A very courageous B made the long and (mentally) arduous journey home with me this past week. He met family and friends, toured the most touristy parts of Boston, experienced Fenway and Yawkey Way (even though ultimately the game was rained out), and sat through more than one scrapbook of “Look how cute Livitluvit was at age 2… and age 6… and age 10… and oh dear god, if you’d really like to laugh, here she is at age 14, before she knew how to deal with curly hair and had a mouth full of metal.”

One of the foggy memories of my childhood that I had mentioned to B involved the summers I spent of my grandparents’ farm. My Papa was a dairy farmer, and I grew up knowing more about Holstein vs. Jersey vs. Brown Swiss cows than your average 10-year-old, to be sure. In fact, I had a calf of my very own, named Francy. And I showed her.

Yes, you read that right. In true 4H-style, I used to show cows at the Dutchess County Fair in Rhinebeck, New York. I’m not saying I was good at it- most notably, the first awards ceremony sticks out in my mind; each of the cows was chosen and lined up accordingly, and I was in second place! I could barely contain my pride and excitement- that is, until I was handed a ribbon that said 13th… (out of 14). I don’t know where I got the idea that they counted down to the winner, but hey, I was 9. Ah well, at least I still had Francy…

This was just one of the many embarrassing photographs, awards, articles and home-made artifacts gracing the pages of the numerous scrapbooks my mother has been amazing enough to make for me. And B got to see every single one… poor thing. At least I got to prove to him my cow-showing years really happened, as did the Ugly Duckling years, and the many plays and musicals I hammed my way through.

At least we made it out alive without watching the video of me, at age 4, presenting my first 1-man show: a hand-puppeted rendition of the “3 Billy Goats Gruff.” From memory. Voices and everything. I can still hear my little toddler’s version of the troll growling, “Who’s that trip-trapping over my bridge?!”

What can I say? I started charming my way through life early.

Mama said share.

Please excuse the break in posting, as I’m home in Boston for the week…

With the boy.

Meeting the parents.

Yikes.

Ah well, at least there’s Fenway tomorrow night! I’ll wave…

See y’all next week!

Mama said share.