Not so Lucky

Being Ukrainian, my family loves food. Who doesn't really? Food is essential in life, it becomes part of us, thus feeding not only our physical bodies, but our souls as well. I think that cooking for someone is probably the best gift you can give, as you are truly giving them life. Its no surprise then that celebration and food would go hand in hand. I can't remember a party or holiday at our house that wasn't accompanied with a house full of delicious aromas!!! Of course if you've ever attended a "feast" at my house, you've probably been put to work or swept up in the ensuing chaos that always abounds with said festivities. American Thanksgiving is a perfect example. With a Canadian father and an American mother, we got two Thanksgivings each year. Usually Canadian was spent at Auntie Mary's house, where she did the majority of the preparations. We would come a couple hours early, play while my mother was swept away into the kitchen with the other women, and my dad would fall asleep in the first chair he could find. Usually my Uncle Gerry was watching golf (snore! , but not the reason my dad was sleeping. He just has a talent for being able to sleep anywhere, any time) Various cousins would be crowded around the TV competing for the attention of the golf game to tell stories of who had died, who sold what land, the farm etc. My mother would be in the kitchen with Aunt Mary, Aunt Mary, Mary (I'm totally serious about this, 3 Mary's) plus what ever other womenfolk were within reach to mash, stir, cut, plate, whisk, and bring the kitchen into a organized frenzy. Pretty much the same picture at our house for American Thanksgiving except, no golf. But probably yes to my dad asleep in whatever chair he could find. I joke, as kids he was a big help in the kitchen (I think) Of course we would never have thought of sharing the load. That would be absurd. A Thanksgiving Pot-Luck, what nonsense. Of course someone always brought pies, and my Aunt Mary, Gerry's Mary, not Henry's Mary, brought buns. My other Aunt Mary, otherwise known as Wayno (Ukrainian for aunt) brought sausages. I'm sure someone brought a salad, but the rest; turkey, ham, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, corn, green beans, jellied salad, cranberries, pumpkin pie, pecan pie, whipped cream, something else I'm sure I forgot, all at the hands of my mother!!! It's just the way we do things. You can't trust Pot-Lucks! If you want the meal done right, you do it yourself. So you go a little crazy, and lose 10lbs in the process, but its worth it, cause you gain 15 after the meal. Oh, that is the other thing, in my family, we don't know how to cook for less than say, 30. Even if its family dinner for the 5 of us, always leftovers. I mean a roast is supposed to last for 3 meals plus 3 days worth of sandwiches for lunch, right?!

Now, I have been privy to many a Pot-Luck. Aptly named, as you never really know what you are going to get. Many people try to "organize" the Luck of Pots, but it still really never works. You ask someone to bring a salad, someone else a main dish, etc. I think theme pot lucks are just stupid. "Fall" is not a theme, and you should never have a luck with a theme like, "something orange." RETARDED. I once attended a "dessert" luck of pots. You'd think that this would be one that couldn't go wrong, right? WRONG! Since when did Banana Bread become a dessert. Maybe if the theme was "Sensible Breakfast Alternatives" or "Something Dry" then Banana Bread would be acceptable. I'm sorry, but what fool is going to choose banana bread over chocolate cupcakes, lemon bars, pound cake, sugar cookies, truffles, or pie?!? Even if you are a fan of the bread of banana's, really!!! I doubt anyone would have walked up to the dessert table and said, "Hmmm, this dessert buffet is really missing some Banana Bread." Dessert Pot-Luck, make a Banana Cake. Obviously you had some bananas that were turning brown and you needed to use them. Whip up a sensible cake, frost it with some cream cheese frosting, and parade thru the luck of pots with said 2 tier cake in hand. Everyone would have been, "wow, look at that beautiful cake." Instead you got what, 3/4 of a plate of dry banana bread to take back home!!! Bet you're glad you used up those bananas!!! "Lucks" are also a great way for people who have no creativity to use up all their pantry items. I kid you not I went to a luck once where someone had brought what they lovingly christened "Barley Casserole!" (I don't even know where to begin) The other side of the coin is ending up with 14 plates of Rice Crispy Treats while 40 people all take minuscule spoonfuls of the single lasagna brought in by someone smart enough to bring an entree. Guess you might have to try that barley casserole after all. Man cannot live on Rice Crispy treats alone!!! Then you get those people that bring a dish that serves 4 to a luck for 50 people. 10 deviled eggs just won't cut it!! In fact, just don't bring deviled eggs anyway, because they are gross and mayo based products are huge offenders at any buffet. "Oh and what did you bring to the pot luck? Food poisoning!?" Its a tricky line to walk. Of course church dinners and school functions have to be pot luck. Or do they? Can't a menu be planned and then everyone cook accordingly? We used to have these hot lunches at school where there was a menu and all the moms cooked the food. We paid for the lunch, but same thing really. Organized, assigned Pot Luck!! Its the future people. Better get on the train.......................and stop complaining if you're asked to bring the fancy cheese!!! Celery sticks and ranch dressing does not an appetizer make!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dear Diary, I have a strange craving for Banana Bread!!

