Put On Your Big, Funky Bonnet

If we were in a family-friendly summer blockbuster, now would be a good time for the chipper oldies music sequence. You know, that moment when the alcoholic mother and suicidal teen daughter forget their bitter bickering, don antique hats from Grandma’s trunk, and lip synch to “Wooly Bully.”

We need Sam the Sham relief. Well, some more than others. I’ve done top-notch work bitching about the heat to anyone who’ll lend me a sweaty ear. But I have a few very good friends who’ve dealt with more specific…one might say, more relevant miseries.

I promised one amiga importante that I’d find some humor for her. I don’t have a feathered boa, and I can’t summon Gena Rowlands and Juliette Lewis. But I’ll give it my karaoke best.

Uno, dos, one, two, tres, cuatro!

The funniest thing that comes to mind tonight is Honesdale. You thought Hughes was funny….let me tell you about Honesdale.

First, though, I should say that I tease Honesdale much as one chuckles at a beloved, porcelain poodle-collecting great aunt. I love this town -- not in spite of its numerous eccentricities, but because of them.

So, here are 5 things I love most:

1. The people. Like Wal-Mart, Honesdale would be nothing without its people. When I left Arkansas, I prepared myself for loss of Southern hospitality. No more friendly nods in the supermarket. No more cheerful catcalls from loiterers at Red Top Liquor. (“Hey! White girl!”)

Never again will I judge a town based on its position above the Mason-Dixon Line. Honesdale takes hospitality to a new level. One might call this level “intrusiveness.” Last month, a woman chased me down on Main Street. I was walking with my iPod, and I hardly heard her shouting. I think if I hadn’t stopped, she would’ve jogged to my apartment. When she caught me, breathless, she exclaimed, “Excuse me…..would you….open my root beer?”

It’s tough having these enormous biceps, let me tell you.

I popped her drink. Then I put on my red cape and flew away.

2. The teenagers. Honesdale teens aren’t people. They’re a different species. As far as I can tell, none of them attend school or hold jobs. During the day, they roam the sidewalks in packs, like coyotes. At night they call to each other. Although the temperature in my apartment is roughly 2,000 degrees hotter than the temp outside, I can’t sleep with my window open -- the teens start howling and shrieking at 3 a.m. sharp. Do I want to throw them muzzles and condoms? Yes. But I love them anyway, with matronly, groggy affection.

3. The bars. If you visit in the next month, I’ll take you to Leunes’(if you don’t drink, I’ll buy you a tonic, straight up). Unless it’s Saturday night. Leunes’ is only open during the weekday and on occasional Friday evenings. The bartender likes to go out on the weekends. Don’t we all?

The Wayne Hotel bar stays open 24/7, but it’s reserved for the 70+ crowd. Last time I drank there, I spent 45 minutes chatting politely about synthetic bowling lanes. In short: they’re not good for bowling.

The Limerick services Honesdale’s greater alcoholic population, though I can’t see how anyone reaches so much as a buzz -- everything is served in shot glasses. Where’s my Hughes 40 oz. when I need it?

4. The festivity. You think the party’s on in New Orleans? Honesdale’s got hay rides. Hay rides all the time. And riding lawnmower races. On Memorial Day weekend, a parade of at least 15 tractors passed down my street. This evening I walked by a middle school band and interpretive dance team performing in the park. Honesdale is always celebrating. I can’t imagine what the Fourth of July will bring. Fireworks over the hay. A volunteer fire service extravaganza!

5. China Castle. China Castle is my Cheers. Where everybody knows my name. And they know I’ll take a small eggplant w/garlic sauce, extra fried wontons. They don’t even tell me the take-out prep time anymore. 10-15 minutes. But I like to think they cut a few minutes for me.

That's all I got. If I can figure out a showstopping encore, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, keep the cameras rolling….there’s bound to be a feel-good ending. (Think the HPD will arrest me for extended metaphor?)