She lived at 57 Burnham Way her entire life. Old Hattie Jones. She was a kind person, a good wife, and a loving mother. She and Gilbert had nine children together in their lifetimes.

Hattie never asked for anything in all her days. She just constantly cared for others… and gave and gave and gave. She had a heart of gold. But now she was growing older. Gilbert died five years ago, and the kids were all grown. She still had some church friends and neighbors, of course. But nowadays, she mostly liked to sit on the porch steps and read fashion magazines.

You see…. Hattie was surprisingly fit. Even though she was a stoutly woman, her daily hard work and chores kept her strong and hearty. Her life long dream was to be a model in a fashion ad.

So one day, late in life, Ol’ Hatters was on the front porch watering the basil plants.  All of a sudden a bright flash of greenish-blue light bellowed from the sky. As Hattie blinked her eyes to regain her vision, she saw before her a woman in a long gown… which was very sparkly and made of silver. She wore a tiara on her head and held a wand with a star on top.

Hattie exclaimed, “Well, what the holy crap?”

“I am your Fairy Godmother. And because you have been such a kind and loving woman your entire life, I will grant you ANY wish your heart desires,” said the rotund little old lady before her.

Hattie’s lifelong desire for high fashion took hold. Just yesterday, she had just seen an ad for Nickel’s Hosiery in the Good Housekeeping Magazine. Oh…how she would love to own a pair of stockings… just like the models and famous movie actresses. That was her wish. Yes, a pair of Nickel’s Hosiery… the kind with the seam that runs down the back of the leg.  It wasn’t much… but that is all she wanted.

The next morning, Hattie awoke with a rush of excitement. Today she was to get her wish. As she lopped out of bed…. so did her breasts. Much to her shock and bewilderment, Hattie’s boobs were NOW sagging well below her waist. She was stunned. Mortified.

She exclaimed again, “Well, what the holy crap?”

The Fairy Godmother appeared before her.

“Hattie, what’s the matter, my child? Are you not happy with your wish?

“Heaven’s NO! Hattie exclaimed. I wanted some hosiery to wear… the kind made by the Nickel’s Company….”

“Oh my.” The Fairy Woman sighed. “I thought you said you wanted a pair of Nipples on your Knees.”

People change. They do. I think it has largely to do with perspective. What may have seemed important, or daunting, or incredibly impending…. may not really look that way any longer. Yes.  Things evolve.  People adjust.  I think I have even changed a lot in my life time.

One little for-instance: Not so long ago, I did not like to fly. I did not like to be high up in the sky. Sometimes I would cry.  Sometimes I would sigh.  But only if I had to fly up in the sky. (I was sounding a little Dr. Seuss-ish there….. and it turned out to be a whole bunch of fun….so I ran with it.)

But back to the point. I used to be terrified of flying. Petrified. Then one day. Presto. Change-o. No more fear of flying. (Not sure what snapped, crackled, or popped there….but it did.)

Now I have to say I really like to fly (in airplanes). Sitting by the window is best. I love to look out… far and wide… over the clouds.  And  from there, I can glance about, from time to time, and see all the little houses, and all the tiny roads with mini-cars inching down them ever so slowly. I imagine the little people that must be in those itsy-bitsy places, and wonder about their little lives. From up high, in the wild blue yonder, everything underneath seems very small and terribly insignificant.  Miniscule.

Which further reminds me… that for the most part…… it really is insubstantial compared to the greater scheme of things. When we are down here on the ground, everything seems very large, and right in our midst. But up there, where you are floating, soaring, moving through the air at 600 miles per hour, nothing on the ground seems that big or important. Not one thing…..  ……. .. …..

Except for landing, of course.

I like water. It is a pretty astonishing entity. Some kind of an amazing gift, really.

H20. That is two hydrogen atoms, and one oxygen atom…. stuck together in a perfect way. Molecular weight…. 18. All the time.

Of course, there are three states:  solid… liquid… or gas.

I like to drink it, shower in it, swim in it…. skate on it, catch it on my tongue when it falls out of clouds, listen to it, look at it. Even smell it.

Water has the ability to make things live and grow. It also has the power to do just the opposite. This liquid fills our squirt guns, and flushes our toilets.  And then there is the coffee.

In German it is called wasser. Spanish… de ague. Hungarians call it viz.

Water is beautiful in many forms. Baby drool. Dew on plants. Mist at the bottom of a waterfall.

