Keeping a tradition alive is something we try and take seriously in our family. There are so many "new" distractions in our lives, that we often don't take time to remind ourselves of things that are "sacred", or at least predictable, comforting, to be looked forward to. In that vein, we shamelessly plunked down our 1s and 0s to enjoy some carny carnality at the Washington County Fair.
Growing up in SoCal, we spent many a summer day at the "World's Largest County Fair". And, being from a rather agrarian locale, it was not uncommon or "zoolike" to see barn after barn of domestic livestock, crafts, and "country living" minutia. The Washington County Fair is a stipped down cross between a country fair and an organized shakedown, in that everything on display is fair-like, and priced like a movie theater soda. Ride tickets are 50 cents each, which harkens back to "the good ol' days", until one steps up to the first ride and is rudely reminded it's a down economy in Aught-8.
Di cleverly decided that, in this year's rendition of the fair visit, we would be better prepared for the financial assault, but add a new twist to the mix: get tickets for the Mo
nster Truck show. I'm already a little embarrassed to say that going to the Fair is akin to purposely subjecting oneself to a baser class of local compatriots (red necks, white trash, insert-your-favorite-stereotype), embarrassed because I look down upon my fellow fair-attending minions while still thoroughly enjoying a Polish dog (while costing more than my last car payment, was heavenly), monster trucks, and, well, going to the fair. I'm an agrarian red neck at heart, I suppose, though I don't often remind myself of my roots.
The boys thoroughly enjoyed the rides, simple and expensive though the parents knew them to be. We arrived well after lunch time, and saved dinner costs by packing in sandwiches, Doritos, and juice boxes. Instead, we shovelled our money into the show tickets, blew out our eardrums on decibel levels that would make an airport runway sound like the library in a monestary with a vow of silence, and marvelled in another year's duty to tradition squared away.
nster Truck show. I'm already a little embarrassed to say that going to the Fair is akin to purposely subjecting oneself to a baser class of local compatriots (red necks, white trash, insert-your-favorite-stereotype), embarrassed because I look down upon my fellow fair-attending minions while still thoroughly enjoying a Polish dog (while costing more than my last car payment, was heavenly), monster trucks, and, well, going to the fair. I'm an agrarian red neck at heart, I suppose, though I don't often remind myself of my roots.
The boys thoroughly enjoyed the rides, simple and expensive though the parents knew them to be. We arrived well after lunch time, and saved dinner costs by packing in sandwiches, Doritos, and juice boxes. Instead, we shovelled our money into the show tickets, blew out our eardrums on decibel levels that would make an airport runway sound like the library in a monestary with a vow of silence, and marvelled in another year's duty to tradition squared away.
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