For An Old Man
Saturday. A BART trip to meet Mr. E and Mr. H at the Concord BART station, Mr. E then driving us to Dixon some half way to Sacramento for the Lambtown Festival for reasons unknown to any of us other than it seemed like a good idea yesterday at the time. What the hell, a lamb festival. Why not? (The animal in the photograph with the hay in its fur is an Alpaca, by the way. I pretty much crapped out with the camera at the Alpaca pens, never quite getting to the lambs of which, I'm sure, there were many.)
We sat in front of the band stand eating barbecue and drinking Budweiser through the afternoon. No, not what you think, I actually kept it to one. One glass of what I understand is soon to be a Belgian beer, no Guinness at the lamb's festival in Dixon. No complaints. We were guests outside of our own territory, although I avoided the outfit selling “Freedom fries”. “Freedom fries”. An old sign, maybe? The food kiosk next to it was selling French fries. I didn't buy anything from them either, but Dixon is, after all, only an hour or so from the Bay Area. Well, only an hour and a half or so from the Bay Area. Not enough information here to make a judgement. The food vendors follow a circuit, the “Freedom fries” could have come in from, well hell, anywhere.
Still, even though the first band played nothing but songs about Jesus (they were members of a special bible study group at the church next to the fairgrounds and we were all welcome to come by), they were pretty damned good in a kind of folk music about Jesus sort of a way and we had a great time. It is now eight in the evening, however, and I'm sore and tired and looking forward to watching what's left of my Japanese soaps, the head having behaved pretty well throughout the day. Pretty ambitious, for an old man on a Saturday, don't you think? Here in Oakland?
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