And water can do a lot more…. I mean….

You can lead a horse to water, but I am told it is the dickens to get that animal to drink.
There also seems to be a problem with parents throwing their babies out with the bathwater. Are they just not paying attention?
Things can be dead in the water. There are also bridges that go right over troubled waters. There is a Waterloo. But not a Water Louis.

I have been told on WAY more than one occasion… that I am in hot water. And speaking of which…. there is also Holy Water.

Do you know how do you get Holy Water……. Boil the Hell out of it.

And with that, it seems that I am running out of all things water.
That would be a clear indication that I am high and dry.

Yet, I feel as if the glass is half-full.

It is a small world, after all.

And here we are, in a desperate Global Financial Situation. Things are crumbling all around us. That’s what the media is reporting, and the experts too.

Yes, the World Economy is on a bit of a roller coaster ride, as they say.

I’ve never been very crazy about roller coaster rides. In fact, I can’t stand them. I bet I’ve traveled on a roller coaster… at an amusement park, that is…. maybe….. four times in my life. Tops. I don’t mind the going-down-fast part… but it is the old ratcheting up slowly, the anticipation of horrible things to come…. that I can’t stand. Same with log rides. But those log rides are infinitely worse….. because your underwear gets wet, and stays that uncomfortable-way for the better part of the amusement-park-day.

So when you scootch on up next to Penelope Pitstop, to see if you are tall enough to drive the race cars (on rails that can’t go anywhere regardless of how tall you are)… Yes…. When you put your tallest back up next to ol’ Penelope, or Dudley DoRight, or whomever…. those undies are still soaked from the dag-gone log ride. You can’t stand your tallest with damp skivvies. So you miss out on driving the race car, by 3/4 of an inch. Tops.

And that bites. You have to head on over to Hanna Barbara Land, and ride one of the lame sing-song-story-book ordeals. Or worse yet….you are forced to get on the little motorboat rides that go around in circles. You don’t have to be taller than anyone to get on those. But you are now in the company of eight-year-olds. You are mortified.

May as well pack it in and go get a box of salt water taffy. But dang it…. your drawers are still wet from the dumb old log ride. No appetite for anything… in fact… you are starting to get chills. Even if it IS 84 degrees outside. Your clothes are wet. Right down to the booty.

It stinks being ten, I’ll tell… Yep. It smacks.

So you grow up…… vow never to waste money at amusement parks.  You save it and put it away… and then…. invest. Dabble in the stocks…hey…..things are good. You buy a house, and a real boat. You even buy a race car. HA! That will show YOU Penelope.

Then the Dow drops out. You lose your shirt. Actually, you are completely soaking wet…. all washed up… right down to your skivvies.

Yes, it seems that the world economy is on a bit of a roller coaster ride.  Perhaps, we all should have spent our money at Coney Island, or Disney World. At least we would have gotten some Salt Water Taffy out of the deal.

It’s hard being fifty.

They say there is nothing new under the sun.

Tonight, I think it is true.  Because the sun isn’t up right now.  So, to that I say:  Nighty-Night Sun.

Sleep tight….

And it is off to bed I go.  New discoveries to be had tomorrow…..

“The beginning of knowledge is the discovery of something we do not understand.”
– Frank Hubert

Today, I couldn’t help but to think of the little fella in the white suit on Fantasy Island. I don’t know his real name. I think… on the island… they called him Tattoo. Little Tattoo would yell… “Da Plane! Da Plane!”

Well, that was me today. Yelling at…. “da plane, da plane.” Except for I may have added some choice expletives.

However, I had to be careful. Call me superstitious….. but I didn’t want to curse too much at the broken plane that would ultimately be carrying us 25,000 feet up into the air. Those sorts of things come back to bite you on the ankles. So… not an excessive amount of ill wishes for the aforementioned broken-down-sorry-ass-plane.

What should have been a hop, skip, and a jump down to the Towne named for Charles II, King of England….. turned out to be an all day affair.

On our connector, the plane decided it was time for a technical difficulty. The nice lady from US Airways told us they were going to take it up in the air for some kind of a test run, and then we would know more. A few hours later, the thing gets back from its “test run”….. (I am highly suspicious of this little jaunt…) I mean, Charleston was just a 30 minute flight…. why not load us up and test run the thing down that-a-way?

