On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me... eight cloggers clogging... The cloggers also had a concession stand. If only eating had occurred to me...

I really took this picture for my friend Dwane, 'cause of the Cabo Wabo shirt. There's a whole circle of connectedness between him, Canada, the Red Rocker, Cabo Wabo, a '67 Shelby, the Big Red, and me. It's a long story.

Across the park, there was a live band. I don't know what they called themselves or what they were playing, we weren't really listening. Looking back, if I wasn't eating or listening to music, what on earth could I have been doing? I looked around at the cars collectively but didn't really study a single one; never looked under a hood... and I didn't TALK to anyone for more than a couple of minutes... I guess I mostly just wandered around, enjoying the festive atmosphere.


I found it an amusing bit of serendipity that Michael found his own Yellow Mustang.


Hey, Mustangs! '69, '70, and look at the mirrored hood on the '65. THAT's showing off.


Another photo to illustrate the crowd density. I don't think this many people even LIVE in Ceresco! Or did I say that already?


Michael found the playground. Like a bloodhound finding a... whatever bloodhounds find. That's him, the little guy in the white shirt. He loved the giant slide. He went again and again, like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel...

We HAD been drenched with sweat in a 100-degree, slowly-moving, un-air-conditioned, black-vinyl-interior car... but as sunset approached, the temp's cooled down nicely.

So, while Michael was occupied, I took a picture of my Ultracool Mustang. Go ahead, click on the picture to make it bigger. I like it.


And another shot along the fence, to show the huge crowds. I mean, huge for a small town in Nebraska.


When dusk deepened toward dark, people began settling in for the fireworks. I was sitting on a quilt next to Betsy, drinking a Gatorade Frost and watching Michael play with a glow-ball. Not doing much else, I decided to snap this shot to see if I could Photoshop some kind of image up out of the gloom. This is the same Dodge Power Wagon that was parked beside me last year. Lots of repeat business at Ceresco Days. I think I'm gonna be one, too.


Last year, I wrote that I wasn't enough of a photographer to get good pictures of Betsy under the fireworks. I'm still not good enough. But I thought this was a peculiar effect. You'd think, when I set my camera on its special "Fireworks Show" automatic setting, that I'd get some good pictures. I guess not.


This is Michael shmoozing, or perhaps being shmoozed, after the fireworks. Ahh... Mustangers in the night, exchanging glances...


Since Michael was shmoozing on the playground as the people cleared out, I took this picture of Betsy waiting patiently. Eventually, I tore Michael away so we could get home by midnight. Which we did. Michael was sleeping on the trip home when I suddenly saw flashing police lights in my mirror. Luckily, the victim was behind me, and soon I was alone on the highway.

Driving on a night highway with the radio off, no hurry... cool wind blasting, Betsy humming, Michael sleeping... kind of a bliss.