The Magic Show
When I was seven I went to a magic show. An illusionist. This was a long time ago.
I lived with my parents on a small farm in Minnesota, fields all around for running and playing in, chickens in the coop out back, wood ducks on the pond, two cows and a small herd of goats. My mother had convinced my father the goats would be profitable. At first my father didn’t think anyone would buy goat dairy products, but there proved to be a big market for organic goat cheese and milk at the Whole Foods markets, farmer’s markets and co-ops that offered healthy alternatives for wealthy people.
Once my mother got my father on the right track she went back to writing children’s books in her upstairs study and left most of the farming to my father and two hired men from town. My chore was to collect eggs in the mornings before heading off to school, and in the summer to do the same, help a little and “run and be a kid.” During the school year my “job” was my schoolwork.
At the end of summer, just before I had to go back to school, was the Minnesota state fair. The fair was the highlight of my year. It was a whirlwind. An adventure for every sense. There was the smell of every kind of food wafting through the air—corn dogs, Martha’s chocolate chip cookies, blooming onions, French fries, pork chops, egg rolls, you name it, I smelled it. And tasting all this food, another story altogether. I loved being squeezed between two friends or against my father on the Scrambler on the midway, there was a funhouse, cat and mouse, climbing walls, and Ferris wheels. The fair had music shows for my parents, and for me something new and different at every corner: BMX bikers flipping and turning, wood working workshops for kids, a fortune telling tent, a butterfly world, deep fried Snickers bars, you name it, it was there.
Shows were not my favorite, but this year, my mother’s hand in mine, my father said, “There’s a magic show in the Education Center.” He read from the program, “Marvin the Magnificent will mystify the masses, amaze the mortal mind with old world magic and a bit of the new. Shows at 10:00, 1:00 and 4:00. Don’t miss this show good for all ages!
“Want to go Bud?”
“Yeah!”
Click here to read the rest of The Magic Show
When I was seven I went to a magic show. An illusionist. This was a long time ago.
I lived with my parents on a small farm in Minnesota, fields all around for running and playing in, chickens in the coop out back, wood ducks on the pond, two cows and a small herd of goats. My mother had convinced my father the goats would be profitable. At first my father didn’t think anyone would buy goat dairy products, but there proved to be a big market for organic goat cheese and milk at the Whole Foods markets, farmer’s markets and co-ops that offered healthy alternatives for wealthy people.
Once my mother got my father on the right track she went back to writing children’s books in her upstairs study and left most of the farming to my father and two hired men from town. My chore was to collect eggs in the mornings before heading off to school, and in the summer to do the same, help a little and “run and be a kid.” During the school year my “job” was my schoolwork.
At the end of summer, just before I had to go back to school, was the Minnesota state fair. The fair was the highlight of my year. It was a whirlwind. An adventure for every sense. There was the smell of every kind of food wafting through the air—corn dogs, Martha’s chocolate chip cookies, blooming onions, French fries, pork chops, egg rolls, you name it, I smelled it. And tasting all this food, another story altogether. I loved being squeezed between two friends or against my father on the Scrambler on the midway, there was a funhouse, cat and mouse, climbing walls, and Ferris wheels. The fair had music shows for my parents, and for me something new and different at every corner: BMX bikers flipping and turning, wood working workshops for kids, a fortune telling tent, a butterfly world, deep fried Snickers bars, you name it, it was there.
Shows were not my favorite, but this year, my mother’s hand in mine, my father said, “There’s a magic show in the Education Center.” He read from the program, “Marvin the Magnificent will mystify the masses, amaze the mortal mind with old world magic and a bit of the new. Shows at 10:00, 1:00 and 4:00. Don’t miss this show good for all ages!
“Want to go Bud?”
“Yeah!”
Click here to read the rest of The Magic Show
Tess's Panther
Sixteen-year-old Tess Harper worried every night closing Bonworth’s at the Coral Isle Prime Outlet. Walking out with the manager into the dark lot Tess imagined a big black panther appearing. There were yellow Panther Crossing signs just up the road so it wasn’t really just her imagination.
It didn’t help that she had grown up on the outskirts of Scottsdale, Arizona before it was built up and neighborhood cats and dogs were taken nightly by coyotes. Moving to Florida Tess thought would be a relief—no coyotes. But in Naples on the gulf coast just north of Marco Island the great black Panthers were making a comeback. Great.
They parked their cars in the employee spots, a long walk from the door. Lit only by two high yellow lights and surrounded by small hills, scrub brush and some young palm trees, it seemed prime picking ground for a hungry panther.
No one had actually seen a panther in the lot, or even that close, but they had been spotted near by—pictured in the Naples Daily News with quivering haunches and menacing yellow feline eyes. They were to Tess perfect killing machines: worse then coyotes by a million percent.
Click here to read the rest of Tess's Panther
Sixteen-year-old Tess Harper worried every night closing Bonworth’s at the Coral Isle Prime Outlet. Walking out with the manager into the dark lot Tess imagined a big black panther appearing. There were yellow Panther Crossing signs just up the road so it wasn’t really just her imagination.
It didn’t help that she had grown up on the outskirts of Scottsdale, Arizona before it was built up and neighborhood cats and dogs were taken nightly by coyotes. Moving to Florida Tess thought would be a relief—no coyotes. But in Naples on the gulf coast just north of Marco Island the great black Panthers were making a comeback. Great.
They parked their cars in the employee spots, a long walk from the door. Lit only by two high yellow lights and surrounded by small hills, scrub brush and some young palm trees, it seemed prime picking ground for a hungry panther.
No one had actually seen a panther in the lot, or even that close, but they had been spotted near by—pictured in the Naples Daily News with quivering haunches and menacing yellow feline eyes. They were to Tess perfect killing machines: worse then coyotes by a million percent.
Click here to read the rest of Tess's Panther
The Black Ramp
These people were there: the Dorsett Twins, Timmy Hopper, Greg Wyland, two ladies out gardening, a kid in a stroller sitting by one of the ladies, Margie Thompson, Lucy Barnes, and Cecile White, three little neighborhood girls across the street jumping rope and myself. Everyone saw a piece of what happened. I saw it all, Cecile did too, but no one believed any of us.
Click here to read the rest of The Black Ramp
These people were there: the Dorsett Twins, Timmy Hopper, Greg Wyland, two ladies out gardening, a kid in a stroller sitting by one of the ladies, Margie Thompson, Lucy Barnes, and Cecile White, three little neighborhood girls across the street jumping rope and myself. Everyone saw a piece of what happened. I saw it all, Cecile did too, but no one believed any of us.
Click here to read the rest of The Black Ramp
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