Sheila's Sunland

     Every once in a while, a man realizes how lucky he is to have a good woman.  If he doesn't on his own, she will remind him.  Fortunately, this time I got it all by myself.  I go to three or four art and craft festivals a year.  They are to much work for me to do by myself.  Sheila is gracious enough to give up her weekends to help me with these ventures.
     We had gone to Marianna's spring festival and oh what a disaster.  The wind was blowing so hard, it blew a sunken Spanish treasure ship up all the way from the gulf.  Finally we gave up and took our tent down before it blew away.  As we were loading our stuff into the wagon, the lady next to us was telling Sheila that we needed to go the Christmas festival at Sunland.  She said there was always a big crowd and everyone was buying Christmas gifts.
     The big day of Sunland's festival had finally arrived.  Up at three a.m., the wagon is already loaded, and we head off to have fun.  We get there just before dawn and it is bitterly cold.  By the time we find our spot, unload and set up, the sun is shining bright and we have shed our heavy jackets.  The crowds were there, but no one was buying.  Thoroughly disgusted, we answered questions and carried on mini conversations with everyone.  All the time wondering when are the paying customers going to make an appearance.  The heat was getting to be oppressive, the dust was stifling, and Sheila's frustration level was rising.
     Around lunch the crowds got really heavy.  There seemed to be a lot of people there with problems.  Even for Florida, this was unusual.  The black lady at the tent next to us was a small framed, neat and dignified elderly woman with class.  As the white woman, in her face, shaking with the palsy, bent over at the waist. talking incoherently, scratching her nose, the lady acted as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.  I looked at Sheila, her mouth was open and a bewildered look was upon her face.  I was looking at her, looking at the black lady's husband, looking at the black lady.  No one offered to go her rescue.  Poor thing.
     There was a procession of groups that came by the vendors.  Each group had five or six people with diminished mental capacities and one normal person as a chaperon.  A few had a near normal grasp on reality, but most were off in space with no way home.  Some were able to move around on their own, but others were not.  Sheila looked at me with a puzzled look on her face.  "What is going on?", she asked.  "Do you know where you are?  This is Florida's mental institution", I informed her.  "What the **** are we doing here, you jack***?" she asked.  I explained that the Christmas festival is their way of raising money and allows the patients to mingle with friends and family.  She calmed down and eventually got into a festive mood.
     As the day wore down, we were loaded and ready to go, Sheila had to go to the bathroom.  While she was gone, I helped myself to a coke out of the ice chest.  About halfway finished with the drink, I heard the sound of steel striking flint. When I looked up I saw Sheila coming across the hard dry dirt.  Her hips were on her shoulders, her arms swinging stiff with each step.  Her stride covered six feet easily and each time her heel touched down, sparks flew in every direction.  After being married for thirty nine years, I knew better, but stupidity always wins.  "Do you want a cold drink?", I ask.  "Shut up and get your ass in the truck," she responded.
     Leaving the compound, she told of going into the restroom.  It was deserted, and when she sat down in the stall, she heard the door open.  Some one came in and yelled "Whooo, whooo, whooo.  Then she went by each stall banging on the doors. When she finally got into a stall, Sheila got out and started to wash her hands.  When the woman heard the water, she yelled Help, help and started banging on the walls of the stall.  "Ain't my job", Sheila said and left.
      I stopped in the middle of the drive and laughed until I cried.  This pissed her off even more, but I could not stop.  She finally came around and started laughing also, albeit not as heartily as I.  To this day if I am having a bad day, thinking of this brings a smile.  If I am having a good day and think of it, I bust out laughing.  Thank you, Sheila for an interesting life.