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Show WedThursFri, July 24-26, 2002 A-14 The Park Record SUNDAY IN THE PARK By Teri Orr Unfenced and unpretentious WMM .irVr-- r;! (.1 II f vn i www.DiscoverParkCityRealEstate.dom Discover what the locals have known for years. Park City resort living. Where friendly people return your smile. And where home ownership is just the beginning. Feel free to contact me to show you and your family Park City's most desirable properties and imagine living your dream today. A. Flint Decker KI.AITOR' (43S) 901-2500 S;- uiliiniq in Fim Horn-- f, fli-w Ki'snl IVwIoprrvnTs i Vj'jvst'nSnq Buyers SelU'n !!.r v'puM'jMh com Prudential Utah Real Estate 625 Mam Street Park City. Utah 84O0O Parlr Cily'i Rtiil Esuiu Cximpjny 3B2 -xsw iv v-v"k -wva- v-.'vm -ws -wj-- Come See us for our 2 for 1 Locals' Special At 151 Main Street 4J5-6"45-J Southwestern Restaurant je8 Main Street 49-6 ZZ2 I CO ft r so 577 Min Street i35-6t$ojoo Bring this ad with you and receive a - I ; 1 w compiimeniary eniree &i when you purchase one of equal or greater value Not valid with any other offer or promotion One free entree per ad Valid all open nights Offer valid June 1 thru July 31,2002 Reservations Recommended Customer Name 1 Address If, as the expression goes, "Good fences make good neighbors," here in my little corner of Park Meadows I'd have to amend that. I would say my experience has been, "No fences make better neighbors." neigh-bors." In fact, just this past weekend... Saturday dawned with the usual level of activity. Runners running, bikers biking, lawns being mowed, etc. I had set out to catch up on summer's worth of chores, painting the deck, re-staining the wood furniture, furni-ture, planting all those little plants that had been huddled hud-dled in the garage for weeks on end. But I sat down first to read the paper and drink my tea in the big wicker chair on the back porch. One of my neighbors wandered over right about then and sat herself down in the other wicker chair and we started to catch up on the past couple of weeks. She had borrowed a few things from me for her husbands 50th birthday party. Things all good neighbors should share. Tiki torches, a little plastic kiddie pool, fake palm trees -- Hawaiian party 101. And really, only one house should actually own all that junk. I am only too happy to be the designat ed keeper of the crap. So in returning the trinkets, trin-kets, she talked about her week, the pressures of her work both paid and volunteer. And about how she had stolen a day and literally, gone fishin' with a coworker co-worker just the day before. It had done a world of good for her head and her heart. I told her about my week, and then I added I was going to have a few women over Sunday night -- a book club I belonged to -- which is why 1 had put out all the stuff to bring my outdoor world up to speed. In the fashion I have grown to know and love, she said if she or her husband hus-band could help, to please call on them. And I knew I could. I was half way through sanding the first chair when my son called from Salt Lake and asked if I would come down and watch the baby, so he and his wife could go to a movie. Spending time with my granddaughter grand-daughter trumps all other choices and by the time I headed back up the hill my sunroof was serving as a moonroof. I woke up Sunday morning with a start. I had a full season's worth of maintenance to accomplish before these women arrived at 7 p.m. They're not pretentious, preten-tious, fussy gals. In fact, if I had said I was hosting my turn at the Mt. Air Cafe they would arrive with the same enthusiasm. This insane preparation was a monster mon-ster of my own making. I decided painting the deck should come first, since it needed the most time to dry. So I threw on some shorts and started pitching furniture furni-ture over the sides onto what was once grass. That's when I noticed a new dog in the yard. A low-to-the-ground model that looked like the result of an impassioned night between a beagle and a Dalmatian. Following behind the dog was my twice-a year neighbor, Ed from L.A. They had arrived sometime some-time late the night before and his wife and the girls were still sleeping. He said b'c noticed this summer was there was ruoJittle worn path from my back porch . to his front lawn. Did that mean... ? Yes, I said, Ratso had passed away in December. Well, she must have held a record