#138 Harbor Daze 1

So we’re down at Harbor Days. Another community festival. My relatives from California can’t believe how many of these things we have in Olympia. Well, I always respond, you have more freeways down there. Sitting in the same cluster of cars for 3 hours on the way to work is kind of like community, huh? I’ve actually had my fill of fair food for the season but the thing I really like about community festivals is the people watching. Humanity in all its infinite variations continues to redefine the borders of normal. I guess that’s what I like most about these affairs. Looking at the clothes people wear, the food people eat, the way they handle their children and their pets.
Like this one lady: she was walking her little dog along the boardwalk. If you haven’t been down to Percival Landing lately let me tell you, the boardwalk is starting to weather. That ravages of the sea air are more than a match for any treated wood and it’s getting pretty hard to walk without an occasional trip or stumble. Plus, if you are unfortunate enough to have either a walker or a pair of crutches watch out. The points of your ambulatory aid will go through the decking like a stiletto heel on sidewalk grate. So it’s none too easy for pets. This lady had one of those little stewing dogs, the kind with tiny feet, and it was having a hard time keeping up. Now these little critters are neurotic enough. My brother-in-law calls ‘em vibrators, I guess because most of the time when you see ‘em poking out from a fold of their owner’s flesh their little bug eyes are darting back and forth and their whole body is vibrating with fear and tension like a hummingbird on meth. Why is it the bigger the person the smaller the dog?
The lady finally tired of extricating her little lapdog—in her case quarter-lap dog—from the spaces in the planking. But instead of wasting all that energy bending down to pick the pet up, she simply yanked on the leash. Its neck collar tightened a bit, and then up came the dog like a YoYo. The woman then nestled the quivering ball of furred jittery jelly in her arms and clomped on down to the elephant ear booth—as far as I could tell, in no imminent danger of slipping through the cracks. Normal is as normal does I always say.
America, ya gotta love it.