Where the Wild Things are

Growing up on a farm I encountered my share of animals. Cows, chickens, and pigs were just second nature. We had turkeys once, they are evil. Good thing they were never made the official bird of the United States. Then we'd never be able to kill and eat them. Thanksgiving would be really weird. I remember a deer following my mom home once when she went for a walk. It walked right into the yard with her. I remember a beaver wandering into our yard too. I think my dad shot him. I killed many a gopher in my youth. Not as many as my brother though. He's got an Olympic record in gopher killing for sure. My cousin and I used to take pails of water and drown the gophers. Then when they would come up for air we'd clobber them with a baseball bat. One time I remember we made special gopher whacking sticks and went on the hunt. That was fun day! I don't ever remember catching snakes and frogs like most little boys do. Mostly because a garder snake was a little hard to come by and the frogs we have back home are really little and not worth catching. I think we had a butterfly net at one point which we used a couple times, but was mostly useful in catching minnows at the lake. Many a sparrow was shot with a bee bee gun. I never really got into hunting like my brother or dad but the sight of a coyote carcass is just second nature to me. I'm not really grossed out by that sort of thing. I can remember coming home from school one day to see a headless cow hanging by its feet, freshly killed awaiting my uncle and dad to butcher the beast. I caught many chickens only to pass them on to my dad and his axe. I then chased down said chickens as they reenacted a scene from Sleepy Hollow. Once when I was five our rooster was pecking and chasing after me. I was really scared. I mean I was a small kid being chased by a Canadian Velocial Raptor. I got my plastic baseball bat and beat that rooster to a pulp. I then hid it under the rear tire of my dad's truck so he would think that he ran over it as he pulled out of the yard. Just the other day I was walking to work and there was a dead possum on the sidewalk. It freaked out everyone here. I was like, hmmm, dead possum. The next day it rained and I walked by the soggy dead possum without giving it a second glace. Others in my cast felt bad for it. Me, well, it looked like a big soggy flat-faced rat. Shouldn't have been in the road. I guess animals and death are not that big of a deal to me. It is just a natural progression of life.

About a week ago I was at the gym, doing my workout as normal. I was mid pushup sequence when I saw something flinch beside my hand. I must have jumped about 10 feet as the largest tarantula spider I have ever seen was creeping up on my right hand. I encountered a large herd of them a few weeks ago as I was walking home from the show. Our old creepy house must be some kind of safe house for the Critters of America club. There are nasty bugs everywhere. I was doing dishes the other day. Someone had burned their dinner and we had the windows open so the smoke could clear. (whoever thought it would be a good idea to make a kitchen with no ventilation is a moron) (and it was not me who burned their dinner thank you very much) Anyway I'm doing the dishes when this peregrine falcon of a moth flies into the kitchen. I ducked for cover then crawled out of the kitchen like an army soldier. I'm still paranoid about the ticks in this town. It makes my skin crawl, literally. Sometimes I will just be sitting watching TV and I'll get the willies; feeling like something is crawling up my leg. One night after killing some kind of beetle in my room I could not sleep. I was sure he had come back to get me. Him and all his zombie beetle friends avenging their deaths. Yesterday while I was taking a shower I looked up at the ceiling in the bathroom to find it swarming with at least 50 lady bugs. Now one lady bug, cute. 3 lady bugs, still cute. 50, just creepy. It was like a Hitchcock movie. All of them buzzing around, just waiting their signal to attack. Now I'm sure in the grand scheme of things bugs serve a great purpose, other than to creep me out. But I tell you I had I walked into the bathroom to find a dead possum hanging from the ceiling, I probably would have thought Hmm, I guess my brother is in town.

