I’ve lived in the Newberg area on and off for fifteen years now (oy).  And yet, I’ve never participated in the epic event all local folks look forward to:  The Newberg Old Fashioned Festival.  Perhaps it’s because I’ve always come off of my denomination’s annual gathering the week before; perhaps it’s because the Festival pales in comparison to my experience at the Boise River Festival (may it rest in peace long enough to be resurrected if/when I ever get to move back to God’s country, er, I mean, Idaho); perhaps it’s because I’m in denial that I live in Newberg:  A Great Place to Grow (pot, if you went to the high school.  Shh:  don’t tell – it will worry my mom, even though we’ve been graduated for a while). The Festival involves things like booths in a park, eating in a park, a parade, and fireworks.  Because it’s not a festival unless stuff gets blown up for no reason.  I can’t imagine why I’ve missed out on all the quality frivolity.

However, I have now dipped my toe in the realm of One of Lives in Newberg, and I drug my family along with me.  Some wonderful friends who live on the parade route invited us over to their lovely abode for some brunch munchies, fellowship, and flying candy.  Because, see, that’s what the parade is all about:  hard candy being chucked at little peoples’ heads, and then little people running out into the street to gather the legal crack between parade floats while sifting through the mixed messages of father’s shouting, “Go!  There!  You missed one!” and mother’s hollering louder, “Careful!  Come back!  Don’t get run over!” as the sweet nectar of the gods buzzes through their veins and they bounce off each other like sticky pinballs.

Yeah, it was fun.

Of course, JJ was a top candy getter (would you expect anything less?).  The moment he heard a plastic wrapper meet the pavement, he was off in a flash.  Much to the dismay of other lesser-aware, non-sugar-sensitive children.  I “encouraged” JJ to share the candy with the other kids, knowing full well that his stash was just going to end up at his dad’s office anyway.  And soon, he was running out into the street, hunting and gathering, and then distributing equally into other kids’ bags.  He even gave candy to grownups.  Aw!  That’s SO not a trait he inherited from my side of the family (hmm:  who has a stash of powerbars that she’s hiding from prying eyes?  Seriously:  my monkeys can’t get enough of those soy protein crisps.  And one wonders why my son is diving into the street to get a peppermint).

So yes:  we came.  We paraded.  We pillaged.  And we now have a half-full gallon ziploc bag on top of the fridge getting ready to be shipped to Hubby’s work.

It was a good day.

Entertaining Evidence