August 2007 - Posts
As a child I was a fish. I loved being in the water as much as possible. I never really learned how to swim, though, partially because the one time my mother enrolled me in swim class was a slightly traumatic. I did fine through the swimming portion of the class. Then came time to jump off the diving board. We all lined up in our life vests and one by one, like little lemmings, climbed the ladder, walked to the edge and jumped. Not me. I froze. I barely got up the ladder, let alone to the end of the board. And there I stayed until the instructor picked me up and tossed me over. Seriously. She threw me in. Is that really a way to teach a terrified child how to get over her fear of heights and jumping into deep water? I don't think so. The next and last time I went off a diving board was in high school when jumping at least once was a requirement for getting an "A" in gym.
Needless to say I'm still not much of an adrenaline junkie. I don't do waterslides or rides and I've never once tried to waterski or jetski or do anything in the water at neck braking speeds. When I interact with the water I like to do it from the safety of a boat.
But that doesn't mean that I can't appreciate people who do like these types of sports. At times I'm even jealous. That's why it was such a neat experience to hang out with members of the Five Seasons Ski Team Thursday night.
Their season is at it's tailend, with only a couple of Labor Day shows before they pack up their equipment for the season. So, many members of their team had left for college already. Still there was a strong showing Thursday. Skiiers defy stereotyping. They ranged in age from 6 to 40+, some were high schoolers others were Rockwell Engineers. All loved skiing. They practice three days a week in the summer. A fourth night is always a show. And that's all in addition to tournaments. The Five Seasons team is one of only two competitive teams in Iowa. Comparatively there are something like 35 in Wisconsin. Organizers told me that the sport is most popular here in the Midwest. Only a few teams from the coasts compete. Still, I was surprised to hear that right here in Cedar Rapids we have a team that recently took 8th in the nation.
Unfortunately Mother Nature didn't make Thursday's performance an easy one. The team had to cut all jumps out of their show because the river was at flood levels. That also meant that the river was running much faster than normal, making all of their stunts difficult. Still they put on a good show. And I'll definitely have to go back another time to see the team when the river is behaving.
Life can be funny sometimes.
As I may or may not have had occasion to mention in this forum before, I do not have a musical bone in my body. As proof take for example the fact that the sum total of all my instrument playing experience can be counted by the two weeks I once spent playing the flute in fifth grade. I can't whistle. How they expected me to purse my lips similarly to get sound out of that darn instrument, I'll never know.
Still not convinced?
In high school my choir teacher pulled me aside one day to tell me that though I'd been singing the lower alto part, I should really be a soprano. Apparently I'd been feigning a low voice all these years. For those of you that have ever heard me speak. You've been duped. I don't really talk like that. My voice, according to my teacher, is really much higher.
Oh, and then there's the fact that although my mother knows words to nursery rhymes not even the authors remember, I cannot for the life of me manage to even hum a single one. It's a fact that confounds her to this day.
But, here comes the funny part. I married a band director. Not only can he play any instrument. He can sing, carry a tune even. All talents that have eluded me for 26 years.
Music, though, is one of the things that brought us together. And, by that I'm not referring to the fact that we met while I was interviewing two of his band students. No, I mean our love of music is something we have in common. We both love all kinds of music from jazz to big band to country to alternative and beyond.
Like the people I spoke with at Marion's Downtown Getdown Thursday night, we're not super picky about the genre. It just has to be good music. My husband's standards are obviously higher than mine. He can hear nuances to song that I'll never ever hear. I am learning. But, I've gotten used to the fact that I'll never carry a tune.
I wish my parents had been forward-thinkers.
They should have known, three years before I was born – and even a year before they met – that I would have wanted a candy apple red 1965 Mustang convertible. I mean really, who didn’t? Brand new, the cars sold for a mere $2,557 (I know, that was a lot more money than it is now) and with the two years’ depreciation from when the cars rolled off the assembly line until, well, I did, they could have practically stolen one for about $1,800.
So I blame them. Now, because they weren’t thinking of me, I’m left to find my dream car 43 years after the first ones were sold in August 1964. There were 73,112 of the 1965 Mustang convertibles sold. Just a fraction of those were red, and I’m sure in the years that have passed not all of the cars have survived. And forget the $2,557 sticker – a quick Internet search revealed many of the cars, in great condition, selling for $20,000 and more.
Sigh. OK, that's a little silly. I don't really blame them -- but it would have been awesome to grow up with that in the garage, waiting for me.
While I didn’t get to see my dream car at the Country Cruisers Car Club’s car show in Manchester, there were plenty of other options vying to take top spot on my list, including some other Mustang variations. There was a red and black Mach 1 Fastback that would look pretty sweet sitting in my driveway – even sweeter with me behind the wheel cruising down the highway – and a few Chevelles that took me back to high school memories, with me sitting in the passenger seat. The cars were just barely classic then, but still just as hot as they are now.
My 15-year-old son, Justin, was with me Friday night and it was fun watching him pick out his own “dream car.” One man tried to sell him his IROC at a fairly affordable price – something we might have considered before he told Justin that he “even got it to 186 once.”
I don’t think I’m ready to have Justin start thinking about dream cars.
I have to give the people of Atkins credit. As soon as the rain started Saturday morning I thought my hopes of going to the town's annual Watermelon Days celebration were dashed. But, with my family in tow we headed out anyway, crossing our fingers there would be folks to talk to. And, there were. I was pleasantly surprised to see so many people wandering around the festival grounds considering that it was pouring. (Like my grandpa always says: "It was really coming down." To which my grandmother's sarcastic reply is: "Do expect it to be going up Tommy?"
Regardless of the rain, though, there were a lot of families with small children participating in the kid's events, darting from one tent to the next. People were soaked but they seemed to be having a good time.
I didn't actually see any watermelon at watermelon days, mostly because I hit the beer tent because it looked like the driest place around and I thought dry people might be more willing to talk about the best way to eat watermelon. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that so many of them weren't interested in being in the paper. Most were soaking wet and not excited about getting their picture in the paper.
Still those that did join in the fun, had some good answers. They pointed out that you have be a good seed spitter or that you should just dive in face first and make a mess. I do agree that eating watermelon is an act that, if done correctly, should be very messy. Just like eating watermelon any other time of year except for summer would seem wrong, eating it with a fork is just somehow not the same. I've never quite conquered the art of spitting out seeds though. That's why I'm a big fan of the seedless watermelon. It's perfect. I can still eat wedges of watermelon, the juices dripping down my chin and allover the ground. But, I don't have to worry about those pesky seeds.