Dear Diary, where is the nearest Costco? I need some bug spray

A Spoonful of Sugar

When I was about 13 we moved into North Battleford from the farm. One of the greatest perks of our move into "the city" was we got cable TV. That was a huge thing. On the farm we only got two channels and one usually never came in clearly. You'd have to adjust the antenna all the time. Sometimes you could loose an eye from that thing sticking out so far into the room. Now I'll be the first to admit that I probably faked sick a couple times in my early childhood to get out of school. I mean who hasn't. No one likes being sick. But once we moved into North Battleford, I'm sure I faked sick a few more times. I really liked staying home sick, cause I got to watch lots of cool TV. Looking back, I was watching crap really. Reruns of Saved by the Bell and Supermarket Sweep! I used to watch PBS and all those stupid kids shows too, just cause I never got to see them when I was a little kid. The "level" of your sickness determined if you could be upstairs on the couch and watch TV or if you had to stay in your room. I'd bring up like 3 blankets (they were never in short supply at our house) and maybe a couple of pillows. Sometimes you'd have an empty ice cream pail next to the couch in case you had to throw up. (on a completely different note, I don't think that Americans use the ice cream pail as much as us Canadians. Its like its own unit of measurement. When picking berries, for example, they are always measured in ice cream pail increments. Just an interesting note) So I'd have a drink of water or flat gingerale beside me, maybe some tissues, a cold cloth to put on my face, the trusty remote, and get all bundled up in the blankets. Put on an even "sicker" voice to say good bye to mom and enjoy my day in front of the TV and all that basic cable had to offer.

Fastforward to the present! I hate being sick. Its so annoying!!! Monday I was back in New York for an audition. (Billy Elliot for the 4th time) However, by the late afternoon, I had what can only be described as a large swamp creature, take domicile in my throat. It was like a block of concrete. I thought, "What fresh hell is this!" So I promptly marched myself to the nearest drug store for the essential cold and flu remedies. I am personally a fan of the Alka Seltzer Cold and Flu. I feel like the medicine takes effect quicker as you don't have to wait for the pills to dissolve in your stomach. And it's fizzy! Armed with drugs and a plethora of vitamin C, I rushed home. My dad's advice for any sickness is to "sweat it out." I will say that I find this method quite effective, though I'm sure he'd give that same advise should you have the flu, measles, or hemorrhoids (which I would not want to sweat out) I had a fever, headache, backache, small dinosaur in my throat; it was not going well. So I took the hottest shower I could stand without crisping my skin to a KFC golden brown, had some tea and dry toast (bland city) and off to bed. Of course I was wearing sweats, a hoodie with hood up, socks, 3 blankets and to top it off, my bathrobe. There I lay in my quilted cocoon lulled off into a sweaty dream land, accompanied by the comforting smell of Vic's Vapo Rub. (thank you Vic's people. you have unclogged many a stuffy nostril in my day) By morning I woke soaking wet. Even though I advocate the "sweat it out" method I will say that it's pretty gross. Waking up to sweaty sheets, clothes, socks, pillow all diluted with a hint of Vapo Rub is not cute. The dilemma with this remedy is, what do you do for the next night??? You can't very well sleep on those same germ filled moist Vapo Rubbie sheets!!! I mean a little febreeze is not going to fix that. So you fill your hamper to overflowing with said incubus of viral plague, throw on some new sweats, change the sheets and hope that with a little more tea and toast your flu will go away. By that afternoon I was sick (hehe) of HGTV and the Foodnetwork, which is quite a feat for sure. I took a short walk to get some fresh air, replenished my tea, peed a day glow yellow from all the vitamin C, and started to feel a little better. Of course I was still worried I might have Swine Flu or Goat Virus; whatever new disease the medicine people had made up this year to sell more cough drops. But I was on the mend. I would not let this get me down. Perhaps this was my body's way of making me rest on my day off. Perhaps it was not the flu but an allergic reaction to the leaves falling and mold in the air (I am a highly allergic person) Or perhaps I was just making myself sick with anticipation over yet another Billy Elliot audition!!

