T to J: If only I had something to say

Oh how I'd like to tell you about the trip to Kansas this past weekend, to visit Dave's grandmother and her husband. The sights, sounds, ex-life insurance salesman salesmanship. The heat, photos, passive-aggressive remarks, tidbits of genuinely interesting family history hidden in the mists. The dog who lives outside.

But I can't, because for one thing I just don't seem to want to write anything. I'm too lazy and all I want to do is read. And 2, I'm hauling ass to get my work done because we leave on vacation Saturday morning.

We went sheepherding today. I got bitten by a bee or something. Shannon put meat tenderizer on it and it feels much better.

Checklist item #10: Mentally alert (try reading).

Oh, one thing: I just got an email for "Red Lobster versus Olive Garden!" As I deleted it, I thought of the old Quisp versus Quake thing from my childhood. Did you guys have Quisp and Quake?

--T.

J to T: All Bran and the Indiana State Fair

ALL BRAN?? ARE YOU CRAZY? I'm glad I got home when I did.

So is that why I'm a smelly bloated mess or should I blame the milkshake I enjoyed at the Dairy Bar at the fair this afternoon? M. and I were both unhappy with our milk-filled bellies for awhile after our shakes, so maybe there's something to the dairy-allergy theory.

We saw big pigs, some really big horses, some bunnies, some sheep (woolly and shaved), some chicks, and a lot of people of all sizes. There was a stand renting those therapeutic electric scooters for the elderly and morbidly obese, so we saw a lot of really large people suffering from road rage as they tried to maneuver through the crowds. But, here's the best thing I saw:

We stopped at the Clarian Health Dance stage. For the whole duration of the fair different dancers demonstrate their artform--belly-dancers, cloggers, Irish dancers, square dancers, urban line dancers, you name it. I always enjoy it quite a bit. Well, today we were there for the last 20 minutes of square dancing. That was pretty good, but even better, I knew the man serving as the caller.

George works in the produce section of our little market, LoBill's (cuz your grocery bill will be, yes, low. It's owned by Marsh.). He's an old guy who when asked how he is will reliably reply, "Fine as frog hair." I love him. And there he was running the show. Introducing people, passing out his card, singing "Ring of Fire" along with a little 45 record, interspersing lyrics with square dancing commands. I teared up. It was so beautiful. The dancers were all happy to be dancing for their audience. The ladies skirts were swinging out and around. (Did you know they wear little lacey pantaloons under their layers of puffy slips?) The men wore shirts or ties that matched their partners' dresses. George was looking proud in his big turquoise ring, bright western shirt, black boots, and stylishly pommaded hair. Despite all the trouble in the world, the swapping, the internet porn, the rotten kids next door, these folks had found one another and were dancing at the Indiana State Fair. And no one laughed.

J.

P.S.
It would have been weird to give Donna the gift card. She'd either think you wanted to swap or she'd never tell you when she broke something for fear that you might think she was hinting. Flowers were good.