’t know his name. I know that his wife’s name is Tracy and they just had twins, a boy Zachary, 6 pounds, 2 ounces, and a girl Abigail, born 5 pounds 9 ounces. They have two other little blond boys.

But him? Can’t remember his name. Does anyone know his name? His badminton form is outstanding.

Wat Chu Lookin’ At?

Well?

Happy Autumnal Equinox Monday.

An Animal In Its Natural Habitat

I wrestled crabs into my steamer and trust me, it was a feat. Another blog for another day. Then I rushed to for a meeting. Sometimes my days get really crazy. I mean, who wrestles with crabs then goes to a network meeting afterward? I didn’t have time to change so I’m sure I didn’t smell very good. I would have been in a bad mood except that my meeting was with my friend Tim.

I’ve been doing a lot of animal posts lately. I thought I’d show you a real animal in it’s natural habitat.

There are – count them – FIVE computers in front of Tim. He’s a geek to be envied. Tim is some sort of super secret government agent (I gave it away) and in his spare time, he set up and maintains the network system where I work.

He’s a very special guy. No one I know gives of his time as generously as he does. And he has a huge brain.

By the way, he’s sitting at my desk, in my office. The Chinese hand fan and pineapple basket really don’t belong to him.

Next Page »