Dear Diary, my agent just called. I have a callback for Billy Elliot on Monday. Where did I put my Vapo Rub!!!

Brunch Bunch

I love brunch. It's such a pretentious thing. It makes me feel like I am rich and important. It's really just a lazy breakfast, with pizazz!!! Living in New York, brunch is an event, a specialty, a verb. There are places you lunch, and then places you brunch. It's not only about the food you eat, but the place you go and the people you are with. It's so high society, so je ne sais quoix? (yes, brunch is pretentious enough for me to even speak french) I have only one pre New York brunch memory. When I was in Prince Edward Island doing Anne of Green Gables the musical, my roommates and I had a brunch. I think it was on a Friday. We decided to invite all of our friends over and cook all the food we had in the house. We would be leaving to go back home that weekend and didn't want to waste food. We had French Toast, hash browns, fruit salad, eggs, perogies, vegetables, salad; the list goes on and on. Plus it was a potluck, so our friends brought various concoctions of leftovers from their houses. I think the event lasted all day. It was great fun, however I do remember burning the hashbrowns. I don't mean a little bit, I'm talking call the Fire Department burning. Filled the kitchen with smoke, had to open all the windows and doors. Not the delicate brunch one might find at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in New York City.

My partner in crime on this weekends brunch excursion was Rob. Our destination, Millridge Inn. It looked like something out of a Grimm's Fairytale. It was built in the 1600's or there abouts. Exposed beams, huge rooms, many additions to the original property. Also a small "village" filled with tiny Snow White houses, each peddling their "homemade" sweets, trinkets, and wares. (the cookies looked distinctly mass produced) Upon entering this Hansel and Grettle of a restaurant, we noticed one thing immediately, we were the only people under the age of 70. Guess that's what happens when you brunch before noon. Our waiter seated us and presented a small novel of a menu, along with their special seasonal Oktoberfest menu. $22 got you an appitizer, salad, main dish, dessert, plus 3 drinks. (I was beginning to see why the pension crowd frequented such an establishment) I decided upon the braised rabbit. I will take this moment to interject a huge pet peeve of mine. When the menu describes salad as "medley of mixed field greens" one should not expect iceberg lettuce, cucumber slice and tomato wedge to grace their plate. Since when did Iceberg lettuce become a "medley of mixed field greens?" Iceberg lettuce is barely green!!! (though fitting as I was having the rabbit) I also had to take pity on the poor bread girl unfortunately clad in royal blue milkmaid attire. I could tell from her expression that she really loved her job!!! The warm cinnamon bread which graced our table however, was heavenly. I wanted to ask for more, but was uncertain as to the emotional stability of our bread girl. Perhaps she had to perform selections from Sound of Music later?! My meal arrived. I don't know what I was expecting. Perhaps some dark sinewy looking cut of meat trussed with carrots, cooked in a dark rich broth. What I got looked like chicken. Tasted like chicken. I was pretty sure it was chicken. I guess our befuddled waiter screwed up the order. No matter it tasted fine. A second cut into the piece of meat revealed a rather large museum like spinal column. I have seen a chicken spine, this was not it. Guess I had the rabbit after all. The waiter came to check on us and ask the usual "how is everything?" I told him the bunny was delicious. Later, our plates were cleared and glassed refilled, for a second time. Finally dessert was served. I looked around. There I was in this storybook village, amidst a sea of grey hair and blue milkmaids eating my pumpkin pie at 12:30 in the afternoon.

Dear Diary, when did I get old?

Number 1 or Number 2

They say that the central room of the home is the kitchen. It's almost always a place of congregation, where memories are made and stories told. Its a feeding place for the stomach as well as the soul. Some of my earliest memories are of making perogies and twiddlebugs with my baba, and pie crust cookies with my mom. Our farm house is pretty much all kitchen, the first floor anyway. A huge table that seats 8 has a prominent place, around which almost everyone gathers. When company comes over, its like a magnet that pulls you in. Immediately and without invitation we gather around the kitchen table. Of course if you come to our house, you will get fed, so it's probably a ritual of convenience as well as comfort.