I know…. I know. Better safe than sorry. But haven’t you ever had the inclination to be a test pilot? Fly fast, fly brave. Well….I’ve had such a propensity . And today was my nearest chance. At any rate…. they brought Da Plane back to the gate, and began to work on it…. right there for God and everyone else to see. Now things are getting long. People are stacking up in the waiting area. Folks are getting downright irritable.

So the Airplane Mechanics make there way out to the problem-plane. They hoist themselves up to the engine area, and start tinkering away.

At that point, I think it is a great idea to yell out….“What the heck? Does that guy have a big tube of Super Glue? Oh my gosh! Hey….LOOK at THAT…. is that duct tape? Tell me…. he is NOT using duct tape on that thing…..” All of this, with my nose and palms pressed against the window glass… peering out toward the tarmac.

I thought it was just what we needed to break the despondency at Gate E24. Heads turned. Nerves crackled audibly. And then the glaring poison-dart-glances began to come my way. Dolefully, I slumped off to Burger King and got a Whopper. I felt slightly better after. (Mayonnaise has great healing properties.)

We eventually boarded that limp-biscuit plane. And, it got us here. A new appreciation for the phrase…”Better Late Than Never.” So just like ol’ Ricardo Montalban, and his little sidekick Tattoo, that young Pilot and Co-pilot had their white suits on…. and made my wishes come true. Back safe and sound…. to Home……. Sweet, Sweet, Home. On Da Plane.

Oh, you may think these “happenings” at the County Fair are all fun and games… but I can assure you… they are NOT.

What ensued here was nothing short of malevolent and ruthless.

Here’s how it went down.

The little girl with the pink slushy-in-hand, was walking along the fairway, looking for a place to sit down….. and take care of that icy delight once and for all. Let us call her Edna. But hold the phone. In her path… was another young slushy-lover and this one was sporting some brawny wheels.  I think we should call her Bernice.

Well, here’s the deal Both Edna and Bernice were styling in Magenta Outfits. Not only would this be enough for a showdown on any fairway, but NOW, a fruity-flavored-icy of the same very color, was added to the mix.  Those two were locked in a stare-down from 30 paces out.

The real trouble started when Edna dangled the cup in Bernice’s direction as they were passing.  So Bernice nudged Edna with her elbow…. right from her stroller.  Edna swung around to give Bernice a glaring look of disdain.  Bernice’s stroller bar hit the icy.  The cup launched into the air like a NASA rocket.  The styrofoam vessle toppled high into the air, swirling, flying, then tumbling, falling… until it finally came to rest on the sizzling hot pavement.  Melting. Melting.  Melting.

Not pretty.  Nope.   In fact… this is about as ugly as it gets.

Tears ensued. Then name calling, and oh my goodness…. the insults. Those little girls were swearing like drunken sailors.

Security was called. They were both cuffed and removed from the grounds. It took eight grown men to get Bernice out’ there…. seven to contain Edna.

Yes, another big day at the fair. It isn’t all rainbows, glitter, and fairy dust. Oh no.

Some times, it gets absolutely down and dirty.

And by the way… I am pretty sure these little fellas aren’t Milk Duds either……

Dear Polly,
Very funny. Last night, my husband wrote in to you here and asked you to quit writing about your stupid fair. We really don’t care to hear any more about it any more. Why don’t you just get back to the normal stuff?

Really bored,
Perry’s Wife Judy
Houston, TX

Dear Perry’s Wife,

I was wondering if Perry was married or not! Have you ever seen the movie “Arthur”? (The old-school version… with Dudley Moore and Liza Minnelli?) If you haven’t.. find it on NetFlix… and give it a watch. Hilarious. But one of the funniest scenes is when he meets Perry… and subsequently… Perry’s wife. Arthur stammers about sputtering….. “Don’t you just hate Perry’s wife?”

I’m just saying.

Well, here’s the thing about he fair. Not only do you meet the nicest people there… you also bump into the nicest animals.

In one day, I talked to several horses, cows, chickens, a few pigs… and then later in the day… I met up with a whole bunch of goats. There had to be at least a herd and a half there. (I bumped into them.  Thankfully…. they didn’t bump in to me!)

I think goats are snappy. Maybe the coolest of all the farm animals. (This… an amateurish opinion from someone who has never farmed a day in her life.) But goats got style.  Yes, that is for sure.  Flair. Panache. Gusto.

One of the nicest ones I met on this day was named Casper.
Yep. Casper the Friendly Goat.

