Yesterday we watched the Fiesta (horse) Parade with Doug’s parents. I am not at all into parades, and I’m definitely not into Fiesta, but I am into Doug’s parents and they are into the Parade. They are native Santa Barbarans and have come to every Fiesta Parade since the beginning of time. They are 87 and 86, so, their beginning of time goes back a good ways. The way Dale describes it, when she was a girl, there was not much at all that went on in Santa Barbara, except Fiesta. By her description, it seems that Fiesta was bigger than Christmas and your birthday, and any other holiday you want to toss in, combined.
Every year, Dale and Alex gather their chairs, blankets, snacks and sunhats and drive an hour, from their home in Los Olivos, down to Cabrillo Blvd and park it until the Parade starts. Every year, they sit in the same spot, directly across from Sambo’s. Yesterday’s parade started at noon. They were there, ready and waiting, by 9:30.
When we arrived, exactly as the Parade started, I had a rumble with a busy body woman who was there chaperoning a bunch of old folks that were seated, under big white canopies, on either side of Dale and Alex. It seems that her old folks, whose seats were “paid for,” were more important than our old folks who had been sitting in that spot every year since the late 1920’s and this year since 9:30 in the morning. She wanted us to move our chairs so that she could more easily take care of her old people. Yeah. Right. She may have paid for the space under the canopies, but she most certainly didn’t pay for the space where we were sitting. I held nothing back but got right up into this woman’s face, protecting my old people as she was attempting to do for her old people. I kicked her ass. No one messes with my old people.
With that taken care of, we settled in to watching the parade, ate our sandwiches and had a very pleasant time. For some reason, we had the good fortune to be seated right where the horses chose to relieve themselves. The kids thought it was both gross and hilarious. They were especially fascinated when the horses peed. It is, after all, a pretty impressive stream.
After about an hour and a half of horse after horse after horse, and after the novelty of their bathroom habits wore off, the girls were restless and wanted to go home. We just had a while longer to hang on. And then, there it was, the end of the parade – the last float followed, by a block or two, by a street sweeper. They really waste no time when it comes to cleaning up after a parade.
Then the oddest thing happened. As soon as the last float went by, a group of about 10 men, ranging in age from early twenties to mid forties, ran into the street and started pointing at and discussing – the horseshit. They ran back and forth from pile to pile, pretty frantically, as to study the shit quickly before the street sweeper came and took it all away.
Doug, his folks and I all stared at these guys wondering – what the hell are they doing? It seemed that they were discussing the qualities of the poop and what the horses may have eaten before the parade.
And of course I had do know. So, I jumped out of my seat, ran over to where they were all huddled around a big pile and said “you’ve got to tell me… what are you guys doing?” One guy explained: they each put money in a pot, then, before the parade starts each drew a chalk circle on the street. When the parade was over, the one whose circle contained the most manure won the pot.
Well, we all thought that was just hilarious and that their contest certainly added a new twist to the parade. Maybe next year, in addition to the chairs, blankets, snacks and sunhats we will bring sidewalk chalk and see if we can make a little money on the side. Maybe then, our old people can afford to buy seats under the big white canopy so they can be just as important as the other old people.
The good news is that they would never want to be.
