Isobel's white trash Bonanza...Life, The Universe and Isobel...

I picked Isobel up at the sitters and she was very quiet. I though maybe she had gotten into trouble until the sitter told me that she had taken a bad step and fell down the stairs. On her way down, she had clipped on or two stairs and the sitter was concerned she might have a bruise. I gave her a kiss and finally got her talking.
Daddy: "What happened? Were you not paying attention and slipped?"
Isobel: "No, I was paying attention. I just fell."
Daddy: "You just fell? Really?"
Isobel: "Well, I walked the wrong way at the top of the stairs and I slipped a little bit. That's when I fell."
Daddy: "Did you cry?"
Isobel: " Daddy, of course I cried, it hurt like hell."



With the head cat away at another weekend long roller derby outing, we decided it was time to do something 'different' with our time, so it was off to the area's biggest farmer's market to see how the other half lives. We couldn't actually figure out who or what the other half is but in a couple of minutes of the first gorgeous weather Saturday that any of us could remember seeing in a long time, it was clear that ALL of the other half was at this farmer's market.
We had been there before but didn't have a a lot of time to look around and so this Saturday with Mrs. Narrator away and a virtual limitless supply of time, the kids and I were in our element. The kids, knowing full well that I would likely buy them almost anything they wanted because it was all dirt cheap and me because I was literally, led around by the nose the second we got there. The smells of barbecue and smoked meat and fresh baking and cotton candy and kettle corn...and we hadn't even parked the car yet...
There are two things I have learned that come in handy at the farmers market. From my wife and my mother in law, I have learned to barter like an Arab trader. In Mexico, they both refused to come with me and haggle for jewelry anymore but imparted me the wisdom of how to do so. I can haggle with the best of them now. The second I learned from a former work colleague who`s mother had a stall. Nobody, especially the food vendors, wants to take anything home. They will always bargain to get rid of the stock. Throw that in with a hungry little girl who is quick to tears when she is tired and a ravenous ten year old boy who can look as forlorn as anyone I know and you can snack and sample and barter food for next to nothing from one end of the pavilion to the other... we made out like bandits.
The real fun of the whole thing was the horse auction that was taking place in the large open field next to the market. I hadn`t seen one in years and the kids had never seen one. We jockeyed for a good position along the fence a prepared to watch the spectacle unfold. The auctioneer began his calling and Isobel lost her mind.
"Holy crap he is talking fast!" she hollered. "What the hell is he saying anyway?"
"He is calling out the bids, the amount of money people are willing to pay for the horse. Whoever bids the most money, wins the horse."
The auction was over quickly and the winner led his horse out followed by his wife and their children. They were Amish and I realized that Isobel and the boy had never seen Amish people before.
"Why are they dressed like that?" The Boy asked .
"Dressing plainly like that is part of what they believe in." I said.
As the women walked by, Isobel stood there speechless. After they passed she whispered "Daddy why were they wearing a basket on their heads?" Oh I could have such fun with this...but no. I'd never figure my way off of the path I was about to step on...
"Same reason," I said. "It's part of what they believe in." "It's almost a shame that they won that beautiful horse, because now it will be a work horse for a long time."
"What do you mean?" Izzy asked.
"That's why they sell the horses here, honey. People come to buy horses and put them to work on their farms."
"Those swines." she said.
From the farmers market it was off to that uniquely Canadian (I'm sure they exist elsewhere but I don't ever remember seeing them anywhere but here) of weekend happenings, the fair in the car dealership parking lot.
It is a fair like any other. Fall fair, carnival, fete, street fair...parking lot fair. Complete with rides, greasy food, surly carnies including the one with a black eye (why is there always one of them?) and games that are fixed and no one has any chance of winning for under $600.00. And it was these that I had intended to use to school my children in the evil and unfairness that is the world. As a boy, I saved my allowance for weeks leading up to the fall fair, hoping that finally this would be the year that I popped the balloon with a red star under it that won you the big bastard teddy bear. I found out some years later that the balloons are under-inflated and there is almost never a red star....ah but the games have changed. You still can't win the big bastard teddy bear, unless you are prepared to spend the big bastard amount of money but there isn't a kid playing a game that doesn't walk away with some kind of stuffed prize. Little though it may be. I was happy for the kids but secretly it chapped my ass just a little to remember back to all the hucksters that took my money and let me leave empty handed.
We could see the fair from the road, especially it's biggest feature-a roller coaster that consisted of a single 360 loop.
"I'm riding that," said The Boy as we walked up to the fair. "and the Ferris wheel and I hope we get stuck at the top."
"We won't get stuck at the top will we?" asked Izzy nervously.
"We might ," I said "but it won't be for long."
We stood under the coaster and I could see The Boy's bravado melt away as he looked up at it from ground level. (turns out he wasn't 'this tall' enough to ride it anyway but I wasn't going to say anything) They opted instead for the ghetto jungle gym, which consisted of two cargo nets, a slide that was more of a drag and four moving blankets piled on top of some school exercise mats. From there it was on to the truck and motorcycle 'merry go around' which The Boy was too big to ride. I thought Izzy would be a little more enthusiastic about the whole ride but she looked more like she was on her way home from work and was stuck in traffic. I'm certain that at some point during the ride, thins very thought crossed her mind.
The Ferris wheel... operated by the surliest looking of all the carnies we saw that day. Immediately my back went up and I started to posture, all the while thinking 'say just one thing to my kids you surly carny prick and I'll knock you on your ass.' He instead complimented me on my tattoos and made sure the kids were comfortable and safe. All in all he was a very pleasant fellow.
As we began our ascent, The Boy's attitude changed from one of Edmund Hillary conquering Everest to Burt Lahr standing in the Emerald City. He never actually let on that he was afraid but his expression did little to hide his feelings. He came through like a champ in spite of himself and I was proud of him for facing his fears.
His sister on the other hand, who was so nervous about getting in the car that we nearly backed out of it had to be told repeatedly to sit down and keep her arms inside. She likely didn't hear it though from all the screams of unbridled joy that were coming out of her. The carny opened our gondola at the end of our ride and bade us enjoy the rest of this beautiful Saturday.
I learned two important lessons at the fair-number one, both of my kids are much braver that I ever was at their age(insert image of Sid screaming in terror on the Octopus ride I never did manage to conquer) and much braver than I give them credit for. And number two that carnies and fairs are exactly the same and not a damn thing like they were when I was a kid and I will still take the kids to them every chance I get.






