Renaissance

Sarah and I got a call on Sunday saying her parents (and Heather) were going to the Ren Fest and had 2 extra tickets. We packed up the car (and the child) and off we went. I cannot recall the last time I went to the MN version, but it has been a few years. Conveniently, we now live about 10 miles from the gate, a nice change from our proximity to the CO Springs festival (150 miles!). We arrived to the hecklers atop the front gate and not a cloud in the sky. We proceeded past some minstrels playing songs I would have teased in my youth, but for which I now feel a distinct fondness. Further up the path, we passed our 2nd shop next to Michael the leather guy (he was unfortunately absent) and onward toward the Cappuccino place. How many times were we bribed with breakfast to go get Mom and Dad their morning coffee?? The pocket pitas have been replaced, with of all things...a Crepe stand! What are the chances...I queued up for a ham n cheese crepe, which was very good. We went further up the path toward the old Juggling Shop, yet it was not where it once stood. Bill bought me a beer (progress for a man known to growing alligator arms when reaching for his wallet!). It was just after 11am, people, in case you were picturing a breakfast beer. Ella saw the snakes at the Como Zoo. Not as many animals there this year. Around the bend we went past the tree where Tuey the tightrope guy was in early season form juggling fire and telling jokes (does this guy age or what?). Then it was off to the south end to catch the new Puke n Snot show.

To be continued...should probably try to make some $$ today:)

Wheelertique

So I was chatting with Nick this morning during our run around Harriet and the topic of blogging came up.  Please share your photos, stories and thoughts.

What is Wheelertique?

I'm not sure of the exact years, but I recall vividly our entire first floor of 95 Wheeler being converted into a boutique.  Tables where set up in such a way that if you sneezed, something was bound to fall or break.  Naturally, kids were not allowed to be downstairs and I recall having to use our backstairs that went from mom and dad's bedroom to the kitchen.  Seems an easy compromise to use the backstairs, however these stairs were never actually 'clear for use'.  At any given moment, there would be bags of stuff that you'd have to climb over just to get to the bottom and after struggling with the doorknob at the bottom you'd finally spill out into the kitchen gasping for breath with both legs somehow still behind you.

Side note - I remember dad tying a string around my loose tooth and that same doorknob to bring the tooth-fairy a day or two sooner.  I must have needed to buy something...

I remember going all over the neighborhood with dad nailing HUGE 8x4 plywood signs to every Elm tree we could find.  They were painted white with black letters which read  'Wheelertique'.  Under it was a wagon wheel and an arrow pointing in the direction of our house.  I also recall running out of signs that pointed to the right, so we started using the signs that pointed left and hung them upside down.

As part of our evening meal tradition, mom would pretend to be a telephone and each of us would have to loathingly answer it.  'Brrrrrrring!......Christopher!......Brrrrrrrring.  'Oh....umm...hullo?'  'Is Donna there?' 'Huh?' (kidding!), 'Yes, just one moment please.' (Nick choking on steak was a common soundtrack to our evening meals).

To close out our evening meal traditions, we were lectured on how it is never okay to talk to strangers.  We were also constantly told that if a stranger demanded we go with them because something terrible happened to one of our parents, were were instructed to ask this stranger for... 'the password'.

Seemed a fitting blog title.