I have a lot of great kitchen memories. I also, however, seem to have a lot of bathroom memories too. I have spent much of my life in the bathroom. I can describe in great detail the 3 our farm house has. The flimsy plastic seat of the downstairs toilet; distinct hum of the vertical lights around the mirror of the upstairs bathroom; the oddly sounding whir from the plastic covered fan in the kitchen bathroom that has been that way for 25 years. You can have a conversation thru the vents of the upstairs and downstairs bathroom, like a homemade telephone with cans and string. Our house has only one water heater, so if you're in the shower, no toilets can be flushed. There is usually a lack of toilet paper in at least one, to which the correct response is to yell "I need more toilet paper" at the top of your lungs and hopefully someone will run to the basement to get you some. (you are now aware of protocol for your next visit) The downstairs bathroom doesn't have a lock on the door, so for privacy, just open the top drawer, it works just fine. Behind the door of the upstairs bathroom was always a good spot for hide and seek. The open door provides just enough of a crack so you can see if the coast is clear to run out and claim "home free." Once, we played photo lab in the bathroom. We took all the pages out of our color by number book and soaked them in the tub. Then we tied strings from the shower curtain rod and used clothes pins to hang our "photo's" to dry. As kids, my cousin and I used to make "potions" in the toilet. This was a game played at my baba's house. It usually consisted of both him and I going number 2, one after another, same toilet, and then depositing various bathroom essentials in said toilet before "mixing the potion." A squeeze or two of toothpaste, some aspirin, a splash of mouthwash, a dash of shampoo, spritz of perfume, and then the grande finale plop and fizz of some Eno or Polident before sending our concoction off with the flourish of a hand and flush of the handle. I can remember using dish soap for a bubble bath. (probably used up all the bubble bath making a potion) Once, when I was 10 or so, we were driving back from Edmonton in our 80's van. I'm not sure where we were going, but we were running late. (a common occurrence in our family) I had to go to the bathroom really bad. There was no time to stop. My mother handed me an empty super big gulp cup and some Kleenex. And you better believe I squatted over that cup in the back of our van, careening at warp speed down the highway, and did my business. We deposited said business in a paper bag and threw it out the window. The first time I saw Jaws on TV I was afraid to use the toilet afterwards. The logic of a shark coming up thru the toilet to attack me had not crossed my mind, let alone the fact that the closest ocean was 3000 miles away!! When I was 10 I peed my pants in dance class. We were rehearsing our jazz number, Mr. Lee, for competition and I had to pee really bad. Our teacher was a crotchety lady at the best of times, having the warmth of a blizzard and compassion of a vulture. I was afraid to ask. Looking back, the wrath of asking to use the bathroom would have been less embarrassing than tiptoeing across the floor, hands covering the crotch of my warm and soggy sweatpants. Hindsight is always 20/20.

Dear Diary, I wonder why I can't pee in public!

