Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful Boy

Just sharing this little wonder with everyone! His name is Rhett Hamilton Lindley, and he’s a little more than 5 weeks old. He was born 11/3/11 to my dear stepdaughter Rachel and her husband Chase. Jeff and I are planning to visit them and meet him before the new year gets too old. He’s just the cutest little guy!

Boomers in the Balcony

Playing catch up again… but I DO want to talk about the wonderful weekend of music we enjoyed at the beginning of November. On Friday, November 5, Jeff, Dan, and I met after work for some nosh and a concert by one of our favorites, Richard Thompson, at The Vic. He was touring, supporting his new offering Dream Attic. He’s such a fine performer, and he had such a wonderful band backing him—tight and loose at the same time, if that makes any sense.

Thompson is in his early 60s, so, as you might imagine, a goodly portion of his audience fits into that particular boomeresque demographic, although his appeal is pretty wide. There were a lot of younger folk down on the floor of the Vic. We, however, were in the balcony. And almost everyone up there with us was ~ahem~ of a certain age. When we took our seats (which were fabulous—such a great view of all the performers), I was kind of surprised at how old everyone up in the balcony looked. All that gray hair! I mean, this was a rock and roll show! And then, of course, it dawned on me. I have gray hair! Jeff has gray hair! Dan has gray hair! We fit right in! Har!

Now, a word about the Vic. It’s an old theater—a former vaudeville house—and if you go there to see a show, you will find that there is only seating in the balcony. The entire main floor is standing room. One of the major reasons, no doubt, that all us gray-hairs high-tailed it to the upper reaches of the house. I’ve spent many a rock show on my feet, dancing and grooving with the best of them. But I think—alas! —that those days may be gone!

Even Thompson noticed the differing demographics of the auditorium.

Well, even we oldsters could appreciate the marvelous and varied show—all two-sets-and-encore’s worth. The first set was from the new CD. The second was a “greatest hits,” although he did only one of the three songs we hoped we’d hear. That one was “Wall of Death,” a classic. The other two—“Keep Your Distance” and “I Misunderstood”—are personal favorites, but, well… can’t have everything you want! His rafter-shaking version of “Tear-Stained Letter” nearly brought the house down.

The next evening saw the three of us noshing again before yet another concert—this time it was Jake Shimabukuro at the Old Town School of Folk Music. Once again, we were seated in the balcony, although there really is not a bad seat in the auditorium of the Old Town School. Intimate room, great acoustics, excellent sightlines. The opening act, Boulder Acoustic Society, were very engaging. I ended up buying a couple of their CDs. Jake, though. OMG. What a uke player. A virtuoso. What a strum! There were times when he was strumming so quickly that his hand was a blur. He played a number of pieces in a host of styles, including his justly famous rendition of “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” and he treated us to some sneak peeks at his new CD, out in January, I believe. Among those were also a couple of covers—a simple and simply beautiful rendition of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” and a comprehensive and amusing version of “Bohemian Rhapsody” for solo ukulele.

I left this concert knowing that I could never, ever hope to attain that level of virtuosity on the uke or on any instrument, but I was determined to try to lose my uke pick. He played without one, so I figured that must be the best method. And after all, when I first started playing guitar, I never used a pick. My first guitar was a classical guitar with nylon strings, and I always just strummed chords with my thumb or picked arpeggios with my fingers. I have, however, reconsidered this conviction. The way I play uke, it sounds much more lively and crisp if I use a pick. And so I will do so, from now on!

It HAS been a while, hasn't it?

I guess updates are in order…

First off, my mom has recovered completely. She’s back to her feisty old self (which is not nearly as old as her 92 years would seem to indicate). Once she was treated for the UTI, she came back to herself very quickly. That said, having my brother living back in the old homestead with her has been an adjustment for both of them. I think it’s still in the working-the-bugs-out stage, and I hope they can learn to live together in relative respect and harmony. Fingers crossed.

