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September 11, 2010

So we’re sort of half-heartedly trying to sell the motorcycle. You see, we really like it, but for practical and financial purposes, it should probably go. Someone called and was coming today to look at it. They never showed up. I was sort of glad. It’s shiny. It’s fun. And it’s LOUD! So, you know, if anyone wants a motorcycle….

Speaking of the said motorcycle, we decided to take it to the Grange Fair. We thought that was one of the true cultural experiences of living in Centre County. And we’re all about culture. So we took the bike. So we wait, wait, wait to get up to the gate. We get through and they usher us to front row parking, then tell us how they’ll make sure that nothing happens to the bikes. Kind of like royalty. It made me feel sort of the same way as I do when I go blasting through the EZ-Pass. I was later told of someone who also came to the fair, drove around for twenty minutes looking for a parking spot, and finally gave up and went home. In that case, the motorcycle was very practical.
Another cultural experience we had was the Festival of our own town. When we tell people where we live, the reaction is often one of awe. “Whoah! Cool! Do you live close to the camp?” Yes, actually, we’re serenaded many summer nights by crashing skateboards. But the image that most people have of Woodward was far, far from the one portrayed at the festival. It was sort of like the county fairs you might read about in a little town one hundred years ago. Little wooden sheds with one bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling housed classic competitions such as ring toss and bingo. Hot dogs and ice cream were sold from similar sheds. A local country band twanged from the stage. It was great. I liked it.

I think I might have the best boss around. One random Friday, he comes into the office and says, “Today’s wing day!” and passes around a menu for everyone to pick a flavor. Now you must understand that hot wings are one of my favorite foods of all times. It’s one of those things that has stayed with me from my two years spent in Canada. So you can imagine my delight and glee at the prospect of wing day (on the company card, of course). I ate way more wings than anyone else did, I think.

 The Amish fish fry wasn’t scary at all. Quite relaxed, actually. Oh, and my peach dessert was the best one there. Don’t mean to brag or anything. I’m just saying.
And speaking of my cooking skills or lack thereof, it may surprise some of my past acquaintances greatly to know that I have come to actually enjoy the duty of cooking. (insert shocked gasps) I remember being laughed to scorn because I had to use a recipe to make rice-krispi treats. Well, not that much has changed. I still use directions for things like cooking potatoes, hard boiling eggs, and making rice-krispi treats. I’m not ashamed of it. But I’ve reached the conclusion that you are better off if you didn’t really learn to cook before you got married. I hear seasoned cooks in their twenties say how they struggle to make anything different. They just keep going back to the same old boring recipes because they’re easy. Well, I’m not even tempted to do that because I don’t know how to make the old boring stuff either. So everything I make is new and exciting. In the six months that we’ve been married, I’ve only repeated a dish a handful of times. Teach a young girl to cook, and you take away the enjoyment of it for later when she actually needs the skill. “If you can read, you can cook,” I always said. Turns out it’s true.
That’s my theory. I think it’s a pretty good one.

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One Comment
  1. Wengerd permalink

    Yeah, I’ll never forget Bessie’s five-inch-thick rice krispi treats. I had sore jaws for a week (jk). Kinda’ like how you fell after being at the dentist’s. But I admit, they were good

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