I love to take Hope on the Farris Wheel. It’s a tradition we started back in Fremont where she was born. High over the midway we are above the throng up in the night air. The smell of sausage and grilled onions wafts up to us. We laugh. She’s always pretty, but when she laughs she’s radiant.
When the ride is done and I’ve made a loop through the prize tomatoes and goats and chickens and such I’m ready to go somewhere quiet.
Where I’m sitting right now I can hear the fair. Small planes circle overhead dragging signs for Charlie’s Restaurant and Roger’s Chevrolet. I’m a mile away in a park watching the river run by. I guess I’m finally maturing, but I’d rather spend an evening with my toes in the river than shoulder my way down the midway trying to balance and Elephant Ear and a Lemon Shake-up.
A couple guys just slid kayaks into the water and drifted downriver fishing. A couple dozen martins are diving over the water like fighter jets. This is my idea of a near-perfect summer Evening. Still I will never be too old to ride the Ferris Wheel with Hope America.
Gotta dart-she wants me to take her to the Demolition Derby and I don’t want her to suffer cultural depravation.