As to the rest of the last few months? Well, it hasn’t been a bed of roses, but it IS looking up. Maybe replacing my lost Ganesh keychain with another, more garish image of Ganesh has resulted in the removal of some recent obstacles, or maybe it’s just the passage of time and the swells and troughs of life, but I’m in a hopeful place right now.

Despite a very shaky employment situation, I remain employed (for now) and Jeff has a contract gig that will last through the end of the year. We can take some nice deep breaths and do our best to plan ahead.

We’ve made some home improvements, both planned (our lovely new balcony railing, which has made the balcony an actual living space after all these years) and unplanned (a clogged and leaking pipe that ended up setting us back by four grand… yep, four GRAND). But here’s the balcony:

And I’m making yet another attempt at getting into better shape, which includes workouts on our new cross trainer (lordy, but is that thing big—and we chose that one specifically because it was “space-efficient,” sigh) and restarting my on-again-off-again running program. I realize that I will need new running shoes in the very near future.

Jeff and I are still practicing our jigs and reels and tin-pan-alley stuff every night, and we’re tossing what is in the process of becoming a novel outline back and forth, each adding something and shepherding it along…

So that’s where things stand now: who knows what the future will bring? It’s been such a crazy year on all fronts that I have given up trying to figure out what comes next. There’s a certain calmness and strength to taking life as it comes, isn’t there?

Still... I’m still hoping to snorkel off the Big Island sometime before I get too old to stay afloat!

And I'm really going to try to keep this blog updated a *tad* more often!

Road Trip!

Ah. Lovely Waynesboro, Virginia. And what better time to drive there from Chicago than late September?

Jeff and I have made this trip many times, and only once in the past have we stopped overnight either to or from. That was many years ago when Jeff came down with pneumonia and the drive back to Chicago was just too tiring for the both of us to attempt in one day. This time, though, we decided to take a couple days to drive down to Virginia and a couple days to drive back. Take our time. Slow down a bit and enjoy the scenery. So we did.

On the way down, we stopped for the night at Carter Caves State Resort Park in eastern Kentucky. There are two caves open to the public there (and many more on park land--most of them used to be open to cavers with permits, but the white-nose syndrome has become such a threat to local bats that such excursions have been halted for now): Cascade Cave and X Cave. We arrived in time to tour the latter. It was a small but interesting cave, formed when the bore holes of two streams met, forming an X, literally. One of the passages is highly decorated, and the other is very sparse and spartan. I wish I had photos to show, but alas! I discovered all too late that I had left my data card at home, and the gift shop did not carry them. Sigh.

At any rate, here's a set of photos I found on flickr:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/dandeeshots/sets/72157617560136344/

Many thanks to DanDee!

It was a rainy, rainy night, but the lodge was comfortable and boasted a decent restaurant.

The next morning dawned foggily, and I worried that the mist would interfere with my morning driving plans, but by the time we reached Charleston and left the interstate for U.S. 60, most of the fog had burned off. At first I didn't think much of the scenery of this "scenic drive." The road hugged a river, the opposite bank of which sported mills and shacks and, well, lots of the accouterments one associates with Appalachia... and not in a good way. But as the road veered away from the river and climbed higher into the hills, the scenery improved. And the frequency of hairpin turns increased. Finally, we got to Hawks Nest, a lofty perch overlooking the New River Gorge. Of course, no photos--still hadn't found a data card--but well worth the detour.

We had hoped to be able to check out the Mystery Hole, which is located along highway 60 near Hawks Nest, but alas! It was closed! But here's the beauty part: When I got to Waynesboro, my BFF Barb presented me with a lovely sweatshirt from there! Yea! At least I have the appropriate apparel should I ever be lucky enough to pass that way again and find the attraction up and running.

We rolled into Waynesboro in plenty of time to take Mom to dinner.

The highlight of the weekend was a gathering of Fools to eat pizza and attend the production of Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street featuring the incomparable Barbara Spilman Lawson as Mrs. Lovett. It was an accomplished production, with the leads (Brian Holsopple played Sweeney Todd) bringing performances that would have been welcome on any major stage in the world. It was great to spend a bit of time with old friends and see a wonderful, creepy play in the bargain.

