Living in a small town in Central Oregon means everyone knows every body's business. You either love that people poke their noses where they might not belong, or you move to the city to get lost in the masses of people trudging like lemmings. I lived that rural life until the early ‘90s. June brought warmer weather; the much anticipated graduation ceremonies and a circuit carnival so there would be something to do, other than driving out to the caves for the kegger-rage. Having walked the ceremony a few years earlier, it was now my sister who had a turn at the pomp and circumstances. After the procession and speeches that drawled on, the family gathered at the local buffet and posed for the requisite photos with the diploma proudly displayed. Anxious to be done, we escaped to the carnival with its sparkling lights, tinkling music, midway rip-off games and the gloriously fast, twisting, topsy-turvy rides. When you’re 18-ish you can still survive...