At the track

Recently we stole away for four days at Saratoga Springs, New York, for the season opening of the racetrack. Despite the sweltering heat, we found the city to be friendly and fun. Keeping indoors as much as possible during the day we enjoyed the Car Museum, where we examined vintage Maseratis, Karmins Gheas, and Alpha Romeas in an Italian sports car exhibit, and the dance Museum where we watched teen aged aspiring ballerinas rehearse for a performance. On Friday and Saturday nights we listened to bands at every corner playing every brand of music from Cowboy and Western, to Irish ballads, to '60s and '70s to hard rock. The peak experience was at the track. Neither Joyce nor I were knowledgeable racing fans but few people are. Saratoga Racetrack openings are the social event of the season upo there. Women adorn themselves in exhoritantly priced fancy hats, emulating Kentucky Derby outings. When our waiter at breakfast indicated that he was going that day, I inquired as to whether he had a favorite pick. "Yes," he replied, "Hysterical Cat" in the third race. When my gradchildren were very young we blamed all bad events on a mythical "Bad Cat," whom I concocted. When we stayed at a magnificant Hilton in Rome there were statues of black jaguars on the lawn. I photograhed one and told the grandkids that "Bad Cat" had followed us to Italy. "So maybe I'll act on that tip" I decided. Well, prior to post time "Hysterical Cat" was a thirty to one pick. "I'm not betting on a long shot like that," I decided and placed my five bucks on a horse named Freudian someting or other" to win. After all, I am a psychologist. Freud came in last." I should have known. Hysterical Cat who went off at fifteen to one came in first. "Why didn't I listen?" I remonstarted to Joyce. "I didn't want to tell you," she answered. "I bet Hysterical Cat to win but I only had two dollars. The horse paid $34.80.