Once a year a particular type of excitement came to our small town on the banks of the Ohio River. The Fourth of July, Independence Day, called for parades, and picnics and visits from relatives. But for me the great excitement happened all week—The carnival came to town with thrilling rides, a merry-go-round, cotton candy, and pony rides. I could hardly contain myself waiting for the Fourth, the night my family would go the carnival. Loud music, bright lights, and a duck pond where I could to pick a little plastic duck with a number on its bottom that corresponded to a prize hanging on the back wall of the stall.
I know now that the prizes were cheap trinkets, but then I was excited that I had actually won something.
People dressed up then as though they were going somewhere special, and for some it was a special treat. I could go on describing the excitement and wonder of it all, but instead let me share a story I wrote some time back about a child, Emily, and her very first Fourth of July adventure which mirrors my first experience of Goin’ to the Fourth.
Telling the truth about one’s life isn’t always easy. But my blog is predicated on cracking the world open by telling the truth. It is especially hard for me because I don’t really like giving anything away. As the old saying goes, “Never tell them where your goat is tied.” I suppose that is so that people can’t “get your goat.” Here is one big truth about me. I don’t like being thought sentimental.
I wrote the following post on New Year’s Eve and am finally getting it posted. I know it’s late in coming, but some time life gets in the way of living. Anyway here is my New Year’s post. Enjoy or at least don’t let it get you down. Continue reading Happy New Year!→
My mother always liked a good laugh. In her extended family, you would never make it through a meal if you didn’t have a quick comeback or at least a ready laugh.
They were all like that—the extended Dailey clan—quick retort, a repeated story (either made up or true) was the price of a meal at their table. Mom’s uncle Frank had a reputation for saying just about anything to anybody. Although I never directly heard him say anything he has been reported to say, I understand that his lines leaned more towards the scatological, wanting to get a “Eeeewww” from his hearers more than a guffaw.
What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life? What if 20 or 100. Would we then understand the truth of the world, of other people, of ourselves?
I am beginning this blog as a little experiment where I intend to tell the truth not only about my own ideas, but also the truth about social situations, the world, nature, religion, and just about anything else. Of course, it will be my truth, but you are welcome to disagree without being disagreeable.