Vivaldi or the Po Po?

The older I get the more I think about the past. I think a lot about going back in time to a certain point or event in my life. Most people I know wish they could go back and change things, and I guess I have my share of things that could be changed, too. Although for the most part I know that my hard-headed self would probably do things exactly the same way the second time around, too. So why bother.

No, most of my wishful thinking at 40-something years of age is just that I wish I could go back and relive some of the best moments of my youth. Look like I looked in high school or college, and just feel young and invincible again. Just to feel that feeling like I am going to live forever, no worries about wrinkles or growing old or dying. No problem with insecurity or depression or caring what people thought. That excitement of the first date with someone, or the highs and lows of your first love. No fears that each day could be the last I see my parents. No regrets over paths not taken because all the paths lie before me. All the choices have yet to be made.

I spent Saturday morning with photographer-friend Amy, assisting her in taking senior pictures for what will be our class of 2011. What an inspiring, depressing, fun, and eye-opening time that was. Not having children of my own I miss out on being around kids that age. For the most part, they are surprisingly mature and impressively confident. The 60 or so who came into the studio Saturday morning were well behaved ( I think they were more sleepy but what-evs) and I very much enjoyed watching the camaraderie that existed between them, especially the boys. They were required to wear a tie, jacket and dress shirt and I was surprised to find that the majority of them didn't own jacket or tie, much less know how to tie one. Sad, just sad. Woe be unto our casual society. So my den-mother instinct kicked in and I color co-ordinated them, tied ties for them, fixed collars, and changed jackets until they all looked presentable. I wanted to fix hair on some of them, but restrained myself. Some of the hairstyles on these boys, I just don't get it, but then my generation started the mohawk, so ....

The shocking thing was that they actually listened to me and let me dress them up like so many barbie dolls. I don't want to admit this, but it was like I had some kind of authority over them. Like I was a mom or something. Yikes. Such power "real" adults with their own kids must wield. And I got called ma'am way too many times for my liking, although it is a testament to the parents teaching manners here in my town. Even more interesting, I saw at least 5 kids who looked eerily familiar and discovered that they were the children of people I had gone to school with. There were probably more than that who went unrecognized. How are we old enough to have 18-year-olds? I refuse to believe it. Heck, I guess we are old enough to have 25 year olds, but I am not telling.

When you don't have children you are sometimes afforded the luxury of not having to admit how old you really are. Actually, you can almost always avoid it, but the fact remains that time continues to go forward and when you get the smack down from reality it hurts. Extra bad. It makes you wonder where your life went. It makes you crave the optimism and excitement from your youth. It makes you want to relive your best and sometimes even worst times, just to keep from forgetting them. It makes you question the choices you've made and wonder "How did I end up here?" (no, not the childless choice, more life/career/the road not taken) Being faced with that much youth really makes you think about being older. I just wanted to tell them to be daring, always take chances, and never stop searching for what you really want. You all deserve the best out of life, don't stop until you get there.

And, as is normal in the paradox of my life, I enjoyed a completely different experience Saturday evening as we drove to a neighboring county and attended demolition derby and lawnmower derby. It was way more redneck than ours was, and that's saying a lot. At the beginning of the evening our other friend Amy Dee (aka Peaches, who lives in said county) assured us that she had gotten us seats near the "fight zone" and couldn't wait for one to break out so she could turn on her "Po-Po" app and watch the crowd scatter. I was mildly disappointed when no one was arrested but we were treated to a huge fight on the opposite set of bleachers. This experience was only heightened by the fact that Peaches knew people involved in the fight and we actually had front row seats as two of the participants (and their girlfriends of course) told her friends their side of the story, then fled hoping to evade police. How fun!

Please keep in mind that my choices for entertainment this evening were to either go to a local winery  to hear music and have a picnic on the grass or attend demolition derby. And I truly had a hard time choosing. My life...

