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On a crisp February evening last week my wife and I got a little older. It was that time of year when we take the kids to the Camellia Festival on Opening Night. For those of you outside of the vast bubbling metropolis that is Temple City, the Camellia Festival is the yearly event held here that celebrates, well ah, Camellias I guess.
The accelerated aging process I was referring to came with the realization that instead of us taking the kids from ride to ride, and game to game, and them wanting to hang out with us in between, it was over. Instead, when we arrived and the initial funds had been dispersed, so did they. Off they went with their groups of friends and my wife and I looked at one another saying, without words “What do we do now?”
So we toyed with the idea of heading for home and picking up the kids later, you know to give them some space. But as we walked the park we kept running into friendly faces and the only time we saw the kids was when they ran out of money. So we decided to stay, socialize, and people watch. The festival is what it has always been. A small town fete where, as you look through the crowd, you know more people than you don’t, which is one of the main attractions of Temple City, Smallville without Superman.
The one thing that was new, at least to me, was the addition of karaoke with the assistance of the DJs at the bandstand. It was both entertaining and painful mixed together, depending on who was attempting to sing. It was kind of like watching the first round of auditions of “American Idol.” Except that the only ones that seemed to be taking advantage of the microphone were the teenagers. Had there been a beer garden nearby it would have been a different story. Are you listening St. Luke’s Fiesta planners? You have the beer garden, now add the karaoke. Or is that the Camellia Festival has the karaoke and needs to add the beer garden. You decide.
As you scan the crowd all of the usuals are there, the good, the bad and the ugly. They are usually grouped together more in the good and the bad camps with the ugly mingled evenly throughout. You also have the City Council members, current and hopefuls, both working the crowd. Those who are leaving are more relaxed, having nothing to loose this time around and the hopefuls spending time glad-handing and answering any questions posed to them.
This type of event lends itself to this type of low-level political schmossing and is fun to watch from afar. You can see who the candidates spend the most time with. You can also watch their body language as they engage in their discussions and interaction with people. Being a fly on the wall, so to speak, can be very telling and for me it helps to decide who to vote for.
It’s one thing to say what most people want to hear when all eyes are on you, it’s another thing to watch them in a more relaxed environment when they aren’t aware they are being watched. If I see a candidate buddying up to somebody I know is a dirt bag, and has only his or her own best interests in mind, 24/7, I scratch that candidate off my list. Which is exactly what I did on Friday night. Don’t forget to vote on March 4th whether they are good, bad, or ugly.
The next morning was the big 59th Annual Camellia Parade. It was great. The same cast of characters from the night before were in attendance along with many more. Most were there to watch family and friends make the trek down Las Tunas Drive. Boy Scouts selling popcorn and peanuts, as people jockeyed for positions along the parade route. Scantily clad teenage girls walked the route hawking programs so you wouldn’t miss a moment of the action and so you could know who was coming up next.
We marked our turf near the auxiliary judging stands since our daughter is in Oak Avenue’s Auxiliary Unit. In case you don’t know what an auxiliary unit is, it’s the drill teams and flag units that accompany the bands. We picked our position specifically because we were there to see our daughter strut her stuff instead of just walk by us. I see her walk by me every day, granted not in a satin and sequined uniform, but I wanted to see what she has been practicing all year long.
Soon enough the distant sounds of the marching bands in attendance could be heard and we were off to the races. Well, the word “races” may be a bit of a stretch when describing the pace of the parade. While it had its moments of acceleration, there were also times when I thought the thing was over and I had missed my daughter’s unit. There were gaps in this parade that you could have had a second parade in.
I know, all parades have gaps. Even the granddaddy of all parades, the Rose Parade, has gaps. Unfortunately the Camellia Parade had the granddaddies of all gaps.
I don’t know how they begin the pacing, and I know it must be impossible for anybody to maintain the pace of the numerous stroller and wagon brigades that make up the majority of the parade. I was thinking, maybe if one of the parents in each group had the task of looking in behind their group, it might have evened the pace out just a little bit. Some groups seemed to be running a race, while others I couldn’t even tell if they were one group or three, as they seemed to wander aimlessly down the route.
In particular, there was one group of pre-school kids and parents who apparently received no instructions at all. This group had created gaps both in front and in back by stopping at every intersection while apparently waiting for the light to change. Even when the light was green they would stop. Considering that a kid in pre-school doesn’t even know the difference between a red and green light it had to be the parents’ call. As a matter of fact, I could swear I was in my car behind some of them at that very intersection a couple of days ago and had to use my horn to get them to move. Hey there’s an idea for keeping it moving next year!
My favorite part of the parade, second of course to the Oak Avenue Auxiliary performance, was those wacky guys from the Pasadena Shriners. I mean there is nothing funnier during a parade than a group of sixty five year old men wearing fezzes while driving souped-up mini cars around like a group of drunken monkeys. Thanks to my friend, Chris Cunningham, for pointing out that one of the drivers was actually Keith Richards from the Rolling Stones. Well at least we think it was, he was wearing an earring.
Maybe next year they can share their mini cars with the pre-school parents and call it the Temple City Driving Auxiliary.
The Shrub Speaks: I mentioned early on that I recognize there are hurdles, and we are going to achieve those hurdles. St. Louis Missouri, 1/27/03
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