So much to say

JG spent the first half of this past weekend at Penn State because Notre Dame was coming to town. Leaving me all alone with the puppy, he spent Friday night at Mimi’s to rest up before he and his family spent nine hours tailgating. I kid you not. Several weeks earlier, I had elected not to go to the game because I didn’t think I could handle the intensity of 110,000 people screaming bloody murder against all that is Irish or Nittany Lion. However, my inclination to bow out became all the much stronger once the realization hit me that it was an endurance tailgating session:

RA: So, what time are you all heading to the stadium to set up?
JG: We’ll probably leave Mimi’s at 8.
RA: Isn’t she only an hour from State College?
JG: Yep.
RA: Isn’t it a night game?
JG: Well, it’s at 6.
RA: You’re going to tailgate for ten hours?!
JG: What’s wrong with that?
RA: What are you going to do for that long?
JG: Tailgate!
RA: Hon, that’s not a verb, it’s a location on a truck.
JG: You’re not coming, okay?
RA: What does tailgating entail, except eating?
JG: Well, there will be a lot of people there, so it’s like a party.
RA: Say there are twelve people. That’s like 2-3 hours of eating. Then what?
JG: You’re not coming, okay?

Sheesh. Fine, I get it that I don’t get it.

In lieu of hanging out in the trunk of a minivan for a full workday, my weekend was packed with all sorts of fun things, which means that I must describe them in blurbs.

Fun(gi) Festivities
Every year, during the weekend after Labor Day, Kennett Square throws its annual mushroom festival. Roads close, vendors roll in, and families come out in full force. When JG and I bought our house two years ago, we made a trip out for the festival before we moved. We kept looking at everything and whispering excitedly, “This will be our town!” As a result, the festival has been a nice tradition for us, so I was kind of disappointed that I ended up going solo this year. As I walked about a mile to the main street, admired the antique cars, and clapped for the marching band in the parade, I couldn’t help but smile. There’s something so charming, so small-town, so homey about the Mushroom Festival. It’s one of my favorite things to do every year and I love it so much. I spent the morning blissfully wandering between mushroom sculptures and mushroom potato chips before stopping by my favorite bookstore and then tucking in to a boat of fried mushrooms. It doesn’t get any better.

H-E-N-S, Hens, Hens, Hens!
JG and I have season tickets for University of Delaware Fightin’ Blue Hen football and the home opener is always against West Chester University. It’s not really a fair match-up because we’re in completely different divisions, but it has something to do with a traditional rivalry. What the heck — it’s an easy win for us, so I don’t care. In JG’s absence, I asked a girlfriend to come along with me, so we ordered Chinese, drove to the game, and enjoyed the lovely evening weather as we caught up on life. Delaware won and I yelled myself hoarse. Good times.

Remember How I Hate Surprises?
About a month ago, JG mysteriously told me to make sure that I didn’t have anything to do during the afternoon of September 9. “I’ll make sure I’m home from the Penn State game,” he assured me. “Just be ready to leave around 1.” I was dying to know what was going on. What do I wear? Where are we going? What’s the plan? I was told to dress as though I were going to a sporting event, that we would drive for an hour to get there, and could I please thaw out some of those frozen steaks? Uh, what? For a while, I was afraid that we were headed to an Eagles game or a volleyball tournament with the added bonus of overnight guests, which would have been very bad options for surprising me.

After an hour’s drive, we arrived at a church picnic. I furrowed my brow. This was it? A petting zoo and a moon bounce? The parking attendant handed JG a program for the day and it all became clear. One of our favorite bands, Caedmon’s Call, was playing at this picnic for free! What in the world? Their tour hardly ever lands in the mid-Atlantic and we could see them here for free?! Even better, JG had conspired with my best friend to meet us there and she emerged out of the (free) food line, grinning. Yay! We laid out blankets on the lawn and enjoyed a front-row view as we sang along with our favorite songs and acted as though we were on a first-name basis with the band. During a break in the action, I nudged JG and whispered, “You did good, kid.” I know he likes to surprise me — even if I hate it — so I try my best not to spoil that pleasure for him. Besides, like always, I end up really enjoying myself at the actual event. What can I say? I just like to know what’s going on.