Today’s guest post comes from Beth-Ann.

September has always been my favorite month. Now I’m not so sure. Maybe I loved the ninth month because it hosted my birthday, but I think I favored it because I have always loved school.

The day after Labor Day always seemed to be New Year’s Day. A new school year was a new beginning. We didn’t do a lot of shopping when I was growing up, but I clearly remember shopping expeditions for school clothes. There were those crisp new dresses with the itchy crinolines that we begged mom to remove with her vicious seam ripper. Even more emblematic were the new school shoes-always leather and either tied or buckled because loafers were verboten until sixth grade. Of course we wore our new duds even though I grew up far south of here where it was too warm for long sleeves or corduroy.

When we got to school the magic continued. It wasn’t until after we arrived that we learned the names of our teacher and our new classmates. Hope lived eternal for “the nice teacher” and a class without mean boys. We got new books or at least new used books and got to write our names in them.
Frankly I found summer boring and was glad for September and a chance to get back to a building with spelling bees, good grades, and library books. We got our supply lists and got to go buy new notebooks, crayons, and pencil boxes.

I remember September with the sweetness of “The Fantasticks.”

My enthusiasm for the golden month with blue skies re-ignited when my son was young. I found the start of school more fun than he did, but he always liked camp more than school.

My heart no longer goes pitter pat as August ends. As much as I love the Fair, I am careful not to go on the Last Day in order to avoid seeing the end of summer and the beginning of September. Even though I have the wistful fondness for the sweet month in Jerry Orbach’s song, I know it is the dread gateway to the nasty, short gray days of a loong Minnesota winter. The cold future dulls even the blue sky and the taste of rich ripe tomatoes.

How do you remember September?

Believe it or not, sometimes I spend an astonishing amount of time trying to find an appropriate topic to feature in a Trail Baboon post.

It’s not that there’s a lack of interesting topics to cover, it’s just that every idea raises questions, and those questions lead to other questions, and partial answers lead to different questions, and then there’s a funny You Tube video of a cat that barks like a dog, and somebody mentions a book that I want to find at the library, Michele Bachmann just said something remarkable, and suddenly it’s midnight. Dang.

Why do I engage in so much aimless, randomly guided research? I like to have all the information and questions answered before getting started on a post, which means I never get started on a post. And towards what purpose? It’s not like writing a blog post is about KNOWING anything. Far from it.

So instead, I offer you a question to consider. It’s something I’m wondering about but frankly, spending ten minutes looking for the answer convinced me that I would soon spend another 90 minutes at it, possibly all within the next half hour. And when it was done, I would have nothing to show for it except an even larger sleep deficit and whatever trinket I might buy on Amazon in the process.

Today is the anniversary of the attack on President William McKinley by Leon Czolgosz, an anarchist who felt he could change the government by taking out one guy. Czolgosz approached McKinley at a reception at the Temple of Music in Buffalo, NY. He held a revolver wrapped in a cloth, and shot McKinley twice as the President reached out to shake his hand. There might have been a third shot, if not for quick action by three men who were nearby. Here’s the NY Times account from September 7th, 1901.

There was an instant of almost complete silence, like the hush that follows a clap of thunder. The President stood stock still, a look of hesitancy, almost of bewilderment, on his face. Then he retreated a step while a pallor began to steal over his features. The multitude seemed only partially aware that something serious had happened.

Then came a commotion. With the leap of a tiger three men threw themselves forward as with one impulse and sprang toward the would-be assassin. Two of them were United States Secret Service men, who were on the lookout and whose duty it was to guard against just such a calamity as had here befallen the President and the Nation. The third was a bystander, a negro, who had only an instant before grasped the hand of the President. In a twinkling, the assassin was borne to the ground, his weapon was wrested from his grasp, and strong arms pinioned him down.

McKinley later died of his injuries, and Teddy Roosevelt became President.

But here’s the piece of the puzzle that interests me – the brave bystander. We hear time and again that in a moment of crisis there is confusion, silence, paralysis. It’s the rare individual who leaps into action and in the attack on Mckinley, one person did, alongside two Secret Service Agents. Until tonight, I’d never heard anything about him.

