After God failed to rain on our parade, we headed west about an hour from Manlius to scenic Waterloo (one of several towns that claim to have invented Memorial Day), to celebrate the rest of the Fourth with my wife’s family.  Extended family, actually, with both sets of my in-laws, brother-in-law and family, stepmother-in-laws father, sister and family, as well as several area notables including an Amish couple and the mayor of the town.

(Despite my usual “truth meanderings” when it comes to these missives, this is actually an accurate account of who was there.  At one point, a neighbor must’ve called in a noise complaint, and a police car came driving by, slowed down, saw the mayor, then waved and drove on.  True story.)

We arrived a bit earlier than the throngs, so we leapt at the chance to head out onto one of the Finger Lakes in my father-in-laws’ boat.  This was to be Justine’s first ride in a boat, and we were of course concerned that the ride be smooth and her experience be one of happiness and tranquility, and with my wife’s father at the helm, this was assured. We strapped on her adorable little life jacket, covered her with infant sunscreen, and grabbed an infant water ski should she suddenly feel the need to “shred waves” and headed for the boat.

Naturally, Kim’s Dad decided not to go, and we were stuck with her brother instead, who, while a very competent sailor, seemed to have a little less regard for the health and mental welfare of our first-timer in the boat.  This was not immediately evident, as to get to the lake we needed to travel through the placid waters of the canal, which is classified as a “no-wake” zone probably because sailing through it would not wake anyone thanks to the severely reduced speed restrictions, and evidenced by the ducks that swam by us in a blur, laughing via quacks as they went.

Despite this, Justine was having a marvelous time, looking at the scenery as we floated by, meandering around the boat, tugging at her life jacket, and flashing the wide smile she is noted for on her Wikipedia page. My wife and I, and her mother and father-in-law took turns holding her, leading her around the little deck so that she could see everything that was going on.  Eventually we reached the mouth of the lake, and then things started to head downhill.

It was very windy, and for you nautical types, lots of wind equals lots of whitecaps, and a transition from a placid float to a vomit inducing rocking that has claimed many a sailor’s lunch over the millenia.  Justine was not a big fan of this, nor was my wife, who made the dreaded mistake of heading into a small enclosed compartment near the front of the boat to try and calm here.  Nautical types, shake your head in bewilderment…now. Non-nautical types – this makes things seriously worse for your nausea level.

Our fearless captain’s solution to the issue (correctly I’m assured) was to “gun it” which reduced the swaying side to side significantly but increased our vertical up and down by a factor of ten, as we slammed through each whitecap at what seemed to be a breakneck speed (probably because I thought it would break my neck).  Justine was less of a fan of this (as judged by the screaming), but after a few minutes we seemed to break clear of the whitecaps and then spun around.  With the wind at our back, it was a much smoother ride as we headed back to the canal. Justine calmed down, my wife emerged from the vomitorium (without vomiting) and we headed back to the docks,

I believe that Justine took away a positive experience from her first trip on the waves, or at least will be too young to recall her wild screams barely discernible over the roar of the engine as we parted the waters of the lake.  In either case, with a boat at the ready for us only an hour up the road, the opportunity for once again trolling the waters will beckon to us.

After docking, we headed back to the house to undertake some fancy Fourth of July celebratin’.  We finally were able to relax, throw back a few beers and consume massive quantities of picnic food along with every member of my wife’s family that still lives, along with half the town and several drifters that seemed attracted to the spread.  An epic karoake session extended late into the night, and everything culminated with a nice fireworks show from a nearby neighbor who seemed to “know the mayor” and thus was “sanctioned for firework display.”

Finally, we piled into the car, and headed home, our Justine (and my wife) fast asleep.  A memorable weekend, to be sure.

- MWF -

After getting everyone cleaned up, some failed “laundrical surgery” on my raspberry destroyed shirt, and a relatively good night’s sleep, we were ready to meet our nation’s 233rd birthday head-on.  The plans were simple – a parade in Manlius (about 20 minutes away) and then an immediate evacuation to my in-laws house in scenic Waterloo, NY (about an hour away).  It would be a Fourth to remember, for sure.

The parade itself was scheduled for a 10:00 AM start, so we figured leaving at 9 or 9:15 would give us ample time to stake out a spot along the parade route, hopefully somewhere near the beginning to capitalize on the overzealous candy tossers whose distribution estimation abilities were “not so good.”  Naturally, due to a variety of comedic miscues and temper tantrums (mine was especially bad) – we didn’t get on the road until 9:40ish, leaving us with a mad scamper up the road to the parade.  Thankfully the entire police force of upstate New York were involved in parades and weren’t patrolling as I flew through their precincts at what could probably best be described as “light speed.”  We arrived in time and were able to get a parking spot and even a decent curbside vantage point.

We met up with my boss and his family (they live down the street from the parade) and settled in for what would turn out to be a pretty lengthy display of fire trucks, marching bands, church floats, nuclear missiles on trucks and expressionless lock-stepping Soviet soldiers who, in unison, efficiently distributed Tootsie Rolls from under their fur hats.  We had Justine set up in her Kelty backpack, which provided a very convenient viewing stand for her to watch and wave to the folks passing by in front of her.  It was great for us too, because it kept her from blithely wandering into the path of the oncoming fire trucks or trying to fling herself into one of the tubas from the Police and Fire band.

We were especially amazed by the volume of candy that this parade generated.  I’ve been to many a parade before, but I’ve never seen anything close to the mountains of Tootsie Rolls, Laffy Taffy, lollipops and chocolate covered grasshoppers that came flying in our general direction.  For the most part, the folks winging this stuff at us followed standard candy-tossing protocol, flinging their wares down and away from the parade route so as not to entice the waiting throngs of children to run dead-on into the “St. Ann’s Truckin’ Choir” flatbed.  Unfortunately a few folks instead decided to distribute in a more aerial fashion, and rained Tootsie Rolls down upon our hapless daughter, who didn’t take kindly to the bombardment and let loose her only real tears of the affair.

All in all, it was a solid parade, if a bit unorganized.  It also seemed to drag on a bit, which may have just been how it appeared to me now that I have a child with a relatively short attention span.  The highlight for me, besides of course the delight of watching Justine sneer at elected officials I didn’t vote for, was the very end of the parade.  The last “division” so to speak was the antique cars, a staple of any good parade.  After the majority of the old clunkers made their way past, it became evident that the final car in the parade wasn’t moving.  It had stalled out, and they couldn’t get it started again.

Thus the final image of the hour and a half parade is three guys pushing a very old, wood-paneled Chevy station wagon down the parade route, to the cheers and laughter of all in attendance.

With Justine’s first parade now in the books, we gathered our things, said goodbye to our friends and headed for the car, bound for Waterloo and a date.  With a boat.