Small-town living has its interesting quirks.
Wednesday we had several important events planned. First, Captain Oblivious had the first opportunity to tour the junior high, schedule clutched in hand, finding his way around for seven classes and lunch. We all went, as we had a number of errands on the schedule, so his brother and sister also learned all about the school.
The part I found amusing, of course, was who I found in the crowd: a client with her son; a woman I hadn’t seen in years with whom I’d taken women’s spiritual studies, with her twins, also new seventh graders; the children’s old babysitter, who raved over how tall Little Miss had become and how much she could speak, as she guided her own daughter around, also a new student; and a number of other familiar faces.
What was also amazing, was the demonstration of the growth of Little Miss’s intuitive abilities (what? in an autistic child?) as she picked out a man in a shirt and tie and announced he was the principal. She went over and introduced herself, and I was somewhat bemused, as I had no idea she could gather clues like his tie and bearing, and leap to the right conclusion. One point for her, and another for Ditto Boy, who kept her entertained while the Captain finished his final schedule run-through.
Then we went on to the county fair, which is a full 4-H blowout, the largest agricultural fair in the state, where we ran into (as always) countless people we know well or see only occasionally, with their families. With the elections upon us, the political booths were geared up, and we knew people at each. We stopped by the sausage sandwich booth where Nick and his sister Gloria still serve some of the best bit of heaven ever–but without one of our girls working at the booth, as was the case from 1993-2006. (Seriously–five girls went through the years, and each summer, they’d take a sister or friend with them. Nice people. We were happy. They made $250 in a week, just in time to buy school clothes. They were happy. Good all round.)
We’d agreed to split the fair over two days, knowing the capacity for sensory overload, so that day was the exhibits, food and games day. Being horrid, horrid parents, we started the morning with pie–flaky, fabulous, incredible pie handmade by a bunch of Methodist ladies that have been at this, some of them, for over 50 years. Blackberry, elderberry, blueberry crumb and peanut butter cream (OMG! To die for!), we tasted them all and closed our eyes in Bill Cosby-like gourmet delight.
Skipping the opportunity to try the new ultimate fair food, deep-fried peanut butter cookie dough (!!!) we grabbed instead a couple of hoagies, and a big basket of fried vegetables (what?! the children don’t like them?!! darn! we’ll have to eat them all ourselves! happy dance for the Cabana Boy and me!). Then we headed for the Exhibit halls where we admired quilts and honey, Lego constructs and photographs, bunnies and turkeys, wreaths and frilly dresses, and ultimately checked Little Miss’s entry in the youth category of the floral division.
She had planted sunflowers in the spring, an odd color of burgundy, as they turned out, and she dutifully carried her three-stem entry up on Saturday to be included. (Where, oddly enough, she found her classroom teacher checking in homemakers’ exhibits, and we all had a nice talk about the upcoming school year. Still a small world.)
So here’s what she entered:
And here she is with her sixth place ribbon:
So here in a small town, everyone can be Someone, and wherever you go, there they will be, too.