We were a bit early for the full fall color display, but we did manage to catch a few glimpses of what was in store for the valley a few weeks on:



Jeff and I strolled around the old neighborhood and down to the park, where we discovered that the old boat ramp was returning to its natural state and hosting a few ducks to boot.



And of course we enjoyed Sunday brunch in Staunton with Mom and brother John. We went to the Clocktower, where they prepared our omelets to order. Tasty. We rolled out of there more than satisfied.



We headed back to Chicago on Tuesday, breaking for the night at Batesville, Indiana, where we ate at the historic Sherman House. Good German food to be had here!

We got home in the early afternoon on Wednesday, weary and ready to rest from the road. For a while. Only for a while.

Sunday in Andersonville with Jeff

Sunday was such a lovely day that we figured we should do something, walk somewhere, you know. Make a Sunday of it. We decided to stroll around Andersonville.

Andersonville, for those who aren’t familiar with Chicago’s North Side neighborhoods, is an area surrounding Clark Street, its business heart, from around 5000 N to 5700 N or so. The local Web site says it goes all the way north to Elmdale (which is 6000 N), but we used to live on Elmdale, and I would put that street very firmly in Edgewater. But enough geographical quibbling.

Since it was such a nice day, we decided to park in our old neighborhood, on Norwood, the next street north from our old Elmdale digs. The parking is more available on that street. At any rate, we parked and hoofed it south to Andersonville.

On the way, we passed through our old neighborhood, taking in the changes and drinking in nostalgia for the places that hadn’t changed. We passed by Senn High School, a massive building that we used to joke conjured up visions of Soviet municipal architecture. But somehow, it looked much more inviting than it used to. Did they plant more trees on the expansive grounds? I don’t know, but it didn’t look nearly as forbidding as it once did.

We hit Clark at Balmoral and proceeded south along the east side of the street. Our first stop was the Kopi Café, a neighborhood fixture. That strip of Clark has gone through many changes in the last few years—it retains its eclectic nature, but it now has a Starbucks and a few other coffee houses, and I worried that the Kopi Café might be overwhelmed by the competition. I shouldn’t have bitten my nails over it. It was just the same as ever, with great, fresh food and superlative coffee. They still have the little boutique in the back, and I bought a turquoise sundress—on sale!

From there, we strolled down the street, checking into dress shops (poor Jeff!) and antique shops, and a great ephemera store called Foursided where I bought a couple of cool retro tile coasters—on sale!

I don’t recall the name of the antique shop we poked around in--it was on the west side of the street—but it was a good old-fashioned junk shop with merchandise piled chock-a-block throughout the store. Jeff spied a Royal manual typewriter, the very model of which he had used for years in his youth. There was a VERY cool library card catalog that we both coveted, but since we were on foot… Ah well. There was also a skeery stuffed and mounted goat head, which could be had for a mere $48. But one must ask oneself, why on Earth would someone want to stuff and mount a goat head? It’s not as if it were some kind of wild game a hunter would be proud of bagging. Maybe it was a family pet? A superlative milk giver? A top-notch can nibbler? Who knows? Anyway, it had a yellow straw Easter bonnet perched on its head. Yeah.

On the way back to the car, we strolled down Berwyn, where one of the most baroque, eccentric graystones in the city is located. That place is so cool to look at. I wonder what it’s like inside. Although if this thread is to be taken seriously, maybe this book is better not judged by its cover.

We walked back toward our car along the shaded blocks of Glenwood, amidst the sun dappling down on the two-flats and the shouting of joyful sports fans filtering out of the open windows. Something amazing must have happened, but we forgot to check and see what it was by the time we returned home. We chuckled at a Statue of Liberty lawn sprinkler along our route—I wish we had one!

