“PLAN C”: RUN WITH THE WIND

AUGUST 30, 2024 – Blogger’s note: Today’s central activity—a trip to the Minnesota State Fair with our almost nine-year-old granddaughter—produced material and memories that warranted a break from my Landscaping: The Great Escape series.

“Plan A” called for my wife to take Illiana to the Minnesota State Fair today while I got an early start on the long weekend and drove to the cabin, leaving by 9:00 a.m. Beth would drive up separately Saturday. Her problem knee, however, required development of “Plan B”: I would take Illiana to the fair for a couple of hours starting at 10:00, then leave for the cabin in time to beat the Labor Day Weekend traffic. Under “Plan B” I managed to squeeze in an appointment with our local mechanic for a long overdue oil change.

Inevitably, “Plan B” was amended to allow four hours at the fair. At precisely 1:08 p.m., while Illiana and I were patiently waiting in a 15-row queue for the five-minute Skyride over the fairgrounds, “Plan B” was abruptly transformed into “Plan C”—a delay in departure for the cabin to Saturday morning. I cite the precise time of the transformation because I noticed “1:08 p.m.” when my phone rang: it was the garage calling to sell me new brakes at the cost of a two-and-a-half-hour delay and added expense equal to the price of a round-trip “comfort class” ticket aboard a trans-Atlantic flight. Ironically, the expensive phone call coincided with my turn at the crowded Skyride ticket window where I was being further fleeced.

As is so often the case in life, however, “Plan C” (despite its price tag) yielded rewards far greater than what I’d expected under “Plan A” and subsequently, “Plan B” (as amended). For nearly five hours, grandpa and granddaughter had the time of our lives, despite having to navigate through a record-breaking crowd. The list of our activities is rather modest, but when we exited the fairgrounds we both felt thoroughly satisfied.

Our stops/rides/food included 1. One round of smoothies—strawberry/banana for Illiana and piña colada for me; 2. The DFL (“Democratic Farmer Labor”) Party headquarters; 3. The Republican Party headquarters; 4. The Giant Slide, with grandpa and granddaughter flying down on the same mat; 5. The aforementioned Skyride; 6. For Illiana, a handmade ice cream sandwich—mint and double-chocolate; 7. The Big Ferris Wheel (both of us); 8. The “Lunge” ride (Illiana); 9. A bag of fresh mini-donuts (for Grandma)—Illiana didn’t want any; and 10. What seemed to be spontaneous Norman Rockwellian parade, featuring (a) outstate high school and college marching bands as clean-cut and earnest as you could imagine, (b) old veterans riding vintage military jeeps, and (c) a “robot club” from heaven only knew.

The total cost of our total experience, including admission tickets: about the same as the price of the oil change, but a small percentage of the cost of new brakes—labor and materials, plus tax.

We observed the usual spectrum of humanity, along with their self-selected badges of identification, mostly in the form of names, words and symbols on T-shirts, sports jerseys and baseball caps. Harris-Walz buttons, caps, and T-shirts were commonplace. One volunteer told me that on the first day of the fair the pavilion’s entire inventory of campaign buttons had sold out—over $250,000 worth. I don’t believe we saw more than three T-shirts sporting slogans in support of the opposing team. At the Republican headquarters we saw far fewer people than had crowded the DFL spot, and no one was buying the featured T-shirt: one with the words, “UNVACCINATED, CONSERVATIVE, MEAT EATING, GUN OWNER / HOW ELSE CAN I OFFEND YOU TODAY?” (P.S. I’ll join the refrain, “Whatever happened to the Grand Old Party of Lincoln?”)

With the minor exception of the crass Republican T-shirt (which, again, was attracting no takers), Illiana and I were impressed by the general courtesy of fair-goers and vendors. Despite the crush of the crowds, we heard “Excuse me” and “Thank you,” repeatedly and noticed how often people apologized for stepping into or elbowing someone inadvertently.

What gave me the greatest delight, however, was simply being in the pleasant and engaging company of a wonderful almost-nine-year-old.

She was polite at every turn, and while standing in line, she’d find a way to compliment someone about their hair, shirt, glasses, or in the case of a guy who looked straight out of the wilderness of northern Minnesota in the 1880s . . . his beard. What Illiana had noticed was the glitter in the guy’s beard. What both of us and everyone around us noticed after she said, “I like your beard,” was the rough-and-tumble man’s jovial laugh and hearty “Thank you!” in response. (Moral of the story: Never judge a person before you’ve given them a reason to smile, laugh and say, “Thank you.”)

As is characteristic of the almost-third grader, she also exhibited maturity way beyond her years. Way beyond. While we were waiting in line for a turn at the “Lunge” ride, out of the blue she said to me, “Grandpa, I know kids who are eight and nine, even seven who have their own phones.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, but I think it’s very irresponsible on the part of the parents.”

On our brisk walk toward the exit after we’d cleared our way past the crowds, I expressed my pleasure in having experienced the fair with her.

“There are three traits—very positive traits—that you showed today,” I said. “Wanna guess what I think they are?”

“No, but you can tell me if you like.”

“The first is endurance. You’ve shown remarkable endurance. I mean except for when we sat down while consuming our smoothies and the brief rides, we’ve been standing or walking for nearly five hours, and look at you—still going strong!”

“The second trait . . .”

“Patience.”

“Bingo! That’s exactly what I was going to say. Tons of patience; goes with endurance. You’ve been so patient, Illiana, through all the long waits and long walks up and down the fairgrounds.”

“And the third trait?”

“What.”

“Cheerfulness. You’ve been positive and cheerful the entire time. You’re about the most pleasant person to be with of anyone I know. Keep that up, Illiana, and life will be much easier and happier, no matter what.”

We continued to the exit and had the backs of our hands ink-stamped in case we wanted to return. We held out our hands mostly out of curiosity to see what image was on the stamp. It turned out to be a small map of Minnesota. Illiana’s looked better than mine. As she eyed it, she said, “Look, Grandpa! It’s the shape of Minnesota. I could replicate it, add my name and make a piece of art out of it.”

“What you just said was remarkable for two reasons,” I told her. “First, that’s a creative idea. Second, you used the word ‘replicate.’ I don’t think I ever used the word ‘replicate’ until I was well past the age of 30, and here you are, not quite nine, using it already. I’m telling you, Illiana, an expansive vocabulary is a beautiful thing. The more words you have the better you’ll be able to communicate with the world; the better you’ll be able to communicate with yourself! A person can never know too many words. Keep adding, not just while you’re in school but for the rest of your life.”

“Okay.”

Once we’d crossed the busy artery (Snelling Avenue) that forms the east border of the sprawling fairgrounds, we had only half a block of green space, then the neighborhood park to traverse before reaching the end of our street. From there we had only two blocks more to reach home base. When we set foot in the safe zone—the green space—I told Illiana she could run free. She immediately took off, racing ahead of me all the way to the other side of the park.

When I caught up to her I mentioned that Grandma had told me Illiana had recently expressed an interest in becoming a runner. “Is that right?” I said.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Did you know I used to be a runner?”

“Cool!”

“Yes, very cool, Illiana. As a runner you get to run with the wind.”

“That would be fun.”

“Yes, it is. It’s lots of fun, Illiana.” And off she ran again.

How in the world, I wonder, could “Plan A” have possibly won against “Plan C”?

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© 2024 by Eric Nilsson