Who knew Fred Flintstone would be so enduring a character?
Every year the Christmas parade overtakes my daily walk, providing countless opportunities for me to wonder, pet, judge and laugh at what I see.
And the first balloon I saw was the 51-year old Fred Flintstone, a little limp in the extremities and not flying very high.
I am in awe that a cartoon figure a half a century old is still a viable part of our parade.
Kids know Wilma and Barney and Pebbles? Who knew?
I gave high points to the couple who each brought a ladder instead of chairs on which they perched to see over the heads of others.
Rudolph, the joke of last year's parade after he did a slow deflate, was right up front with a big Bandaid on his head.
I couldn't decide if that was funny or pathetic.
Lots of dogs were in attendance, but I only bothered to stop for beagles, tapping strangers on the shoulder to ask if I could touch their dogs.
One guy began to remove the beagle's sweater, saying, "My wife put this thing on and it looks stupid."
Well, yes, considering beagles are hunting dogs, a sweater is a bit much.
I saw lots of tiny babies being held up to look at the parade, as if they had any understanding of it.
One mom was doing a voice-over, pretending to be the baby talking, while dad shot the baby's face in close-up.
As I turned away from the parade route to go the two blocks home, I saw the perfect symbol of parade aftermath.
A big wad of pink cotton candy laying on the street with an obvious gray footprint on it.
Time to go home, kids.