Festivals are a celebration. An occasion to get together, with friends, and loved ones to tour the booths, to start your Christmas shopping, to get new ideas, and to be in wonder. It's not something to be rushed through, but savored like fruit in season, for a short time, that you have waited all your to enjoy.
Imagining over and over how it will taste on your tongue. That first bite, how sweet, or crisp, or tart, or juicy. The anticipation itself is more than half the joy of the experience and the rows of countless booths of exotic, erotic, and American fare of food. Jambilia, shish kabob, calamari, pizza, polish dogs, corn on the cob, and so much more.
It is a dieter's nightmare as you give up the idea of being good in line after debating what to choose. Maybe you each get something different and share. The desserts are scrumptious and your belly rebelling and the music is foot stomping, it's a day of delight.
You feel like a child at the circus. There are crowds and crowds of people and you line up for everything, even the andy gump. Someone brought the germicide hand cleaner. Someone else brought a camera to record the day, but you didn't get a chance to stop, everyone's too much on the move.
Someone forgot their sunscreen and is turning red. No one remembered their hats. There's children in strollers and babies in slings. Even a newborn in the midst of a heavy crowd and you think they are crazy.
Some people rush through the booths pushing and jostling like they are on a race with time, others linger. Everyone fights for attention and you're grateful it's not a daily event. You keep your hand on your purse and your eye on your companions because you surely don't want to be separated.
You many not find each other again the they're your ride home. On your way home you but a flat of strawberries and start to eat them in the car, bagging the stems, a perfect ending, a truly grand day. A blessing from above.
05161999
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