Who was he? What, if anything, was written about him? Tell me Baboons, if you can, about this quick thinking bystander.

Or, if you don’t have a day to waste on this, tell us about your most successful research project.

Another day, another exclamation-loaded flyer from Wally at Wally’s Intimida – home of the Sherpa Sport Utility Vehicle.

September is “Side With Sherpa” Month at Wally’s Intimida!

Believe it or not, Fall is just a few weeks away. And with Fall comes a change in the weather, but if the events of recent weeks are any guide, that means we’ll simply trade one violent extreme for another!

We’ve seen already seen Drought. Earthquakes. And Hurricanes! All bad!

Michele Bachmann thinks God is sending these calamities to get us to think more like she does. She’s entitled to her opinion, but that sounds a little self-important to me. If God really generates these storms to change our thinking, He’s clearly saying we should all stop being so stingy and buy a new Sherpa!

Why? Only a Sherpa is big enough to withstand the worst that Nature can throw at us. And nature seems intent on emptying the arsenal! The Sherpa can straddle the largest geological fault. It can lean into the heaviest hurricane-force wind. And with 20 cup holders, there’s no reason to worry about drought, as long as you’ve got an extra bendy straw!

Yes, we’re under assault by nature! The Earth is trying to kill us! So why pretend everything is OK by putting yourself in a tiny “green” car that sacrifices comfort to placate the enemy? God is upping the ante and telling us it’s “on” in the Man vs. Environment Contest.

Yes, the Sherpa drinks gas. Yes, the Sherpa exhales carbon. Yes, the Sherpa drips oil. That’s what cars are supposed to do. It’s cultural! The Sherpa is Proud to be an Auto-American, unabashedly hostile to Air, Water and the Earth itself.

Think about the happy times you’ve spent in nature, and think about the happy times you’ve spent in your car. Who wins? Be honest!

So it’s time to choose sides! You can cower while you’re crammed into your electric roller skate, if that’s what makes you feel secure. Or you can Sit Tall during “Side With Sherpa” Month, perched atop the World’s Largest Car!

Climb up and Hunker Down in a new Sherpa from Intimida from Wally’s!
It’s a Mighty Big Car!

It looks like Wally is going with the militant revolutionary class warfare script for his Fall sales pitch. Appealing to the base, or laying down the law?

When have you had to choose sides?

Today’s guest post was provided by a correspondent who wishes his/her identity, gender and species to remain confidential, due to the usual scorn that accompanies such reports.

THE CORNUCOPIA BEE

August 27 2011

Cornelia Copacetic
Gossip Columnist

Calls came pouring in to the Cornucopia Bee, as well as the Bayfield County, Wisconsin Sheriff’s Office reporting sightings of a group of baboons roaming the Bayfield Area Peninsula over the weekend. Five adult baboons and one small dog were reported at a cabin on Roman’s Point on the South Shore of Lake Superior, the Big Top Chautauqua near Bayfield Thursday evening, and the Village Inn in Cornucopia Friday morning. Sightings of groups of 2 and 3 baboons and the dog were reported at area trails, beaches and shops, as well.

Although all the callers noted that the baboons were very odd, they were not destructive to people or place and simply seemed interested in scenery, as well as sites of interest in the area. The small dog seemed particularly interested in one baboon, but our research regarding interspecies attachments have shed no light on this phenomenon. Callers did note that these great apes consumed great quantities of food, beer, wine and coffee, but that as long as they were supplied with the above named items they were placid and chatty.

Spies outside the Cornucopia cabin reported hearing singing, conversations about books, authors, music, baboon children, relatives, area history, and baboon divorces. Food also seemed to be of great importance to the apes. While no actual baboons were captured or photographed, the visitors pictured below confirmed the sightings and claimed they were under the impression that such creatures were plentiful in the region.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

Dear Bee Readers, should you sight baboons on the peninsula again, please give Cornelia a call first, then call the Sheriff should that be needed. As far as we know baboons are not native to the peninsula. Other speculation did reach my ears, however, that this may have been a group of Big Foot (or would that be feet?) invading our fair village.

