Parades have never been my thing. I tape the Macys Thanksgiving Day Parade strictly so I can fast forward to the giant balloons trying to escape their tethers and fly free over New York.

I do, however, like weird parades. Like the one in August held near my Mom’s place in the Berkshire. Back in the day it used to be a pretty hoity-toity area. Actually it still is.

I do, however, like weird parades. Like the one in August held near my Mom’s place in the Berkshire. Back in the day it used to be a pretty hoity-toity area. Actually it still is.

Anyway, before horseless carriages became affordable even for common folk, at the end of each summer season the super-rich would close up their forty room ‘cottages.’ They would literally parade through town in their fanciest carriages pulled by their snazziest team of horses on the way to the train depot. In the fashion of the ultra-rich they called it the Tub Parade. These days, the New Lennox Tub Parade continues, but most of the people aren’t one percenters, just crazy horse people.

I can relate to that.

There is one parade I try to never miss: the annual Chatsworth Xmas Parade. (Excuse me, the Chatsworth Holiday Parade. Even though there is nary a snippet of Hanukkah, Kwanza, EID or anything but Christmas. I guess they are trying.)

The route travels right by my street. But most importantly, it is full-on peculiar in the best possible way. Which is to say it reflects Chatsworth perfectly.

It usually begins with a fly-over by a bunch of old military planes. This is amazing, mostly because most Los Angelenos couldn’t find Chatsworth even with GPS. If they’ve ever heard of Chatsworth, it’s because Charles Manson originally set up shop here at the old movie ranch.

This year about 15 minutes after the flyover, the shenanigans began with a pair of six-foot tall T-Rex dinosaurs waddling down the route roaring and kissing kids. I have no idea why they were there, but it was super cool. None of my photographs came out, so you have to take my word for it.

Next up were the first of six or seven high school marching bands. The groups come from all over Southern California. I think these teams are pretty impressive, but they don’t march in solid formation. Someone is always musically out of sync and there’s often a straggler or two.

None of these bands are going to punch a ticket to the Rose Parade, but they are having a blast and are super enthusiastic. So here they are. In Chatsworth.

Enthusiasm seems to be the only requirement of participation in this event.

There are a sprinkling of local celebrities chauffeured in sparkling convertibles.  They drive down the street waving and grinning at the people lining the curb. Thankfully, the cars carry placards identifying the passengers, because most people don’t recognize the Principal of the Urban Planning Charter School. Maybe that is just me.

There are always a few Girl Scout Troops too. The little ones wander behind a couple of older girls carrying a banner. One kid pulls a boom box strapped on wheels blasting Christmas Carols. Trudging behind them are parents, usually carrying coats and sneakers for the kids to change into as soon as the marching is done.

There are also floats. Oh, my! The floats! They are mostly pick-ups covered with tinsel garlands pulling dressed up trailers packed with kids or adults from the sponsoring group. This year those included a group of girls readying for their Quinceanera, a bunch of small and possibly suspect churches, the local PTA, and my favorite, a flatbed featuring the members of a local karate studio who were practicing flinging each other around. To the tune of “Jolly Little Christmas.”

Usually, since this is Chatsworth, there are horses. It seems like everyone who owns a horse, mule or donkey hits the street. There are the people from ETI (Equestrian Trails International), Charros dressed in their finest gear, some actual parade horses covered from rider to hooves in sequins and of course a few mini horses pulling carts, zig-zagging down the street.

(I was extremely disappointed and annoyed this year the horses were missing. I’m hoping that it’s because it was pouring rain in the morning and they scratched out of fear that the horses would slip on the pavement.)

Near the end come the dogs. Search and rescue dogs, bloodhounds and drug dogs represent. Why? Why not?

Following the dogs and closing the parade is always Santa Claus. He doesn’t have a sleigh, but rides a beribboned, garland-covered hook and ladder fire truck.  

Hot on the heels of Santa’s firetruck are always two street sweepers. Chatsworth doesn’t dick around when it comes to closing time.

Next year I swear I’m going to borrow a pick-up and some lights. Twinkle, Corrine and I are going to glide down the street with Jasper, Ruckus and Mighty in the back. We will be the Old Lady Dane Walking Society of Chatsworth.

It will be epic. We will fit right in.