I feel like a goofball for never making it to the Harvest Fair this weekend — it's such a tradition. But, somehow, I've lost interest with no kids in tow; I couldn't muster the oomph to get up and go. I could barely muster the oomph to get out of bed this morning, as these cooler temperatures (it happened overnight!) are just so cozy/comfortable for sleeping. And I was too busy dreaming. I ultimately did get up (of course), because Mr. Betty came home from wherever he'd been bright-and-early and told me I had to get up and check out the squash. Not at the fair (where there were plenty, no doubt) but in the park. Someone — a phantom family of squash artists?? — had left their traces skewered atop the rusty fence surrounding Channing, near the tower in Touro Park. (That park is just full of mysteries.) And, once up, I managed to keep spinning my wheels, i.e. riding my bike, to the car show at Fort Adams, where images — from cool to amusing to weird to painful —were lurking in & around highly-polished vehicles and bumpers and rear-view mirrors ...
Truth is: I did get to the Harvest Fair — a few days before it happened (does that count??). And I could see/hear all the cars, kids, fun & games and even occasional tears due to bumps & bruises & not-wanting-to-go-home even though there was no one (not a soul) in sight, based on having been there, and to other harvest-type fairs, so many (plenty!) of times before ...
