Idaho Chicken Stomp

Having just spent a week with my number one daughter, Cricket, in Idaho, Trixie and I had the rare opportunity to get out of the house and into some tall cotton.

Now, those of you who know Ol’ Dutch know that I am not inclined to take my gal out for a high flyin’ life. In fact, the last big date we had included butchering a cow and while that is about as romantic as any woman can want, I could tell Trixie was overdue for the lights of the big city.

Having done all the hot spots like Wal-Mart and Harbor Freight Tools with Cricket and her husband Cap, Ol' Dutch decided to splurge and take them all down to the Revive-at-Five music concert in the park. I know. Already you women out there are green with envy but it gets better, trust me.

We arrived on time which most of you know from past columns is about 30 minutes late when Trixie is along. But we were not to be disappointed as the all-female, classic rock band brought enough music to last the night.

As with most concerts, the music got better the more liquor’d up people got. Since Ol’ Dutch isn’t one to imbibe much converted corn sugars, I was satisfied to sit and watch the evening unfold.

I am always a tad jealous of the people who seemingly have no inhibitions and can dance, with or without a partner, seemingly not even having a care in the world. I was not to be disappointed on this night. There were plenty of people with no qualms about making fools of themselves.

There were several women of the great grandmother persuasion who put on such a remarkable show I had to reach over and close Trixie's mouth as it gaped open from shock and awe.

One old gal about 70 years old decked out in Daisy Duke shorts and a skimpy tank top did what only can be described as an intense leg shaking routine. I have to say, the longer she twitched and stomped the more impressed I was with her vitality.

Another gal about 80 in beads and a fedora did the Fred Sanford shuffle which was a sight to behold. Bless her heart, though, she at least was up and moving for two hours straight.

Old hippies of every description wandered through the pavilion area; some with a mission in mind and others on a journey that God Himself could not quite discern.

Far away looks are common and one man stood and stared at a cloud for about an hour which made all those who insist on carrying a concealed weapon at all time not seem so crazy.

There were the usual young gals with copious amounts of children who were seen and heard by all of those around them but not by the mothers. The Moms, instead, took this opportunity to conveniently “lose” their burgeoning tribe of rug rats. This is known in mothering circles as “a night off” and it was much needed given the loudness of the little heathens the mothers were not-so-carefully-monitoring.

Food flowed like a Bacchanalian feast and hot dogs went down the hatch in an endless mile long engorgement of stuffed weenie casings.

Now Ol' Dutch has always been a surveyor of crowds and this one sure didn't disappoint in comical actors which is made even more hilarious when one realizes this is how these people act all the time.

I guess I am a bit of a tight ass myself when it comes to inhibitions and am reminded of past days when I would go out with my “harem” to dance. They soon learned that it took a certain amount of liquid loosen-er to get me on the dance floor so they had to wait for that to take place before I would dance their legs off sending them home to their Tylenol and Metamucil.

My friend Penny, though, caught on early and when I arrived at an event, she already had two drinks for me on the table. Nothing like Diet Coke to get old twinkle toes Dutch oiled up and ready to strut his stuff.