After Sunday lunch, Carson and I went to the new Mississippi Arts and Entertainment Experience, which is located in the city, where we live. Davis felt like Ruby needed a long hike at the lake since she'd been confined to her kennel, while we were at church, so Carson and I went by ourselves to check out the Jim Henson exhibit. I still have my Muppet Show lunchbox, so, needless to say, I'm a big fan. Mr. Henson was Mississippi born and spent his childhood here, so we like to think his creative genius took root on our sweet soil. You'd probably be surprised to learn of all the famous people, who are from this great state. I'll have to be sure to do a follow up post on just that.
Anyway, it was probably for the best that Davis wasn't coming along, because I was going there with one purpose and only one. To go and meet this certain man. I've known about him for many, many years and have worshipped him from afar, but never had I been given the opportunity to meet him in person. I'd heard he was in town for a little while, so this was my chance.

Carson paid our admission to the museum and we headed into the exhibit area. I felt my heart rate  starting to quicken. My palms sweaty. I scanned the room. Looking through the crowd of people. The interactive areas. The plexiglass display cases. The old sketches and photographs of puppets. Well, he wasn't in the first area I checked. I grew desperate and impatient to find him. I rounded another corner and, off in the far distance, I caught a glimpse of him. I would've recognized him anywhere. That head full of black hair. That manly face with its finely chiseled features. Such a strong chin. My heart jumped as I ran to him. Alas, I was face to face with the man I'd come to see. The Count.

Oh, you other ladies can have your Ernie, your Bert. Take the Cookie Monster and Kermit. Don't get me wrong. I love them all, but The Count is where it's at for me. I'm a sucker for a man in a cape, I suppose. He's always been first in my heart. Since 1970, when I was old enough to first tune in. And here I was meeting him for the first time.

For years, I'd imagined what this moment would be like. I'd rehearsed what I would say, a thousand times, but when I went to speak, I fumbled with my words. I couldn't even think of anything we could count together. Feeling like such a star struck fool, I blushed and could only ask to have my picture made with him. He was gracious and agreed even though the plexiglass kept us from getting too close. I suppose the barrier was in place to protect him from crazed fans such as myself, but it was good to finally be in the same room with him....even if he was shorter than I'd always imagined.
I imagine I'm just one of millions and millions of 70's kid, who spent a big chunk of childhood with those puppets. My kids watched them some, but they had so many other options. Cartoon Network. Nickelodeon. Disney Channel. They had their VHS tapes and then their DVDs. But, back in our day, there were no other options. You watched Sesame Street or One Life to Live...those were your choices....and what self-respecting Southern Baptist mother would allow the young'uns to watch the latter? Sandwiched between Mister Rogers' Neighborhood and The Electric Company, I'd tune in, every weekday. I'd plop myself in front of the television set.....not so close, though, as to cause blindness.....and I'd learn, laugh, and visit my funny friends for about an hour.

As a 50 year old woman, I can still sing the opening song, word for word. Who wasn't fascinated with that red ball rolling around on the metal track? Grover, the waiter, who couldn't grasp the concept of the in and out doors. The longing for someone to spot Mr. Snuffleupagus, so Big Bird could finally be vindicated. The "Alligator King" song helped us master counting to seven and the "Pinball Song" took us on up to twelve. The Martians and the rotary telephone.....yep, yep, yep, yep, yep. Kermit's News Flash reporting the grave news of Humpty's great fall....Hi-ho, here. And America's favorite game show host, Guy Smiley, and his recurring difficulty emerging from behind the curtain. Good times.

So, thank you for all the great memories, Mr. Henson and Sesame Street. Thanks for keeping us company in the 70's, while our mothers drank Sanka and started supper. Under the guise of educational programming, we were able to come in from the sweltering heat of your native land and have Kool-Aid, while you expanded our minds for an hour. Even on sick days, moms would put pillows and quilts on the couch, so we could watch you in our weakened state. You made us happy. You made us feel important. You taught us a lot of things. You helped stretch and develop our sense of humor by placing some of your punch lines just over our heads. And we're all better for it.

You were a faithful childhood friend.

Thanks for all the good times.

And my darling, Count, I'll never wash my left hand again.


I'll see you all again before week's end! Happy Monday!