For those of you who don't know, it's pretty far north. Like, you can't get too much further north in the United States of America, save Palin's State with the Russian View. We're way, WAY up there, tucked up against the westernmost point of Lake Superior.
It's usually cold and snowy by now. Usually. In a normal-weather year, waiting until December to hold our holiday parade would mean that the Eveleth Clown Band wouldn't have any kids to throw candy at. Or even any adults. NO ONE would venture outside. It would be too blasted cold.
So, we hold our holiday parade the Friday before Thanksgiving. And though I understand the climate-based reasons why, it's just TOO EARLY for me to be in the holiday spirit. If I had to project holiday spirit for FIVE WEEKS, I'd burn out with a crackle, like so many incandescent Christmas tree bulbs.
I decided to watch it anyway. VodkaMom (my very favorite former co-worker!) and I, along with a few other 30-something friends and offspring, gathered downtown to take in the nearly two-hour procession.
It was a balmy 48 degrees. VM and I stood comfortably in non-insulated footwear, thin fall coats and Magic Stretch Gloves.
VM had two of her three punkins, Mini-VM and The N-Man, in tow.
It was a motley crue. Me, sporting a fresh cold sore and stress hair from working on the company budget for the previous ten hours; VM, who really never looks anything less than purrrr-fect; Mini-VM, who kept applying and removing a fleece hat to and from her stuffed elephant; and The N-Man, who had slept funny and was now battling a tender testicle.
The parade begins.
VM: I find men in band uniforms to be exceedingly unattractive.
ME: Yeah. Even if you're hot before you put it on, you look awful once you're in it.
VM: Nobody has ever looked good in a cummerbund.
THE N-MAN: Mom, it is SO sore.
We marvel at the number of kiddie dance troupes. There had to be at least eight, each with different, elaborate, and often inappropriate costumes.
ME: I never wanted to be a fairy princess.
VM: (Silence confirms that she, of course, DID.)
ME: Hey, look. There's a little boy. One little boy!
VM: Good for him. He's cool with himself.
Pause.
VM: I was really proud of The N-Man earlier. We were playing Monopoly and he put two blue pegs in the car and said, 'Mom, I just might be gay and marry a guy.'
ME: Ha! That's so cool.
A float featuring a tiny Aerial Lift Bridge drifts past.
THE N-MAN (loudly): Oh, Mom. My testicle hurts. Mom!
VM: Be grateful you don't have to deal with menstrual cramps.
A loud-off key "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" signals the arrival of the School Patrol.
ME (blurting): The SCHOOL PATROL!
VM looks at me quizzically.
ME: I was so mad in third grade because that suck-up Jamie Paulson got picked to be part of the school patrol and I didn't! Gosh, I was mad! (I'm still sounding a little mad, actually.)
VM: I was on it. But I just wanted to be on because they got to go to Valleyfair and have pizza parties. Not because I was concerned with the playground safety of the kindergardners.
The city firefighters pass out Tootsie Pops. I smile.
ME: A firefighter uniform is the polar opposite of a band uniform.
Floats float. Bands play. Horns honk. We're beginning to get a little chilled. And bored.
VM: I wonder what would happen if the Irvin started backing out right now.
ME: Mass hysteria. Terrorist attack. We'd end up huddled on the floor of my office, fighting off looters with plastic water bottles.
VM: Yeah, you're probably right.
THE N-MAN: Ow! MOM!