We turned west on Elmdale to take a turn by our old building—the first place we shared together in Chicago. It still looks nice—a modest but well-kept courtyard building. We proceeded north to Norwood and east to our car, passing one of my favorite houses along the way. In the midst of two-story, foursquare homes, this little brick bungalow always captured my heart on my runs around the neighborhood. One day as I ran past, I saw the family whose home it was having a picnic in the front yard on blanket, and a cuter little family you could never hope to find. I’m ashamed to say that my gut reaction to that was deep and nasty envy: how come THEY get to have such a cute little house??? No fair!! The negative and visceral nature of my response upset and shamed me. Then I came back to reality: what better folks to live in and love that home? And love it they (or whoever lives there now, if not them) clearly do—the place is neat as a pin and sports a lovely garden in the front and in the side yards. On Sunday, under bright blue skies, that made me smile.

Dinner Disaster Deftly Dodged!

Not every Thanksgiving celebration goes smoothly. There was that first year we hosted after we purchased our condo... we blew a fuse, but we didn't realize it until I went to baste the turkey and found the oven was not as hot as it might be. (Until we had the kitchen renovated, there was not enough power coming into the kitchen, and if you ran the microwave and the coffeemaker and the range at the same time, oops! And sometimes it just blew for no discernible reason. But there were no lights on that particular circuit, so it was sometimes hard to tell when it had blown.) No problem... we just flipped the fuse switch, turned the heat up a bit, and finished cooking the turkey. Dinner was just a tad later than usual and no harm done.

Then the oven temperature started to waver. That made for some years when the bird was done sooner, and some when it was done later. We always rolled with the punches.

But this year, we faced an unforeseen problem that threatened to derail the whole thing: a putrid bird.

The stuffing was all mixed and ready when I hauled our fresh (or so I thought) bird into the sink and started to remove its plastic casing. I had just lifted the sheathing and slid in the knife point, making that first inroad toward the bird itself, when the odor of rotting fowl wafted up to my horrified nose. Not a scent one wants to encounter at any point in one's life, but triply so late on Thanksgiving morning, when one knows that the chances of finding a fresh turkey in what few supermarkets are open will be slim to none.

Sigh.

Nevertheless, Jeff volunteered to go on a turkey hunt 'round the nearby stores.

Of course, no fresh turkey. But they did have fresh turkey breasts at Dominicks. And some barbecued turkey wings. That's good enough in a pinch, and there were only four of us to feed. And anyway, most people just eat the breast anyway. And the wings, if they are good and crispy.

Thank goodness the turkey breast was, indeed, fresh. And it made a nice feast for our little band of Thanksgivers.

Now, although I know it was the turkey and not our new fridge (the fridge having that great digital temperature monitor on the door), I'm not purchasing a fresh bird anymore. I'm buying a frozen fowl and thawing it out. I think it's unlikely that such a bird would from its plastic cocoon smelling to high heaven.

Fall Foliage and More

A couple of weeks ago Jeff and I took a brief road trip down to Waynesboro, VA to visit my mom and our pals there and to take in the glorious local Fall Foliage Festival. If you've been following this blog for more than a year, you know this is an annual pilgrimage for me, but Jeff hadn't been down to Virginia for this weekend for eleven years. It just never worked out, vacation-wise, for him. But this year--yea!

We started the festival off at the pancake breakfast, served in the social hall of Main Street Methodist Church. What memories that room has, as it was the venue for many a Junior Girls Choir practice. That's where I met Barb and Susan (aka, Chibby), who were to become my fast friends through the vicissitudes of junior high school, and beyond. And this year the pancake breakfast proved to be a reunion of sorts, with Susan and Laura--a fellow former Young Fool, now a psychologist--providing some of the entertainment.


That's Laura on the left, Susan on the right. They sang folky duets, including an old Girl Scout camp fave, "Walk, Shepherdess, Walk." I'd forgotten the song completely until they began singing it, and every word came back.

Barb met us there, and Susan's mom joined our merry band as well--we were the fun table.

That's my mom, of course, mugging for the camera.

After the breakfast, we headed down Main Street hill to the legendary art show.

There, at the fabulous Ed Brownlee booth, we met up with Beth and Cortney to check out the ceramics.