Home is where you hang your hat

Upon arriving in this sleepy town of East Haddam, CT I was handed an envelope with a key and some papers, including a map of East Haddam (might as well have been drawn on a cocktail napkin) a list of local things to do (sleep and pee were right on the top of that list) and a list of my roommates. I have been living in my own apartment for the last year and a half. I usually do pretty good with roommates. When I first moved to New York I shared a shoebox of a studio with probably 10-15 mice. My first night staying there was rudely interrupted by the scurrying of little feet across the floor at the foot of my bed, or rather, mattress placed on the floor. I decided to catch the little buggers with glue traps; much better than the snap and crack of tiny mice spine at 3 in the morning right? Wrong! The first mouse I caught squeaked and flailed about. I didn't want to throw it in the trash, still alive and noisy. A light bulb went off! I would drown the mouse in the toilet, then throw it in the trash. Brilliant!! But with my luck, as I dropped Mr. Mouse in the toilet, he landed trap side down. So now I had a squeaking mouse, on a raft, afloat in my toilet. I scooped him out with a spatula, opened the window, placed him on the window sill to die, then threw the spatula away. The next morning he was gone. I'd like to think he committed some Thelma and Louise feat and threw himself off the 5th floor, but its more likely that some hungry bird came and snatched him up. In New York, we must help feed all the homeless! Next I moved into an apartment with 2 girls, one who turned out to be a kleptomaniac, and the other a money hungry blood sucking witch. She was evil personified. To this day I don't know how she was able to walk outside in broad daylight! Then I moved into an apartment with 2 guys. It was a one bedroom and we had converted the large living room into a bedroom, complete with loft beds, under which we placed our desks. A large thick curtain acted as our door. Every night seemed like a sleepover at summer camp. Its hard to feel like a grownup when you're basically in a bunk bed. Eventually one of the guys got married and I was forced to move on. 2 girls again. One, a pack rat. And cheap. (usually those things go hand in hand) A lovely girl, but she kept everything! Our apartment had two large closets in the halls. Both filled with her crap. The fridge full of 45 ranch dressing bottles cause there was about a teaspoons worth of dressing in all of them. Her room had about 3 feet of clear walking space, and that was on the ceiling. I have never seen so much crap in one room! My other roommate had a cat. I hate cats! Cats shed! Cats have hairballs! Cats also pee and poop in sand. And its important to clean up said sandy pee and poop. She did not. Sometimes for a week or more at time. Of course it was her cat so I wasn't about to clean the litter box. No, I'd just deal with the skin-peeling stench that came from our overheated, unventilated, week-old stinky sandy cat poop apartment. Sure showed her!!!

Now I'm sharing a beautiful Victorian house (think grandma's house, only grandma has been dead for 15 years and the creepy caretaker has been looking after the place) with 6 people, and a ghost. Yes that's right, a ghost. Most say here name is Emily. I am more inclined to believe it's the career of some actor, long since forgotten after playing 3rd guy from the left in a production of "musical that no one has ever heard of." My room has 4 doors. One leads to the hall, the other the closet, which has a door that leads to, another closet. The third door leads to the closet of another room in the house. Probably the passage for servants when this house was built. The forth leads to a widows walk and some small attic space (I lovingly call it the Ann Frank room) complete with a hive of bees and the carcasses of small rodents. Last night I woke suddenly. The room was cold. I turned off my fan. Still cold. Window was open. I heard a noise. A gentle tapping sound followed by a faint wwwhhhoooo!! I convinced myself it was a woodpecker and an owl involved in some late night mating ritual. Yes of course, that makes perfect sense!!!

Dear Diary, I wonder if that raft mouse has found me at last?

