The Seasons of Sparkland

What season is it in Sparkland? Spring? Well, yes, but mainly it's Family Season. Between Passover (mid-April) and mid-June is a series of holidays, birthdays, mother's days and father's days that results in my mom's side of my family getting together almost every weekend.

By June, we're all thoroughly sick of one another, except for my grandparents, who couldn't be more satisfied if you gave them a sack of gold.

All of us who descended directly from this side of the family are a bit off kilter mentally, due to some whacky genes. It manifests in all of us in different ways. My mom is extremely cautious. My older aunt is prone to being angry. My younger aunt is... complicated. Very complicated.

We are not laid-back people. None of us is good at compromise, and victory in any conflict goes to the most aggressive. Older aunt usually gets her way, because she's overtly aggressive, as opposed to her sisters, who prefer passive aggression.

Older aunt has some definite expections when it comes to family events. You know how it is in big families - sometimes there's one party with multiple celebrations. For example, you might have one big birthday party for everyone who was born in May, and maybe throw in Mother's Day for maximum efficiency. It can get a little crazy with various cakes, ad-libbed birthday songs, and a flurry of gift exchanges happening simultaneously, but the chaos can be fun. Don't you think? Older aunt doesn't agree. Every family event must be celebrated separately with an Official Party. It becomes exhausting.

I'm not sure why older aunt is so set on us getting together so frequently. She doesn't visibly enjoy herself much. She's the first to criticize if anything is not to her liking. And if she's hosting the gathering, get ready to duck. Don't you know how tired she is after spending all day in the kitchen cooking for us ingrates? It's stressful, hosting a party! Obviously that gives her carte blanche to be snippy, angry, and possibly even yell at us if the spirit moves her.

Do you know of anyone else who invites a bunch of people over for a party and then yells at them? I'm curious.

I can stand being yelled at, unpleasant though it may be. I won't lose sleep over it. What hurts is seeing older aunt criticizing my younger aunt, or dominating my mom. My mom gets very upset, as does her youngest sister, by these confrontations. I've offered to step in and stand up for them, but they always tell me the same thing: we have to pretend to get along for the sake of my grandparents. They wouldn't want me to interfere. My hands are tied.

In happier news, Nilsa at Somi very generously bestowed this award upon me.



Thank you, Nilsa! Now can you see why I said the love couldn't have come at a better time?

I need to have a think about who to pass it along to. Bestowings upon others will follow.

The Flyer

At the end of every summer, the Canadian National Exhibition (a.k.a. The CNE or The Ex) runs for around 5 weeks at the CNE fairgrounds down by Lake Ontario. It's a huge production, including roller coasters, games booths, performers, parades, and around a dozen warehouse-sized buildings filled with food, crafts, flea markets, livestock, etc. I couldn't tell you the size of the fairgrounds, but it takes around 15 minutes to walk from one end to the other, assuming you don't get side-tracked, which is next to impossible.

The Ex was cleaned up during the early '90's, and is now much like a giant, open-air mall. It's still fun, but I honestly preferred it when it was seedier, dirtier, more like a traditional carnival.

My mom, cautious lady that she is, would not take me to the Ex. Her younger, more adventurous sister stepped into the breach. Auntie N is 10 years younger than my mom, 18 years older than me. When we started going to the Ex together every year, she was still in her 20's, and full of beans.

The first thing we'd do once we were inside the gates is get ice cream sandwiches made with hot waffles. That was Auntie N's numero uno priority. Then we could wander around the grounds and make our plans for the day. Greasy games barkers with jailhouse tats and mullets hollered at us to come throw darts at balloons to win a prize every time, or to throw a basketball into a barrel and win a giant stuffed unicorn.

We always rode some of the rides. I found out later, from someone who worked as a carny one summer in the prairies, how these rides are assembled. The trucks pull up to the fair ground shortly before the fair is scheduled to start. The carnies all pile out of their vans, tired from a long day on the road, maybe a little drunk, and get to work. The guy in charge doesn't let anyone go to sleep that night until the rides have all been completed. By 3:00 or 4:00 am, if the ride is finished and there are still a few parts, a few "spare" bolts, lying around that obviously should have been installed somewhere in the structure, most likely the workers will just shrug, throw them back in the box, and head to bed.

Maybe (I hope) the standards have improved since the 1980's, but that's apparently how it was back then. And truly, the rides looked like they had been put together with Tinker Toy. We rode them anyway.

We rode The Flyer, a wooden roller coaster that was at least 30 years old by then. These days, roller coasters all have harnesses that lock down over the riders to keep them firmly in their seats. The Flyer had one metal bar that locked down around six inches above our thighs. You were expected to grab that and hold on real tight. I never let go, because I was convinced I would fly out of the car if I did. The whole structure shook and rumbled as we zoomed around. The Flyer was torn down in the early 90's when the Ex got a makeover. I understand that it did not come close to meeting modern safety standards, but I miss it.

We went on other rides too. One memorable time, Auntie N decided that she simply must have a Bratwurst on a Bun With Onions just before climbing on a ride called The Screamer or The Octopus or something like that. As we swooped through the air, she started feeling queasy. "I don't feel so good!" she moaned in my ear. Just then we caught sight of a news crew filming the ride for the evening news. Auntie N was convinced that she was going to hurl onto the news crew and be humiliated on national television. Fortunately she lasted out the ride without any tossing of cookies. More than 20 years later, Bratwurst on a Bun With Onions is a running joke between us. All I have to do is hold my stomach and moan "Oooooh, Bratwurst!" and she'll laugh.

Those were the days...