And check them out, we did:


Barb found a couple of kindred spirits and spirited them home with her.


Jeff and I each bought our own ceramic jar. Mine has insane bunnies on it, as you can see:


And Jeff's has a sad ghost.


It didn't take long for us to walk off our pancakes and sausage among the many booths of photography, ceramics, pottery, watercolors, glassware... and I really should have taken a picture of the guitar-playin' dude in the purple suit. He had flowing curly blond locks that he threw back in ecstasy as he strummed, his long teeth bared in the rictus of what can only be called orgasmic pleasure. Or pride. Or pain? But anyway, before we knew it, we were lining up for some fried rice.


Alas, we did not partake of the sacred funnel cake at this festival, but it was available had we wanted to. As always, Barb, this snap's for you:


Notice the shorts on the dame in the picture above? Everyone was dressed for summer. It was well into the 70s--maybe even 80 degrees. As I noted last year, that seemed way too warm for early October in the Shenandoah Valley. In fact, I have a picture of myself about 20 years ago at the FFF, and I'm wearing a sweatshirt, jeans, and a thick corduroy jacket. And a hat! Times have changed, or at least, the climate has. Everyone was in shirtsleeves, including Beth, who also seems to have a spindle sticking out of her cranium.

In reality, it is the steeple of the aforementioned Main Street Methodist Church.

There were other, more troubling changes to the Big W... for example, I found this sign to be rather disconcerting for a returning ex-pat:


Yikes!

Well, the bulk of the fall foliage pictures (and there ARE more than the mere teaser at the top of this post) will have to wait for the next entry.

Time to get some shut-eye. I'll have more tomorrow or the next day...

Lucky 13!

Thirteen years ago Jeff and I went down into Grand Caverns as single persons and emerged a married couple. I know, I know. It's so kitsch to get married in a cave. Except it was just perfect for us. Outside on that early August evening it was 95 degrees with probably 95% humidity. Inside the cave, a nice, cool 60 degrees or so. Maybe even fewer. The candlelit limestone ballroom deep beneath the rolling hills of the Shenandoah Valley was beautiful, and the music reverberated through the chamber as if it were written to be played there.

And here we are, thirteen years later, happy and healthy and hoping for many, many more years together.

A bit of trivia. Although it appears that the photographer captured a moment of starry-eyed, lovey-dovey eye-making in this snap, the reality is that Jeff has just told me that the air conditioning in our car made a squealing sound and died just as he drove off to the cave. My smile is in transition towards a very worried look indeed!

Here are a few more pictures of the festivities:

We danced...

we dined (although I don't have a picture of us scarfing down pizza, which was what we served (it's a long story...)

and we drank the evening away.

Then we headed off to ride go-karts and face the happily ever after.



Oh--and for the big finish? We went to dinner tonight at Prairie Moon up in Evanston (lovely spot--great wine, excellent food!), and as fate would have it, we headed home in the midst of a raging thunderstorm, complete with tornado warning! Yes! Warning. None of your wimpy watches for us. We actually found a parking spot on our block, and we sat for a moment or two waiting for the deluge to abate. Then, in the middle of a particularly flashy lightning display, we realized that the car we were sheltering in was parked right under a big tree. We hauled it (I mean, our own keisters, not the car) down the block and into the building, but not before we got DRENCHED. Ah well, at least the run helped us digest all that great food...

Fall at the Farmers' Market

Even though it's 80+ degrees outside, it's still officially autumn, and--alas!--in only a few more weeks the Evanston Farmers' Market will be but a memory. Until next spring, that is.

This summer we have been almost religious about including the farmers' market in our round of Saturday errands. We try to get as much of our produce there as possible. It's all very fresh, reasonably priced, and delicious.

This year, our biggest discovery has been the fingerling potatoes:



These are about the yummiest potatoes I've ever tasted, thanks to Jeff's deft culinary abilities.

First, he carefully selects the spuds:



As you can see, there are several varieties available.

