Eternal youth

I feel like I'm in some sort of strange eternal youth groove with the universe lately.  I recently re-read Tuck Everlasting, a favorite book from my childhood.  And, like the rest of the world these last 24 hours, I've watched a sad recounting of the life and death of a certain Peter Pan.  

Today I came across a story about Brooke Greenberg.  Brooke is 16 years old, but she hasn't aged physically beyond the stage of infancy.  Her mental development matches that of a toddler.  Doctors are baffled by her condition, and her parents are left to wonder if their daughter holds the secret to the fountain of youth.  ABC's 20/20 will air a special tonight on Brooke's story, 10 p.m. EST.

It's a fascinating story; a sad one too.  Parents wish for their children to enjoy a long happy childhood, but not a permanent one.  

Thanks to my friend Jamie for the link.

The Friday Four: Bay Area events for kids

The San Anselmo Art & Wine Festival

Food, wine, art and music, plus hands-on activities and rides in the Kid Zone for the little ones.

www.sananselmochamber.org

Downtown, San Anselmo
Saturday and Sunday, 10 a.m. - 6 p.m.
Ages: All
Cost: Free


Paw-A-Thon & Pet Resource Fair

A 1-mile fundraising dog walk-a-thon.  Fun and educational.

www.fourpawssociety.org

Marina Park, San Leandro
Saturday, 8 a.m. - noon
Ages: All
Cost: Free


The Sonoma-Marin Fair

All of the typical county fair fun, with lots for the under 12 set including a Diaper Derby.  Highlights include The World's Ugliest Dog Contest, and live music from Night Ranger and The Charlie Daniel's Band.

www.sonoma-marinfair.org

Sonoma-Marin Fairgrounds, Petaluma
Saturday, noon - midnight
Sunday, noon - 11 p.m.
Ages: All
Cost: $15 ages 13 and up, $10 ages 12 - 4.



SF Pride Parade

This year's theme is To Form A More Perfect Union.  The parade begins at 10:30 a.m.  along Market Street, beginning at Beale Street and ending at 8th Street.  

www.sfpride.org

Masters Of Deception

Grandpa snowed the cops and I helped.  He took my cousin and I to The Dayton International Air & Trade Show.  It was late July in Ohio; heat shimmered off metal and pavement, the air was broth.  The event features tours, and a flying exhibition, of the world's most elite aircraft, but sugar waffles, frozen lemonade, corndogs, and French fries are the main attraction when you are 7 years old.

We climbed up to look into a jet fighter cockpit or two: ‘So many buttons.'  We toured a luxury airliner: ‘Thanks for the wings captain.'  These were pleasant enough distractions on our way to the good stuff - food and trinkets.  ‘Look, it's ice cream!  Hey, they're giving away free fans at that booth! Fans!  For free!'

After the stunts are performed, the spectators wander back to the cars they left to bake in a field. They are sun burnt and heat weary, with full bladders and sour attitudes.  The free cardboard fans are curiously soggy, the plastic wings pins have shed their metallic paint.  It is time to begin the snail-paced parade out of the mile-wide parking lot.
 
We left after The Blue Angels, a truly unoriginal escape plan.  My cousin and I bounced across the springy scorching vinyl of the backseat - Hansel and Gretel into the oven.  Grandpa put down the windows and mopped the back of his neck with a handkerchief.  Then he started the car.  The Buick inched along over a field that was more dirt than grass, patches of gravel here and there, the occasional pothole taken in a strange sort of slow motion.  As we approached a sheriff's deputy directing traffic, Grandpa spotted the road to glory - a service vehicle access path.  A plan was hatched then and there.

Grandpa leaned over the seat with a large plastic souvenir cup.  He handed it to me. "Take this and lie down across your cousin's lap.  Pretend you're getting sick into it," he said.  "Cousin, rub her back and talk to her like she's at death's door." 