for the world's oldest living dog, he replied and said the girls had, on the drive up asked if they thought Ratso would still alive. He told me he hdd left the big, gobble-you-up-law-firm he had. worked at for years and was now working with a few old friends. His wife had a new job. But I'll let Joan tell you herself, he said. Then he added, Working outside out-side today? I explained the whole ladies-at-seven story and he nodded that womenwhatever look and smiled. He and the new dog went back in the house and I started splashing on the purple paint. I finished in record time and realized I had needed the quick-drying finish for the wood. So 1 ran out to Wal-Mart grabbed a few cans of finish and a few more plants. In the heat of day I came home and painted the chairs.' My neighbor of the faux Hawaiian party was in his. yard watering his flower bed. I tried to saunter over but I suspect Daseti They're not pretentious, fussy gals. In fact if I had said I was hosting my turn at the Mt Air Cafe they would arrive with the same enthusiasm. " Teri Orr on the caffeine I was consuming I flew, across the street. asked if at some point in the afternoon after-noon he and his screwdriver could pay a visit and, reassemble the chair HaiBMBHMBaM my daughter had taken apart to make, a new sling seat for. He turned off the hose and said now would be the perfect time. In minutes that which had seemed unfixable was fixed. Furniture done, I turned to the planting around five o'clock. I was on my knees just adding a few color, spots under the front yard tree when my neighbor; Sister Margo appeared in my line of vision holding a baggie. She needed some ice. I told her to go on in and help herself, she knows my kitchen as well as her, own and, please ignore the mess. She came back out minutes later and said ever so politely, "oh my, you have a ways to go in that kitchen before seven dont' you?" And it occurred me I should cease and desist on the planting and power up the kitchen. I squeezed in a shower and when the guests arrived at seven I was just getting the potato salad started. We ate it for dessert. And nobody said, "what the hell were you doing all day long on Sunday that you couldnt have' the potato salad finished?" except my inner critic who sounds a great deal like my mother. -; We laughed outdoors, discussed the book we had read for maybe 20 minutes and discussed life for a' whole lot longer. The next day after work Ed and Joan and the girls were outside when I came home. "You really did paint your deck yesterday, I thought you were kidding!" kid-ding!" and I explained my whole manic day. Little Isabella, a four-year-old neighbor from two door& down, saw me and squealed my name and came running. run-ning. "That must make you feel good" Joan said and' it does. Then I said as long I had things in order wc ought to find time for a glass of wine this week. Ed opted for tomorrow night. "We'll get the wine," he said. "And we'll be sitting out on your back deck when you get home. Feel free to join us." Fenced yards indeed! I'll take my open space cul-de-sac any day of the week, even a manic Sunday in. the Park... Teri Orr is a former editor of The Park Record and director of the Park City Performing Arts Center. CORE SAMPLES Fair to middlin' It won't be long now. It's coming up on County Fair time and pride, once again, will be on the line. It's all about who's got the fastest horses, plumpest livestock and flakiest pie crusts. It's about competition and folkways and making noise. Not a lot of noise, mind you, but enough to, say, arouse Ted Williams. And it's not just because of the pie-baking competition competi-tion that I get excited this time of year, although you couldnt tell it from my profile. No, I'm also a longtime long-time rodeo junkie and a stone aficionado of the "steelyard." "steel-yard." The steelyard is that place where normally sane folks gather to bash the brains out of each other and their respective vehicles. In the popular vernacular, it is referred to as a Demolition Derby, and demolition is the operative word here. Carnage, twisted metal, jalopies standing on end - it's a beautiful sight. And itTs gotten more popular than a hanging over Heber way. Backyards and driveways are pretty much full-up with the most unlikely of custom cars. Windows have been removed and gas tanks re-installed in the back seat. Batteries ride shotgun. They must have spoke up first. Then there are