Life isn't always Fair

When I was a kid I loved going to the Fair. In North Battleford, SK where I grew up every summer the Fair would come. We called them Territorial Days! Whatever, it was a fair. It usually started Sunday night, with a Parade thru North Battleford on Monday. Starting at the CO-OP Mall parking lot all the way thru 100th Street and ended, well I think at the Frontier Mall. As a kid the parade was something I always looked forward to. The floats and the band (ok, it was the free candy that was passed out) I'm not sure if they still do a parade or not anymore. Now that we are all grown up I don't think my parents attend the Fair by themselves. Another big highlight as a kid was the Spudnut Booth!!! Our church had a booth when I was a kid, I think it lasted up until I was about 10 or 11. We made and sold Spudnuts, a king-sized donut made out of potato flour. 2 flavors, chocolate (which was frosted on only one side) and vanilla glazed (dunked and glazed on both sides) We used a small stick to frost them, basically the handle of a wooden spoon, minus the spoon. The kids weren't allowed to help much in the booth, except to frost and glaze the freshly fried circles of joy!!! I remember when I was old enough to help sell them, handling money like some fried dough bookie. It was great fun. I also remember a lot of rides. My parents never went on rides with us, except for maybe the Ferris Wheel or Carousel. As I got a little older my friends would convince me to a remarkable feat of bravery and I'd set foot on some upside down spinning headache madness. My first roller coaster ride, (real roller coaster, upside down etc) wasn't until I was 20 in Las Vegas, at New York, New York. (actually quite a crappy roller coaster by my new found theme park attraction standards) Anyway, that was the Fair. Parade, rides, and Spudnuts. Eventually the church sold the stand and as I understand now, it doesn't exist. The goodness of fried potato flour has been lost to thousands (well more like hundreds) of Saskatchewan fairgoers for years to come. (I take this moment to interject that my sister has since created what we feel to be a Fairly (hehe) accurate replication of the Spudnut recipe, however she has neglected to share it with me- her blog is smallfryandco.blogspot.com, perhaps you can petition her to share her fried goodness and then send me the recipe)
Yesterday I was blessed to attend the Haddam Neck Fair. $7 admission fee, free parking and all that the local patrons had to offer. I was at home again. Admittedly the rides at this fair were not good. Down right pathetic really. Some bargain basement amusement company ripping the good people of tick country off. My friends and I each paid $4 to ride what was called Haunted Cavern. I remember a ride such as this in my youth. Small car for 2, thru probably 15 seconds of pitch black tight turns, occasionally a loud bang, pop up cut-out witch, or devil character around the corner with flashing red eyes and an evil laugh that usually happened too early or too late. As a kid it wasn't scary. I usually went on this ride after having my lunch nearly make a second appearance on some spinning rocketship of death. This particular Haunted Cavern consisted of a 10 second ride thru the dark, and that was it!! $4 to ride thru the dark!? I might as well have paid the guy to blindfold me, and sit me on a stool for 10 seconds. WHAT A RIP OFF. I had a mind to march myself over to the ticket booth and demand a refund. This guy just made $26 off me and my friends for what, a trip thru a short power outage. No matter. We had much to explore. We visited many pavilions and such, all displayed with prize winning beans, tomatoes, flowers, best eggs, best jams, pies, and cakes. The 4H tents were quite a smell to behold; best chicken (did you know there are like 45 varieties of chicken) KFC only has 3. We visited the petting zoo, which is quite a treat with city kids. For me, if you've seen one goat, you've seen them all. I did spy with my little eye an interesting creature called a Zonkey, a Zebra/Donkey mix. Really? Just what we need, an ugly grey and black striped horse wannabe! Then the prize winning cattle shed. (not that the shed won the prize, its the shed which housed the prize winning cattle) Now, I prize myself on being one who can nap pretty much anywhere, I'm not a champion like my father who once fell asleep on the toilet mid.....well you get the idea....but I am a contender in the making! Right in the middle of the shed was a woman passed out asleep on a pile of grain bags. Now, If I was a rather large lady, no matter how tired I was, I would not for the life of me nap in a cattle shed right in front of the blue ribbon winning Heifer. I'm just saying!!! We dinned on fried dough and fresh squeezed lemonade, ate chocolate covered bacon (don't knock it, bacon is the worlds perfect food) and bought squares from the local church ladies. I won a large stuffed sailor dog shooting a cross bow at a little star. (who knew that gopher hunting trip with my brother would come in handy) I won a 5 foot tall inflatable alien at another midway game. Never played the games as a kid. We usually had to pull weeds all summer to earn enough money to go to the fair and get our all-day ride bracelet. I never had extra for silly games. Still don't, but after that "dark and spooky" ride, I thought I had better get my money's worth from this country bumpkin showdown. We watched the baby contest. Wasn't much of a contest!!! People were selling their crap, I mean homemade glass brick lamps! And then a Circus performed. By circus I mean a middle aged house wife swinging from a rope in spandex and sequins she was melted and poured into, a thin ex Russian gymnast juggling hats, and 3 Italian guys on a trampoline. Stand back Cirque du Soleil!! I had a great time. I left with fond sense of memory, a stomach full of fried dough, and an alien on my arm. I could picture my dad spending all day in the sun watching the Oxen pull; my mother as one of those zucchini cake selling church ladies; and my brother, sister and I running thru the rides looking for our next 45 second adventure.

Dear Diary, I wonder how much that Cicrus lady makes?

Ain't nothing gonna break my stride

I currently find myself in East Haddam, CT.......I know, where? I'm working at the Goodspeed Opera house, in the cast of A Funny Thing Happened on the way to the Forum. I've never worked here before, and my friends who have, warned me that there isn't much to do in this town. I use that word loosely, town. This place basically has the theater, two restaurants, a postoffice, an ice cream store, a liquor store (of course), and some houses. That's it! When I got this job I decided I would set this goal for myself to lose 10 lbs. And knowing that there wasn't much to do I decided that I would start running. Now, I'm not much of a runner. I mean I was good at running as a kid, I ran a lot (bullies), but in my adult life, I will occasionally run on the treadmill at the gym. Cardio and I aren't the best of friends! We have a love/hate relationship. I digress.....

