“Define Iron: Iron. It’s…a Noun. It’s When Something Is… Ironic!”
I’m pouting today because it’s Pioneer Day today. The bus schedule has altered itself because Utahns consider this a holiday and I can’t take the bus down to that craft store that’s having a closing sale. It was my only plan for today. Just’In hates craft stores because his mom used to drag him with her when he was a kid as she wandered around them for hours at a time. His mom wouldn’t let the poor guy sit in the car or outside or stay home; he used to find an empty bottom shelf, lay on it, and take a nap or play his Gameboy (which his dad got for his specifically for this purpose). I enjoy craft stores. Not nearly as much as his mom does, because her entire house is a craft store, but I do enjoy them. I was looking forward to perusing the store on the day I got off because of Pioneer Day.
Other than the alteration of the bus schedule, I enjoy Pioneer Day and its associations. We were bummed when Kenny, my little brother, was born one day short of Pioneer Day. (HAPPY BUTT-DAY, KP!) We had a free fireworks show two weeks ago in celebration of Pioneer Day, and ironically, I loved the crowd more than I liked the fireworks. I like walking with huge crowds while in the middle of them; I like breaking out my cane and watching how people interact to it and to me when I have my cane out. I’m night blind, so I definitely need it, but I also had Just’In by my side, so I didn’t need it then. Plus, the area was familiar. I’ve walked it many, many times, so the cane was merely to measure the crowd. The results were interesting, if not predictable. People always give me plenty of space on all sides, and because it’s Utah and there aren’t too many blind people here, I was getting all sorts of looks from people. The most interesting case was a little girl in front of me. Most people’s looks were furtive; one look, maybe two, and that’s it. But not this girl. She stared with blatent fear, and ironically enough, I would have thought she of all people would be able to relate best to my situation because she was black. There aren’t many black people in Utah either. Just’In’s question was what people thought when they saw him on my arm. Did they think he was blind too? Did they think he was incompetent or that I was incompetent because I had to have someone at my arm AND a cane? Did they think he was a fool because he was on the arm of a blind person? Did they think he was desperate or using me in some way?
I suppose the state that was founded by pioneers escaping religious persecution in a country that ironically was founded by those also escaping religious persecution should celebrate Pioneer Day. I have ancestors who were pioneers (on my mother’s side), I hiked the sesquicentennial Pioneer Trek in 1997 for a week in Wyoming at and around Rocky Ridge. I’ve heard the songs and the stories, read the books, and even saw a hokey, campy play about it last week where they packed the entire cast onstage al the time, and every musical number ended as a finale. I applauded the choreographer (it’s commendable to put any sort of choreography to a stage packed full of people), and the guy who played Brigham Young (he played Rigoletto once and should play Valjean), but Utahns give away Standing Os way too easily.
In unrelated pioneer stuff, I made cinnamon rolls yesterday because I was feeling extremely domestic; they’re about the size of Frontier Rolls (if I remember right), which is really big for a cinnamon roll, only not nearly as buttery as Frontier’s. They’re only that way because I didn’t roll the dough tight enough, and I only ended up with about seven rolls. I think my mom usually makes the dough wider and shorter than I did, but I used what resources I have, and I have a small kitchen table and not much counter space. They still taste the same, and I’m munching on one now.
And, because darling moonhut tagged me (or something close to it, anyway):
Respond to this post and I will give you the three words that I think MOST accurately describe you.