He talked almost non-stop. Bleated, really. Did you know they can weigh anywhere from 22 to 220 pounds depending on the breed? And that some goats faint? They won’t eat just anything… that is an old wives’ tale. Goats like clean food. (Me too!) Casper told me that goats live between 10 and 12 years mostly. But his Aunt Franny lived to the ripe old age of 16.

Yes, Casper talked and talked. It was all very interesting. But the fact of the matter is…. it’s kind of hard to have a conversation with any goat. Why? Because they are always butting in.

Really gets my goat, I’ll tell you.

But… enough about those old farm animals.  Except that….Little lambs eat ivy.  A kid’ll eat ivy too……wouldn’t you?

Tonight, I will try to write something different than my observations from the fair.

Here goes.

“Something different than my observations from the fair”

(Hey…..tell Perry I said hello….  Perry’s wife.)

Dear Polly,
Enough about the fair. Write about something else. We’ve heard enough.

Bored senseless,
Perry, Houston, TX

Dear Senseless Perry,

Thanks for writing.  And because you took the time to do so……. tonight Perry…. I will try NOT to write about the Preble County Fair.

But you will never guess what I saw today? A first place onion. Honest to goodness.  That got me thinking about some things.

Many of you know I am a self-confessed City Girl. Well, as it turns out, I am learning a great deal each time I go to the aforementioned fair.

For instance… today… I found out about a meteorite that crashed into Preble County. I don’t know the exact year, but I am guessing it was the early 1900s from the ages of the folks in the story. People saw it crash through the trees, and then hit the ground. These are the sort of things that interest me.

Then I learned about the shortage of lamb meat in the United States. There must be an increase of Gyro consumption. Perhaps a huge influx of Greek immigrants? Who knows, really.

I met a couple that has been coming to the Fair together every year since they’ve been married. They met at the Demolition Derby about 25 years ago. Yep. The Demolition Derby…for the first date. Thankfully, the marriage is still working out.

Before today, I only knew of the Model A Ford, and of course the Model T. I didn’t realize there were models in-between. But apparently, there was a B, C, D… and on. I just read online, about a Model S. Who knew?  You just don’t hear about them like you do the Model A and the Model T. Yet, this was another tidbit I learned today at the fair.

One thing has been bothering me all day though. And that is the little first place onion. City Girl that I am…. I cannot find out what exactly “makes” a Champion onion. I scoured the Fair Book. I looked high and low. I studied those little onions… sniffed them, poked them, eyed them closely.  I even asked around . Nothing.

I know my onions:  yellow, white, green, vidalia, and such.   I’ve eaten a boat load of onions in my life. I’ve even cried over onions.  But in all my days, I never saw one with a blue ribbon pinned on its chest.  Is it some kind of Champion swimmer, or something?   I guess I just wouldn’t be able to give ONE single onion a ribbon for being the best.

And there you have it… I will not discuss the fair at all tonight.   I will just write about flying rocks, Greek Immigration, true love, Ford Motor Company, and root vegetables.

Perry…. thanks.  I bet others are tired of hearing about this old Fair too.  Good thing we are going to peel right by it tonight.

You may have noticed a reoccurring theme the past couple of days.  (It is likely to continue for at least a couple more…..)

For you see…..  finally…. at long last….. it happened today.

The much anticipated, highly acclaimed, and “fried-everything-good” Preble County Fair arrived in town today.

Tickets were purchased. Crowds crowded in. Judges judged. Singers sang. And marching bands played. People spent dough on things fried in hot oil.

Children rode rides.  Quilts were hung. Balloons broke free from very small hands. Pickles were battered and thrown into vats of hot oil.

Ribbons were pinned on chests and on pies. Cows were bathed. Sheep wool met sheers.  Plastic rings sailed toward seas of bottles.  And doughs were dusted with powdered confections after emerging from drums of hot oil.

Goldfish dodged ping pong balls. Merry-Go-Round horses bobbed up and down. Races were raced.  Winners rejoiced and losers lamented. Oreos were dipped in dough, and plopped into tubs of hot oil.

Yes.  Come one and come all…. step right up …..to the fairest of fairs…. right here in Preble County.

The World Famous Preble County Fair. Since 1850.   I can only imagine what it must have been like back then… but I have a sneaky feeling they didn’t have nearly as many things fried in hot oil….  Just a guess.