Then he chops them up, sprinkles some salt and a healthy dose of Old World Central Street spice blend from the Spice House on them, and fries them up in some canola oil. Heaven!

Now that we've gotten hooked on these buttery and wondrous taters, we were a bit worried about how we'd get through the winter without them. However, we are happy to report that our local Jewel has them--for more than those at the market, and not as fresh, certainly, but they have them! Yea!--so we will not have to forego them. Ever. Whew.

For now, we're just availing ourselves of the autumn harvest and basking in the sunshine...

A Little Slice o' Roadside Cheeze!

Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes! I grew up a mere couple of hours from this place--it was there all along--and yet only last week did I walk through the portals of Dinosaur Land!

Airfares to Charlottesville, Shendandoah Valley Airport, Richmond, Roanoke, Lynchburg--anyplace less than a hundred miles away from Waynesboro, basically--being obscene, Jeff and I opted to fly into Dulles and rent a car. Since our return flight was not until after 8:00 p.m., we decided to take the scenic route up the valley (via U.S. 11, mostly), which included time to stop and tour this mecca of roadside dino-parks.



From the moment you enter the gift shop and ticket emporium, you know you have hit paydirt. The gift shop is huge (three rooms, one is enormous), and chock full of souvenirs in the grand old tradition of roadside attractions of yore. Take it from a tourist trap aficionada, it's hard to find a good cheezy souvenir shop nowadays. At any rate, this one had all the goods, from a whole counter of cedar plaques (mostly of wolves, eagles, and Jesus),



to an impressive array of fireworks



and, of course, all things dino, and sauro, and thera, and... you get the picture.

For a mere five bucks apiece, you can tour the grounds, which contain a host of creatures, very few of which ever trod this Earth together. What a treat!

The entrance, through the gaping maw of a fiberglass tree face, extends a warning:



Right inside the enclosure, you come across an octopus with the eyes of a cartoon... and its little pal.



Right next to that is a skeery shark... why, it's literally a fish out of water! (That's a recurring theme, folks... stay tuned!)



Near the start of the dino trail, we came upon Dimetrodon, which, as Jeff was quick to point out, is not really a dinosaur (despite what the nearby info plaque said). It is a pelycosaur--a mammal-like reptile. And no, I'm not a compendium of knowledge of dinos. Jeff is, though, kinda, so I'm depending on him for the skinny on these creatures.



I don't know what this guy is, but he certainly looks pissed off. I think I will call him Scowlosaurus.



Old Scowlface was followed in short order by this contented fellow (or gal... how do you tell the gender of a dinosaur?).



If you are wondering why this terrifying tableau of nature red in tooth and claw is not garnering Jeff's attention,



it is because he can't take his eyes off this stunning example of instant-onset rigor-mortis.



Of course, Dinosaur Land also shows the tenderer side of the saurian world with several touching scenes such as this:



Cute little tyke, huh?

Then there is the Mosasaur who, with his pal the big-ass frog, is "swimming" in a sandbox as opposed to a sea.



What does Dinosaur Land have against our aquatic friends?

This guy caught my eye because he (or she--lord help her) is just one ugly dino. Whew!



They even had a statue of Ann Coulter! Now, this place is only an hour (if that) from D.C., so it stands to reason they would have a lovely tribute to Mantis, stick insect of the SS and all-around beltway insider.



Hey! Duuhh... where'd these EGGS come from?



Now, I know this guy isn't from the Jurassic, although I'm sure there are some who would make the argument that I am...



First the jaws of death, now the palm of peril--this was quite the thrill stroll for me!

And finally, without the aid of a sign Jeff is left to puzzle out whether this is Heckleosaurus or Jeckleosaurus.



Seriously, though, if you ever find yourself in Northern Virginia with a free morning or afternoon, head over to White Post (west of D.C. and south of Winchester), where, at the intersection of routes 277, 522, and 340 you will find Dinosaur Land! You won't regret it!

More WV State Fair Shenanigans

Here is the "more" I promised yesterday evening.