the paint jobs -post-modern to say the least. Some of these chariots chari-ots rival NASCAR machines for sponsor ships and full utilization of available space. Everyone gets into the act, from your local beer joint to your local rehab center. cen-ter. And space is also available for spouses and girlfriends girl-friends to scrawl their names. Boy, has that opened a can of worms or two in the past The parade of spanking clean and waxed tow trucks is also a big part of the festivities. It resembles a sort of roughneck ballet the w ay they enter the battlefield following fol-lowing each heat, perform quick triage with the wounded metal, and assist those in dire straits off the premises. The spectators, who are known to participate in rather odd ceremonies of their own, are wont to gamble gam-ble quarter-ante, winner-take-all pools with their mates in the bleachers. They do this for each and every heat throughout the evening. One poor schmuck is assigned bookkeeping duties and, in between flask encounters, must keep track of who is wagering on which vehicle. All participants in the pool are allowed to bestow unlimited amounts of verbal abuse upon this personage and upon their own chosen driver. "Hey! Whaddaya giving the money to him for? I had No. 45. He had No. 29 - that whimpering pink Desoto high-centered on someone's purse clear across the arena." Or "Hey, dodo! Do I need to come down there and show you how to find the gas pedal? When By Jay Meehan was the-last time you hit somebody. You drive like1 someone looking for lower insurance rates." ' Fans of the steelyard treat the Heber event like it's-Haggard it's-Haggard or Dylan or something. Tickets went on sale June. 1. I imagine the line began forming when the; lights dimmed following last year's Derby. One year I estimated the crowd at 200,000. My mates immediately revoked my bookkeeping duties and, for good measure, took the flask. I no longer dance with the ones who brung me. Someone once told me that the way to count sheep' was to count the black ones and multiply by 10. Keeping that in mind, I made a slight adjustment. V counted the serious Irishmen and multiplied by 200,000. Obviously, the formula needs a bit of tweaking. tweak-ing. So, it's all coming down this Saturday night over at' the old rodeo grounds in Hebertown with the roaring and the banging getting underway around 7 p.m.' Those in the know will arrive early enough to grab the seats high enough in the bleachers so as to' not get plastered by flying dirt. Not all dirt flies,' you know. Just "flying dirt." It's special stuff; and they truck it in by the, ah, truck-load. At the molecular level, it si a lack of bonding. This' dirt doesnt play well' with others. Attitude also has a- """" lot to do with it. It pretty pret-ty much could care less who it hits. And when it hits, it smarts something' awful. So, when you hit the steelyard, go early enough ' so you dont get plastered - by the flying dirt, that is. '. The rodeos at the Wasatch County Fair use a very different dirt altogether. The dirt you find in our rodeo arena has a lot more nitrogen in it When it flies, manure happens. The effect of rodeo dirt is less acute . and much more chronic. It lingers, you might say. It ' has staying power. Figuratively, it sticks to your ribs. Where this dirt is at its most concentrated is on the backside of a Brahma Bull. It has a green hue and a threatening, slimy texture that embodies an aura of. something Saddam might cultivate. The maximum contaminate level of this stuff is measured in parts per trillion. Do not try this at home. Unless you "know somebody, the best way to. acquire decent seats for the rodeo is to bag the parade ' entirely. I haven't sat through one in over 20 years. You , go to the rodeo grounds early and stake out your territory. ter-ritory. We are now talking Aug. 2 and 3. They currently frown upon laying out blankets for.' your entourage. This is a good thing since you can now ; tell everyone that you cant save a seat for them. Td love to but it's against the law, becomes your mantra. I must say that ours is a fair to middlin' Fair. That's my ' dirt and it s sticking to me. Someone once told me that the way to count sheep was to count the black ones and multiply by 10. Keeping that in mind, I made a slight adjustment I counted count-ed the serious Irishmen and multiplied by 200,000. Obviously, the formula needs a bit of tweaking." , ... 3 Jay Meehan |