Parade (Throwback)

Still one of my favorite blog posts. I wrote it my first year as a blogger, and I love it because it paints me as I wish I’d been in high school–the cool chick who did her own thing during the big parade. Instead, I was a band geek afraid to rebel. Oh, to have a few do overs.

https://nananoyz5forme.com/2015/07/26/parade/

Parade

She sat on the tailgate
of an old green Ford,
her narrow denim clad hips
wedged between an Igloo cooler
and a box of faded red rags.
Scuffed boots swinging.

The whoop whoop of a siren
heralded the coming display
of a starched color guard,
eliciting a respectful salute,
grandparents demonstrating
flag etiquette for the young.

Then came beauty queens smiling,
perching precariously on the
pinnacle of a tissue paper
decorated semi-trailer in gowns
of taffeta, satin, and lace.
Tiaras glittering in the sun.

She waved at those high school
princesses, pulling funny
faces to make them laugh.
That was her talent, after all.
Hardly anyone took her
seriously as the parade passed.

Marching bands from rival
schools vied for favor
as the sun heated the summer
Texas day; twirlers in spangled
shorts tossing batons inspired
ooohs and ahhs from the crowd.

Reaching inside the battered
Igloo, she dug deep, found an
icy cold Schlitz and disguised
it with a red rag. The Baptists
sitting at the curb on either
side would cluck if they knew.

A string of politicians came next,
esconced in the finest vehicles
the local car dealers could offer;
bright smiles plastered on their
faces as their well-coifed wives
wilted in the climbing heat.

Following close behind came tykes
wobbling on bikes, spokes decorated,
festooned with ribbons and crepe
paper and baskets overflowing
with flags or stuffed animals. She
called out each name as they passed.

Finishing her beer, she craned her
neck to see tractors and combines in
John Deere green compete with those of
International Harvester red in a show of
the latest in agricultural technology.
The parade’s low point, she thought.

At last she heard the clip clopping of
hooves on the WPA bricked street and the
bright clanging of a bell, as the old cowpoke,
Zeke, sang out. Smiling she popped the top
on another Schlitz, hopped down from the
rusty tailgate, and joined the parade.

Mayhaw Festival

I’m a big fan of festivals. All festivals. I don’t care what’s being celebrated or honored or paraded, if there’s a festival within easy driving distance I’m there. After all, every festival needs a queen. I’d love to be queen.

This past Saturday while Studly was playing golf I drove about 35 miles east to the Mayhaw Festival held at Golden Acres ranch just outside of Monticello, Florida.  I had no idea what a Mayhaw was, but it sounded vaguely Southern so I couldn’t wait to see what this festival was all about. 


In my excitement I failed to check event times and arrived just about the same time that the various exhibitors were setting up. Oops. I wandered around and visited with folks, but there wasn’t a lot going on. 

However, the morning weather was absolutely gorgeous without the heavy humidity and heat that would set in later in the morning. Maybe early was better after all. My chances of being named Queen increased significantly with me being one of the few women present. 
  

This gorgeous rooster and I kind of bonded. He followed me around like a little lamb. But My name isn’t Mary and he was no lamb. I think he wanted me to join his harem. I respectfully declined. I did ask him if I could be Queen of the Mayhaw Festival. He just said, “cockahahaha!”

  
This baby Pygmy goat was three weeks old. Her name was Daisy and she was a big hit with the few children in attendance. When I asked Daisy what my chances of being named Mayhaw Queen were she said, “baaaaaad” 

 
I bought a couple of items. On the left is a jar of salsa. I’m opening it tonight. On the right is a jar of Mayhaw jelly. I asked what a Mayhaw was before making my purchase, after all I’m not a complete idiot. Mayhaws are small red berries that resemble cranberries. The sample taste was pleasant–tart and rich. 

  
As festivals go this one was pretty laid back. Maybe if I’d stuck around the activity might have increased. But, the temps were headed up into the 90’s on Saturday, and I’m such a delicate little flower that I headed home for a nice long (three hour!) nap.

Festivals are common in this area during the spring and summer, and I’ve started looking for one to attend next weekend. I’d really like one willing to name me Queen over the proceedings. I’d ride in the parade in a lovely   gown of fuschia or purple or lime green and wave at all the little people.

Peace, little people!