I always enjoy when Isobel comes home with tales of her school mates and friends from daycare. She has a tendency to be dramatic at the best of times but there always are nuggets of truth in them. The fun part is trying to figure out what the story actually is and at what point it careened of the rails into Izzydom. She got into the car with a "Harrumph" when I picked her up at the sitter's, went straight to her room and started rummaging around looking for pink blankets (She found at least three) and throwing them into the hallway when she found them. (Who the hell knew she had more than one?)
"What are you doing?" I foolishly asked.
"Edith." she replied.
"Pardon me?"
"Edith, she's this girl at my babysitters."
"And Edith said you should come home and destroy your room and throw your bedding into the hallway?" I inquired.
"Edith is this girl at my babysitters who pees in her pants."she began.
"And you need to dry her off and she gets a rash from everything except pink blankets?" I was trying to find a morsel of logic in here but, honestly, I didn't have a clue where this was leading to.
"No," Izzy said. She was beginning to get frustrated by this, you could hear it rising in her voice. "She pees in her pants because she is younger than me. She is younger than me (she said it this time with much emphasis) and she doesn't even know what dead means."
"O.K. What does it mean?"
"Dead is like when you go away, like when your Nana turned yellow and went away and then she was dead. Edith said that they cover you with a pink blanket and you go to sleep and then you're dead and that isn't it at all...is it Daddy?" There was worry in her voice when she finally asked the question.
In a lot of situations I would let her twist for a bit and try and figure her own answer to this but I've had a little experience with this kind of thing and I learned long ago that you can't plant the seeds of fear into a fertile imagination like hers, (or mine) they take root under the bed and grow into great big monsters that sometimes never go away.
"No honey," I said and gave her a hug. "That's not it at all. Nobody covers you with a pink blanket and nobody is dead when they go to sleep." I picked up the blankets and showed her they were just the same pink blankets that she had gotten when she was born and when she was still very small.
I went up to tuck her in later that night and noticed that the pink blankets were still in the hallway, not folded anymore but pulled down and looking as though they had been stomped on...well the old man doesn't know everything and there's no harm in hedging one's bet a little after all...