The Palos Verdes Uprising

On Saturday there was a street fair up in Palos Verdes near the Peninsula Promenade (or whatever they call it now). Feeling a little housebound after a couple of days of home-sick-with-the-kids, Stacy was looking for a reason to get out and that sounded good enough. The kids had been testy all morning and we thought the fresh air would do them good.

We parked in the mall parking lot and started the adventure at the dancing fountain near the entrance to the fair; one of those walk-in fountains that has the random shots of water bursting up from a couple dozen different half-hidden spigots - always a big hit with L. Contrary to all expectation, we managed to keep her dry without a major meltdown. Little did we realize that our petite Mademoiselle Defarge was merely biding her time.

We entered the fair proper and weren't too much further along the walk when L gave a squeal and pointed frantically down the path.

"Trash truck, Daddy! A trash truck!"

A miniature garbage truck sat next to the waste management recycling booth. L never lets an opportunity for career enhancing experience pass her by, so she immediately squirreled up inside and hogged the driver's seat for 5 or 10 minutes, no doubt ticking off dozens of PV moms who had similar career aspirations for their youngsters.

The fair itself had a hundred or so booths set up, mostly opportunistic commercial intruders hawking chiropractic exams, toxic mold inspections, and cellular phone service, but there were a few cool stands here and there that we poked around in. Some scrapbooking stands for Stacy, a few glass vendors, and lots of incense that made us queasy. (But incense stands are de rigueur in So Cal outdoor fairs and we would have missed them were they not there.) We ended up getting an ironwork "welcome" sign for our front door from a cool vendor with lots or really nice pieces that were all actually fairly reasonably priced.



We soon came to the train ride, but at $6 for a kid and adult, we let it roll on down the track without us. There was a little grumbling about that from the proletariat, but then the petting zoo was spotted and distracted general attention. But at $6 for a half dozen goats on the cutting edge of heatstroke, Daddy nixed that idea too, though it was clear the natives were getting restless and revolt was fermenting. The revolution broke the barricade about three meters away at the pony ride. Fearing a guillotine in my future, I gladly sprang for the $5 to keep my populace in line. (It was either that or take them to the food court where I would have had to let them eat funnel cake.) With the uprising quelled, L rode a pony while N sat contentedly in his stroller humming tunes from Les Misérables.

Then there was lunch at the food court (we avoided french fries), but by then the sun and a very loud band had both begun to pick up, so we scarffed what we had and returned full-circle to the spot that began the day - the fountain. This time, however, there were no hopes of dryness to be had. The mini-revolutionaries, fresh from their confidence building victory at the pony stable, knew they had the upper hand, and the aristocracy was running scared. Soon they were running drenched. But it ironically proved to be a long-term opiate for the masses - L and N never slept better than they did then -- at the end of the day.