Just in case I wasn’t up to a post-UFE trip to Bristol Renaissance Faire, we went back on Sunday, August 17. This time J. succumbed to the claw game at the Tri-State O’Hare Oasis. Seeing that he was determined, I contributed $5 and five moves. After I had set it up, with a cue from me he got the drop on a furry, fuchsia, “Flirt” flower. There’s nothing like spending $12 on a $2 toy to make the male of the species feel good.
We arrived late enough to avoid the parking fee, but too early to get a pass on admission. Although the weather was perfect, to my untrained eye the clouds seemed to be moving in from the west in a determined way, and I wished I’d brought an umbrella.
While we were shopping — I for a wizard-style walking stick, he for CDs and later for a similar stick — the skies darkened abruptly. Just as we had recombined and were looking at beads under a couple of inches of awning, the downpour came. It rained, and rained, and rained. Suddenly there was great interest in beads [shelter], and we kept being nudged gently aside.
When there seemed to be a slight letup we ran across the way, only to find that the “awning” was really a trellis for plants and as porous as could be. Time for Plan C — dashing to a sheltered footwear store, where the amply bosomed matron informed all that dry shoes could be had and offered plastic bags as a practical headdress. Outside the opening, a few young people, already drenched, gave in to their inner child and danced in the puddles while their friends called out to them from the surrounding shops. The rain didn’t cease for more than a half hour.
Food was next on the agenda — shepherd’s pie for J., spinach and cheese calzone for me. It’s not easy, I assure you, to eat a very hot calzone with a plastic fork on wet table while standing in mud. Throwing all proprieties to the winds (or rains), after I dropped the fork in the mud I wiped it off with a dry paper napkin — and lived to tell of it. Let that be a lesson to the over fastidious.
After the rain stopped, I don’t think we did much except stop in at more shop. I haven’t felt brave enough to try to throw knives, battle axes, or brass stars this year, although I’ve done tolerably well in the past (the battle axe man once giving me a look of respect not to mention space).
To J.’s dismay, I wouldn’t let him stop anywhere to eat when we left a little after 7 p.m. We’d eaten enough, and I’d taken into account that he had to work the next day and that I had to be at the hospital by 7 a.m. It was also easy for me to decide, because I wasn’t supposed to eat anything heavy.
And so to bed around 11:30 p.m., wondering what tomorrow would bring . . .