My Big Fat Redneck Weekend

This past week was the County Fair here in our small town. Pretty much it is JUST as I remember it being when I was in high school, except for the fact that it costs a lot more to get in nowadays. (Still a relative bargain at $10 though)

Hubby wanted to go to the tractor pull on Friday night, but I opted out of that one. As he is so kind to point out he is a farm boy and I grew up in the city. I mean, the first part of my life we lived in the country and had horses, dogs, cats, a few chickens etc. but pretty much since I was 12 I have been a "townie". So, I let him attend without me. Besides, aren't tractor pulls kind of a guy thing?

However, on Saturday? Demolition Derby time! I am so all over that. I guess it is the alter-ego of my normally peace loving self, but I just love me some violent sports and activities. Football (hit 'im hit 'im hit'im!!!!), ice hockey (only good when a fight breaks out), roller derby (best on flat track and sitting in the "danger zone" where you might get hit by a girl sliding across the floor), love them all. But demolition derby? Well. I have loved that ever since Fonzie and Pinky Tuscadero took to the field way back in the 70's.

Oh, thank goodness she was OK in the end. What was she thinking not wearing a helmet? I so wanted a little pink halter top and white short-shorts like she wore. But I digress. *I HEART YOU, PINKY!*

So, it's probably just the redneck in me, but I had to go to the demolition derby. And boy was it redneck, let me tell you. However, for me just sitting and people watching was well worth the $10 admission fee. The derby itself was just a sideshow bonus. There were people wearing outfits the likes of which I had never seen. Women sans bra who should never go without. Men who hadn't showered in...the last decade. And more tattoos than at a biker convention. Not that there's anything wrong with that! 

Prime example of what not to wear seen here!

Now, I am trying to be healthy so I decided I would eat before I left the house, leaving hubs to wander the myriad of fair food and return with 2 giant corn dogs. I nibbled on an apple and drank water while those around me brought back funnel cakes, shaved ice, chili cheese fries (actually the only thing that tempted me) and cotton candy. We just had the best time sitting in the stands and being entertained by hoi polloi walking below us. Because, apparently, when you get all "dressed up" and come out to the fair, you want as many people to see you as possible. That is why when you put on a tight, skimpy tank dress, and you're about 8 months pregnant, you want to walk back and forth in front of the stands about 12 times an hour for three or four hours. When you weigh 250 and decide to wear a tube top and cutoff Daisy Dukes you want to stand at the fence in front of the crowd and smoke your cigarettes and let your kids run wild where everyone can see. When you're a white boy rapper wannabee you wear your shorts down around your butt and a muscle shirt with your cap bill to the side and strut through with your sad little posse as much as possible to ensure maximum exposure.

The best part came when the local Police showed up, obviously scanning the crowd for someone. I smacked hubby on the arm saying "watch this, some shit is about to go down". Sure enough, they soon pulled a girl from the crowd and she put on a show! She was about 90 pounds with long stringy hair and was fighting with all her might to keep from having those handcuffs put on her. She grabbed one of the officers by the forearm and just about threw him on the ground. Then, it was on! The other officer took her from the other side and all hell broke loose. It was awesome! She was kicking and fighting for all she was worth. I thought at the time that she was just a young girl, but when the police finally got her under control and they walked her out I could see that she was much older than her size and clothing might imply.

the offender dragged away still fighting.

The funniest thing is that this whole event barely caused a ripple in the crowd. I guess I was the only one amused, having never had a family member dragged away by the cops in a crowd full of people. Moments later the police were back to handcuff and take away a man this time, who put up no fight at all. Very anti-climactic.

The derby was awesome, and the car I picked as my favorite (an old boxy 70's era station wagon type thing) actually ended up being the winner. And the best part? The driver's name was Cleveland. How awesome is that? I love it.

After the car derby, there was, yes, a LAWNMOWER Demolition derby. Now play-it-safe Marsha was really worried about how the drivers would remain unharmed on lawnmowers, but actually no one got hurt, although 2 of the lawnmowers did tip over on the drivers. 

The best part of this was the comment that came from the redneck guy behind us when the lawnmowers pulled out onto the field. In a slow drawl he said "awww, ya'll this is redneck as shiiut." I had to laugh.

I think we'll go to another lawnmower derby in a couple of weeks.