When I arrived in this antiquity of a town I was ready to accomplish my new goal. Full of excitement, hope, and anticipation. I could see myself, Chariots of Fire theme song and all, running like the Olympians of old. I got new shoes and everything to accomplish my goal. Goals are funny things aren't they. We set them, and at the beginning they look pretty good. We can see ourselves completing them with the greatest sense of accomplishment and achievement. Anyway, day One. I ask our company manager, a local woman, if there are any trails or something; I explain my desire to run. (though if I'd have taken a better look at the town, flee is more of an appropriate word). She tells me of this 3 mile route that she does, "its perfect" she exclaims. GREAT. I am set. I get the directions. I start my run.

Its the morning, 9:26 to be exact when I start. Exit my house, turn Right. 45 seconds into this 3 mile trek, a hill. Great?! Not just any hill, I'm talking small chairlift to get to the top hill. That's ok, I can do this...you set a goal....its just a hill. I'm feeling like the little engine that could....shouldn't have eaten those Golden Oreo's last night. Thanks a lot Mr. Oreo guy. Why did you have to tempt me with your golden crispy cookie and sweet filling goodness!! What seems like an eternity later, the top of the hill. First turn, ok, I can do this. Where am I? Is this right, there are no houses, just trees. (I take this opportunity to disclose that this part of Connecticut is the tick capital of the US. so I wear long sleeves and pants, just to be sure) So now I'm running thru the forest, shaded by beautiful trees, watch for falling ticks. What's that clicking sound? Oh, its just my knee.....maybe this was a little to ambitious.....run thru the pain, I'm sure a coach is yelling that somewhere this very minute! A couple cars pass me. Good, if I pass out and die on this road at least someone will find me. Second turn, great. I'll walk a few steps, catch my breath. Crap another hill. This one goes down. I'm not sure which is harder, running up hill or down. This is madness. "baby let me show you how to move this" my iPod cues Technotronic just as I'm about to walk the rest of the 3 miles. Ok, I'll run again. "get into the hot tub let me pour a little salt" Ooo, a hot tub sounds nice! I'm picking up the pace a little. Thank you Technotronic guy. Another hill, going up. Smaller than the last but still......really? Whats that on my left, oh, bear poop. Looks fresh. Great.........traffic, and ticks, and bears....oh my!! I definitely can't out run him should Mr. bear jump out of the woods. I'll take my shirt off, that should scare anything away. Oh, I can't gotta beware of ticks. Gotta catch my breath.....people up ahead, better start running again, don't want to look weak. Maybe I have more steam than I thought. Another hill, down this time....I'm running a little faster now!! YES, I can do this. My right ankle is cramping. Well, at least I can't feel my knee now. 3rd corner. Finally, some flat road. Oh, crap, another hill. Don't get hit by the truck as it goes barreling by. Stupid drivers. This is my road. Don't you know about my goal to run....stupid people. I'm feeling it now. How much longer is this stupid route? I pass a graveyard. As I look I see a tombstone with the engraving, "Steve's hopes and dreams" Oh, that's where they are, good to know. There is a cute antique store on my left; hours of operation, "open by chance" OK?! Now that's a great way to run a business. I see it, the end is near. Come on man, just a little more. I kick it into high gear. "ain't nothing gonna break my stride, ain't nothing gonna hold me down." my iPod cues the runners anthem. Thank you Matthew Wilder. Your song inspires me. I sprint the rest of the way. Maybe a minute. I'm sure there are 7th graders that could out run my sprint, but still I'm on top of the world. I pass my front door, time? 31 minutes. Not bad at all. I'll take that. I can't breathe, and my hip has seized up, but I did it. I check myself for ticks. All clear. Sweaty sense of accomplishment...priceless! I cool down and stretch for a few minutes, I feel a little light headed. Better lay down for a few minutes. I drag my sweaty mess of a self into the house.

Dear Diary, I'm never eating Oreo's again!!!