If you saw Bigfoot (or Nessie or a Flying Saucer), would you report it, or keep mum to preserve your reputation?

It’s odd to see news about New York City preparing for a possible direct hit by Hurricane Irene. Even though the chances are still slim at this point, it takes time to batten down so many glittering hatches, so New Yorkers are taking the prudent course by calling off concerts, moving up the timing of sporting events and even preparing to shut down the transit system.

In Washington, they’ve regretfully cancelled the dedication of the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial. Harry Johnson, the president of the foundation that built the memorial, spoke of disappointment and resignation. The dedication won’t happen on the anniversary of the “I Have a Dream Speech”, but there will be other opportunities to celebrate.

“The memorial is going to be there forever,” he said.

And Hurricane Irene will come and go. The sooner it goes, the better. Here’s a famous old song to send it on its way.

Favorite lullaby?

I loved this New York Times story about Hamid Chaudhry, the Pakistan-born operator of a Dairy Queen in Reading, Pennsylvania. He has made his shop a cornerstone of the community by getting involved and giving back. The reporter, Dan Barry, describes the proof he saw of a special relationship between an immigrant and his adopted home town, all of it posted on the walls –

The Cumru Elementary School thanks Hamid. The Mifflin Park Elementary School thanks Hamid. The Brecknock Elementary School thanks Hamid. The Governor Mifflin intermediate, middle and high schools thank Hamid. The Boy Scouts and the Girl Scouts, the soccer leagues and the baseball leagues, the Crime Alert program, the home for adults with mental retardation — they all thank Hamid.

And here comes the owner, Hamid Chaudhry, in the midst of another 80-hour workweek, fresh from curling another soft-serve. As he makes his way to a corner table, customers hunched over chicken-strip baskets and sundaes call out his name, and he calls back theirs.

“Hi, Tracey; I have that check for you.” “Bye, Mrs. Brady. All good for the homecoming?” “Bye, Mr. Rush. How was the Blizzard? Want another one?”

Great guy. Great story. Even better because it includes ice cream. It sounds like Chaudhry’s DQ has become the town square.

The biggest surprise in the story? It cost him $413,000 to buy the place. Yow! Even if I had that much, I don’t think I’d bet it all on people’s love of Dilly Bars, and I find Blizzards irresistible. I guess that’s the difference between me and a real entrepreneur.

The sort of business where so many people feel welcome and connected is a boon for any town – large or small. When I was growing up in Montrose, New York, our gathering place was the convenience store down on the State Highway – a centrally located establishment with a big sign that featured the cutout of a police officer blowing a whistle, and a huge halting hand outstretched, commanding you to “Stop N’ Shop”.

What did they have there? Everything. Who did I see when I went? Everyone!

Ever live in a town with an unofficial meeting place?

A fascinating article about trains and autism in the New York Times got me thinking about the ways we each try to make sense of a nonsensical world.

The article profiles an autistic 5 year old named Ravi who has an amazing command of train and bus schedules. He, his older brother and mother visit the New York Transit Museum weekly because “People with autism have difficulty processing and making sense of the world, so they are drawn to predictable patterns, which, of course, trains run by”.

The article also quotes the museum’s assistant director, who said she had been besieged by field trip requests from schools that serve children with autism, so she established a program that indulged the young people’s need to dig deeply into the details of routes and timetables while also offering a chance to build social skills.

One parent said her child finds trains especially soothing, and he gets upset when they are not on schedule. Apparently one very effective bridge between loving trains and developing social skills is an old favorite – Thomas the Tank Engine. But a word of caution – if you’re comforted by vehicles that have to stay on their proscribed path, this mini-episode is bound to be unsettling.

Only on children’s TV is the idea of a locomotive crashing into a house made infinitely worse by the undeniable fact that a collapsing plaster wall can ruin your breakfast. Some calamities are too big to take in – you have to view them through a lens that minimized the damage. Perhaps this is how Tim Pawlenty feels today.

But it does make some sense that any person who has a hard time adapting to quick, unannounced change might find a bit of happiness in the carefully planned environment that’s on display in a transit museum.

Where do you like to go when things feel out of control?