State Fair to middlin'...

Editor's Note: Commedienne Pam Stone writes her column for The Tryon Daily Bulletin twice each month from her office in the "Unabomber Shack" on her Gowensville farm. Want a chance to respond to this column? Go to Pam’s blog at www.tryondailybulletin.com.

Editor's Note: Commedienne Pam Stone writes her column for The Tryon Daily Bulletin twice each month from her office in the "Unabomber Shack" on her Gowensville farm. Want a chance to respond to this column?
Go to Pam’s blog at www.tryondailybulletin.com.

Paul recently indulged me in a dream that has been gnawing inside for years.

A baby? Please... I nipped this family tree in the bud years ago. Hacked it down, paved it over. Quite enough dysfunction, thank you very much.

Another horse? I'd get that without even mentioning it to Paul.

No, I've been hankering (did I actually say, "hankering?") to go to a State Fair for years. Years. The last time was in Georgia, when I was about fourteen. My father took my best friend, Jennifer, and me and I'll never forget that when we asked Jennifer's mother which stuffed animal we should try to win for her, she actually said, "A snake."

Who wants a snake? Anyway, believe it or not, Jennifer managed to toss three pennies inside three glass jars atop a wooden table and, behold, there was an enormous, ten foot snake, wrapped around the tent pole, there for the taking. It was black with green spots and a hissing, purple, felt tongue.

We felt triumphant as we strolled through the midway, the snake wrapped around our shoulders. We decided the snake, named for alliteration's sake, "Sam," should accompany us on every ride. My father, looking at his watch every four minutes, was prodding us to hurry, so we only rode about three rides before we were hustled back into his Impala and driven home, Sam's head hanging out the back window and his tail, having trailed behind us throughout the fairgrounds, covered in dust and chewing gum.

It was magic.

So when I saw the ads proclaiming the North Carolina Mountain State Fair was coming to Fletcher, my mind spun backwards to being fourteen, eating cotton candy, caramel apples and riding the "Bobsled" and "Scrambler."

"Please, can we go, please?" I badgered Paul who wanted nothing more than to relax on the couch and watch the first football games of the season. "I'll drive. I'll pay for all the rides. I'll buy the food!"

He looked at my breathless expression for a long moment. "What are you, five?" he asked.

It worked. There we were, standing in line, buying tickets. Not bad: five bucks to get in. We strolled around the livestock, admiring cows and goats and saw a terrific demonstration of a Border Collie working sheep.

From there, the midway beckoned: flashing lights, sirens, blaring music and lots of people who showed excessive amounts of gum when they smiled. I was going to ride everything. Rearing before us in all its garish glory was "The Bobsled." We were ushered into our swinging "sled," the rock music exploded and Paul found it a good time to say, "Keep in mind that all these rides are designed to break down easily to be shoved into the back of a truck and driven to the next gig. There's probably twelve bolts missing." With that, the Bobsled slung into action, whirling us round and round at a furious pace, bouncing over "moguls" and smashing me into Paul, clinging to the bar.

"Ow." I said.

"What?" he yelled.

"OW! My neck hurts!" The G-force was really straining as I fought not to smash the sides of our heads together.

After an eternity, the Bobsled slowed. And stopped. And to my absolute horror, began to repeat its cycle. Backwards.

"Owwwwwwwwwwwwwww!"

It's an awful thing to realize, in a crushing moment, one's limitations. I'm not fourteen. I'm a middle aged woman with a stiff neck. All I wanted was to get the hell out of there. Paul bought me a slice of pizza and a soft serve ice cream and my mood lightened, somewhat.

"Let's ride the Ferris Wheel." he suggested. "The sun's just setting behind the mountains and we'll get a beautiful view."

The Wheel took us into its care and delivered us carefully and slowly to the top where it paused to give us the sight of a blazing sun descending behind the Blue Wall.

"I think this is more your speed," Paul said, patting my knee.

I nearly pushed him out. Stiff neck and all.