Turlock '98 My weekend started off with my rushing like mad to take care of everything that had piled up the previous two weeks while I was visiting friends and family. I got off the plane from NY at 7 Thursday evening and was in my truck towards Turlock 19 hours later. (Pity it couldn't have been 18 hours later, 'cause there was one !@*&^$ of a traffic jam.) I pulled in 5 hours later and set up my camp. Seeing as I have a bed in the bed of my truck, this consisted of hoisting the Swedish flag, positioning my rose and displaying the lovely bit of weaving which Loretta had done for me. Then I helped Ginny with her brand new circus tent. (This thing was *massive* -- six stories high, kitchen, two bedrooms, bath, sauna, slept 33.) And I even helped Mikkel with his spare tent. It was impressive for its... unique aroma. (Seems he'd forgotten to air it out after that rainstorm in Norway back in '96.) Somewhere in here, my two Turlockians showed up, Linda and Amanda (now 13!). We shot the bull, wandered around, visited old friends, etc. Alas, Pam and little Witly were nowhere to be found. Turlock wasn't the same without them. There were far fewer booths this year, and Linda told me that the volunteers were being asked to pay $5 for the honor of working the fair. No surprise that there were 400 fewer! Night came quickly and the visitors departed, leaving the stage to us. Now for some fun! Up with the musicians, on with the dancers, out with the aquavit!! Hurrah! And we all danced and danced (and drank a bit of this and that). Amanda came to me 'round 11, asking if she could sleep over with a couple of the other girls who had come with Ginny. "Sure," says I. "Why not?" (Not thinking this through very carefully.) Amanda and the two little girls (Holly and Danniel, both 7) had been having gobs of fun together. What harm could there be? I suggested this to Linda, who was agreeable -- at first. While walking her back to her apartment (1/2 mile away), she began to have misgivings. Why should Amanda get to sleep over when she couldn't? Couldn't she sleep with me in my truck? No. Well if she couldn't sleep over, then Amanda couldn't either! At this point we ran through some slightly drunken crying jags, a few random accusations, and then a reconcilation profuse with apologies. An hour later I returned with a few things for Amanda, wondering what I had provoked. (Back in August, Caleb (14) had come to visit me, and I suggested a camping weekend with Linda & Amanda. This started off excellently, but got a bit rough after Linda knocked off a quart of wine and a few other things.) On top of the above, I had utterly neglected to discuss this with Ginny, whose tent was centrally involved. Happily, it was not a major problem. None-the-less, I did rather blow it. At some point later that night, the kids actually did fall asleep. (But damn! They had a good time!) Dancing finished early that night. (I have no idea of the time. It just felt early.) In a moment of inspiration I took the stage began reciting some Swedish poetry, some of which I had translated into English. Never shone the sea so softly, nor the shoreline so open, nor trees and meadows so lovely, nor blossoms so perfumed in bloom, as when at sundown, you walked by my side, and hiding my face in your hair, I drown my sorrows in a kiss. Saturday started off with its usual confusion. Russ was going to take care of getting us to the parade, unfortunately he was nowhere to be seen! After some rushing around, we did find some cars, get downtown, and jumped right into the middle of the parade as it rounded main street. (Russ insists he had said nothing of the sort and that... well, whatever.) It worked out just fine. We danced down the street in front of some monster truck which added its melodious horn to the music every now and then. Then it was open season on the festival. We danced a nice performance around noon in a tiny drizzle. Greg and I punched our way through a fine Ox dance. Damaris and I paired up for most of the program and danced together divinely. (She is *so* good!) Then we watched the others. The Finns and the LA group had some great programs and some friends from the foothills had put together a performance group and did a bang-up job. I took pictures like mad, polishing off 6 rolls in 1-1/2 days. Then visit other friends and relatives. Ira the stone carver, Soeren the chainsaw sculpturer Lynda the weaver, etc. After their shift, Linda and Amanda searched me out and spent most of the day with me. That was fine for a while... Come evening, I popped over to the Finns retreat where they were enjoying M&Ms (More Margaritas). I enjoyed a few too. We were all getting ready for the evening's activities. Plenty ready. The mobs departed and the fun began. Music and dance. Dance and music. Laughter and love. It was beautiful. Then midnight struck. Time for the skits! Dozens of vendors had heard of these from previous years and had stayed up late just to see. While on my travels, I had gotten a few extra hours in the train (24 to be exact!) during which I had composed a little ditty. No one else in the Leikarring had prepared anything, so I had an open field. "Just follow me!" I said, and off we went. Boom! I jump to the stage, grab the mike, and explain the naure of the Norweigen "Stor dans". "It's a grand old tradition, but it's so out-of-date! We need some more modern verses! And I have some..." I tell the 15 or so dancers lined up behind me what the refrain is "In the oval office in D.C." and off we go! Let's say that this was not the most refined, elegant, or melodic stor dans ever done, but it sure was fun! I was bellowing out the words to the audience (who must have understood, 'cause they were sure laughing) and dancing away, often off the beat. But who cares? I was in a fine mood and utterly immune to embarrassment, decency, or any semblance of good taste. The text is sung to "Tre smao moeyer" Three interns in Washington Lee lo li lo lai lo lee In strode president Clinton In the oval office in DC The first small intern, he patted her bum ... Oh, would you like to have some fun? ... No! I could never be so free And out stomped Katherine Witby The second intern, he touched her knee Oh, don't you want to play with me? Monica he did caress in her lovely, light blue dress The third small intern, Linda Tripp Bill avoided 'cause she was a dip! If he won't go with me so far I'll tell my good friend, Kenneth Starr. The moral's one that you should know it's better to sleep with Marlyn Monroe! The LA men did a great cabaret routine to the tune of "Get Smart" wearing plastic garbage sacks and twirlling umbrellas. The LA women didn't know what the skit was going to be, and the LA men didn't know that after stripping off the sacks into their jocky shorts, Ted stripped off his jocky shorts into a G-string! Buns of steel!! The Finns followed with a cabaret skit to the blues brothers which was good, but not up to par with some of their previous ones. To say the least, a good time was had by all. Somewhere in there, Linda had come crying to me that Amanda had taken off! She must have left the fairgrounds with Danniel because Linda couldn't find her and Ginny was worried too! "OK, OK, I'm sure they didn't leave. Let me get my jacket and we'll go find them." We went back to my truck to get my jacket and... "Do those shoes sticking out from under my blanket look familiar?" Amanda and Danniel all curled up together, sound asleep. Then more music and dancing and aquavit. Bit, by bit, people faded. Linda and Amanda wandered home, soon there was just me and Ira. Both drunk as skunks and happy as clams. I dragged him back to his tent, then wandered off to chat with the security guards (who seemed about as snockered as me?!). Staggering back to camp, I tried hard to think of something interesting to do. All I could come up with was a bit of sawdust "snow" on a few tents. Sleep. Ummm. Sunday was a haze. We danced OK, not great. Hung out, hung over, had fun, whatever. Waved good-bye to many friends, then drove off into the sunset myself. Actually, I drove off into the mountains, back to Lake McClure where I used to fly so often. Two of the other hang glider pilots were home and I stopped in to chat. Kenny's 58 now, works 6 months a year and flys the other 6. Birdman finally married that gal and is a happy husband. Rotor is still at the restaurant. Life continues. Then I camped out and dreamed of my days aloft.