Cousin and I looked at each other, our eyes wide with disbelief.  Aiding and abetting! Pulling off a caper with the family patriarch was irresistible; we embraced our roles with vigor.  I gagged and sputtered, he there-there'ed and held my hair back. 

Grandpa pulled up to the officer and made the pitch. "'S'cuse me Officer," he said, sweet as pie, sorry-to-trouble-you, like.  "I have a sick little one here.  Do you think there's any way I could maybe, uhh... maybe... use the access road?  I just want to get her home and out of this heat.  Poor little thing, she was having such a great time too.  It's her birthday."

The cop peeked into the backseat where the birthday girl was heaving like a supermodel.  I splashed around the backwash in the bottom of the Dayton International Air & Trade Show commemorative cup for effect.  The cop took another look at Grandpa - the physical embodiment of goodness and honesty - and hopped to it.  He opened the gate and called ahead on his walkie-talkie to ensure no hassles and a speedy exit.   At each checkpoint on the road Grandpa would nod and give a smile of gratitude.  He waved with his fingertips.  I would lie over my cousin's sweaty thighs and push the cup up to my face, panting and groaning.  Every one of the officers had heard the story of the nice old grandpa with the sick kid, they were more than happy to help us out.

Past the last gate and approaching the highway, Grandpa gave us the ‘all clear.'  My cousin and I were exhilarated.  We gave compliments and high-fives, and told Grandpa how brilliant he was for thinking it up.  We laughed at the suckers stuck in traffic.  We laughed at how easily we'd deceived law enforcement.  We were naturals, outlaws.   And we'd just pulled off the perfect crime.

"Now children, I don't think we ought to tell your folks about that little fib I told the officer, do you?" he asked; the answer built in to the question.  We were all in agreement that it should stay between the three of us.  No need to involve our parents in this misdeed.  It would be our secret. 

All of the parents and most of the extended family knew every detail of The Great Dayton International Air & Trade Show Caper Of 1976 within 24 hours. 

We were masters of deception, but shameless braggarts.

Ten ways to tell you live with a preschooler

There comes a day when some parents start to look around their once beautiful surroundings and realize their life is indeed no longer their own. 

I used to love looking at sites like Apartment Therapy, not that my apartment looked as good as the ones featured on that site, but there was always hope that maybe one day it could.  It's sort of like looking at the Crate & Barrel or Pottery Barn catalog; I know that very few people actually live in homes that look like that, but a girl can dream can't she?  Well Reader, I'm here to tell you that dream has come to an end.  Or at least it's been pushed to the gunky oatmeal-spackled back burner for now.

Our once hip apartment in the coolest neighborhood, North Beach, in the best city in the world, San Francisco, has taken on a different "feel".  Basically, on any given day it looks like Ikea and Target took on Fisher-Price and Crayola in a grudge match to the death. 

We no longer own a desk.  My piano is in storage.  The CDs have been moved onto a hard drive, the books have peanut butter smudges, and the rugs and furniture have strange unexplainable stains and smells. 

There's a new sheriff in Apartment Town and he's a preschooler.  I offer you photographic proof.

Not so much for people trying to get in so much as for people trying to get out.

First thing you see when you walk in my front door.

There's a nice little view of Alcatraz from that window if I remember correctly.

Self explanatory.

A monthly purchase creatively stored in cupboards meant for dishes.

My kitchen when it is "clean".

Absolute necessity.

I've served wine in the back hoe cup.

A toothbrush, a stick of deodorant, and a bar of soap. That's what there's room for on mommy's shelf.

This is what happens when I try to clean up and put things away.

The fangs are out!

Could we be in for a Bill versus Edward, True Blood/Twilight vampire grudge match to the bloody death?  No, but would I fight for a front row seat to such an event?  YES!

Here's what Stephen Moyer (True Blood's Bill Compton) had to say about Robert Pattinson (Edward Cullen of Twilight).

I think I'm going to have to go Bill Compton here, although I really wish he was sparkly like Edward. 

Which vampire would you choose?

Hi, I'm Gretchen