As many state fairgoers can attest, there is more to a fair than the midway. There is the "buy stuff" hall (featured briefly in yesterday's installment). Then there is the craft hall. The craft hall had lots of quilts hanging from the ceiling, but the one that caught my eye was this, the quilt of presidents:



I hope you can see it in all its nephew-art splendor--some of the prezzies are hard to identify without their nametags. All snittiness aside, I do think it is a noble effort at quiltery. It did give me just a bit of pause that W's dates in office have been rendered as "2000-200 " with no end date given. I can only hope that indicates the quilter was hoping against hope that s/he could insert a pre-2009 date for the end of the nimrod-in-chief's term.

There was a seal show that we missed, but we were just in time for the photo-op.



They were charging folks ten smackeroos to have their pictures taken with the placid pinnipeds, but I snapped this photo gratis...

As I still had my braces on, I couldn't avail myself of this foodstand, much as I wanted to:



Note the helpful signage.

To divert my attention from golden ears of corn slathered in rich creamery butter, we headed to the livestock barns to see what was up. We watched the heiffer judging for a while:



This little guy and his heiffer were a class of one, as were several other entrants. No matter, each received a ribbon right from the hands of the dairy princess, who appeared to have had enough of the entire enterprise:



To be fair (at the fair--get it?), she'd probably been looking at heiffers of one sort or another all day long.

Next, we proceded to the horse barn, where Beth made an equine friend:



We went into the swine barn (which the porcines shared with the goats). The goats were stinky. Really stinky. The pigs were kind of stinky, but nowhere near as stinky as the goats. And who couldn't love this sweet face?



The rabbits were next. The first bunny to catch our eye was this guy, a Flemish Giant:



Since there is nothing in the photo to provide a size reference, you are going to have to trust me on this--this guy was BIG. He (or she, didn't note which gender) was every bit as big as Shelly, our 15-pound fluffy divacat. If not more so. As you can see, I uploaded a big version of the bun to try to approximate the rabbity splendor.

Then there was this guy, some kind of angora rabbit:



Or a tribble.

We wanted to see the poultry next--as I have seen chickens at both the Virginia and New York state fairs with amazing fountainesque crests and feathers that look like the tribble's--I mean, the bunny's--fur, but they had canceled the poultry exhibit this year due to concerns about avian flu. Well, better safe than sorry, I guess. But dag.

As night fell and soft lights began to play on the souvenir stands,



a cheezy oldies band took the stage. Their first number? "Oh What a Night." Indeed.



At least their dinner jackets are sparkly.

The bloke whose job it is to goad passersby until they pay to try to soak him took his place on his precarious platform.



He had the patter down, but the real source of annoyance was his nasal, Haskellesque laugh. Ugh. We did see him get soaked, though. Twice in a row. Heh.

There is something magical about a carnival midway at night. The peeling paint and rickety-looking nuts, bolts, and beams recede into the darkness, and the lights just take over:



The lights can't obscure the torture-chamber aspect of some of these thrill rides, though. Note the giant four-toed claw that not only swings patrons up and down as if they are affixed to a sideways pendulum, but whirls them around and back and forth and you name the direction, they are getting shunted in it, feet dangling and hands clutching their harnesses for dear life. Can you pick out the ride I'm describing?



Now look to the left, at that ride nestled within the archway of golden incandescence. That is the flying saucer ride, where they herd the willing victims into a centrifuge and spin the living crap out of them. Here's the warning sign posted in front of said attractive nuisance (I'm uploading a large version in the hope that you will be able to read it):



Please note the additional warning someone has written in: "Low Suger" (sic) in a faded circle with slash.

At least they offered the tame and pleasantly retro Tilt-a-Whirl



And, naturally, you cannot have a midway without a carousel.



Not nearly as imposing or utterly creepy as the one at House on the Rock, but sweet and kid-sized. And you can actually RIDE this one.

Footsore and weary, we reluctantly left the midway and headed back toward the BAV, our sojourn at the West Virginia State Fair over for this year.



Cheers!