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 the head-spinning.
My sis, Suzy hopped in the back of our electric blue Ford Pinto. Being the not-so-old married people, Lonny
and I had stepped up to this modern day classic. Sue could care less how we got to the fair;
she just wanted to have fun, celebrating her freedom from the high school
walls.
Meeting up with other friends, the sounds of the midway hawkers called
and lured us to waste our money trying to win the elusive over-stuffed neon
pink elephant that nobody really wanted, but that wasn’t the point. We threw change at the weighted pins to be
knocked down, ping pong balls to land in fish bowls and darts tossed at
balloons, all to attain useless, tacky prizes.
in-tox-i-cat-ing: exhilarating, exciting
Tiring of such a trivial pursuit, we were seduced by the whizzing,
whirling, intoxicating pull of the Scrambler, Octopus, Giant Swings and Tea
Cups. Like most temptations, appearances
are deceptive. We took the bait,
undaunted by the potential outcome.
Conquering what the first few rides hurled at us, we were
invincible. Emerging before our very eyes
was the demure cups and saucers. What
could they possibly hold in comparison to our other crippling mastery? Be careful what you think, smugness happens
before tumbling in the torrents.
Taking our seats, we buckled up under the watchful eye of the wizened
carny. I think he might have secretly
chuckled under his breath. Starting
slowly, the cups gently pirouetted around in diminutive circles, gradually
picking up speed. My husband has never
been one to leave well enough alone, so he grasped the wheel in the middle of
the teacup and began turning it feverishly.
We were in a frenzied out-of-control collision course; our heads and
stomachs turned inside out with every frantic rotation. I remember thinking that I would be
catapulted out of the enclosure of my cup, and even prayed it might happen, but
I was strapped in for the duration.
Time without end passed. The pert
ride floated to a stop, but not our tousled brains and bellies. Had I only known, I might have chosen the
kegger at the caves.
This adventure took place just a few years ago – oh, well actually quite
a few since it was the summer of 1978 – and I haven’t totally given up on carny
rides. Ferris wheels and roller coasters
would be my carnival addiction, that and corn-on-the-cob dripping with melted
butter.
I’ve been on some pretty outrageous roller coasters, including the one
on top of the Stratosphere in Las Vegas, but my beyond compare faves are the
old, kind of rickety wooden structures that climb, creeping slowly to the top
only to plummet to the bottom with a certain sway and swagger…and, oh yeah, you
have to keep your eyes open and hands raised as high as you can, while screaming
at the top of your lungs.
That, my friends is what summer is all about!
Missy
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still laughing..loved it..nothing like small town central Oregon
ReplyDeleteSmall towns do have their charm! I still can't even think about looking at any ride that spins!
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