Sitting in the food court eating a donut, studying this work of art, I thought about what I'd read: at a cost of $225,000, and a rider-ship that remains consistent, 200,000 a year at $1.00 a ride, the carousel paid for itself within its first year of operation.
My friend Pat and I came to see the beautiful carousel everyone was talking about. While sipping coffee, I watched toddlers fidget-turning, straining, twisting in their seats to see the carousel. Thirty-six animals, motionless; clear bulbs, cold without light. Yet, simply looking at it in all its colorful splendor widened their eyes and broadened their smiles.
Faces, sporting Cheshire cat grins, peeked out from behind parents who were
sitting talking to each other. Mothers, wiping kid's mouths, had to hold onto
them, for their little arms stretched out, fingers pointing to the magical
merry-go-round. 
"That little guy is half off the seat. He's wiggling like a worm,
struggling to see the carousel." I told Pat.
I left Pat, the noise, and clatter of the food court, and took a ride back in time to when I was a kid. Merry-go-rounds had always fascinated me. I remembered the wooden platform: worn and a little rickety, the music, how it pounded, only slightly less than the drum at a parade that hit the pit of my stomach, and the lights in a twinkling dance.
My ride ended when Pat tapped my shoulder exclaiming, " Look! Those kids are jumping all over the place, hanging on, and crawling under the rails, and trying to get tokens out of the machine."
A long line of people, stood patiently waiting. When 12 0'clock came, the attendants opened the gate. In a few minutes, lights went on and the carousel took its first turn of the day. But you know something? There was no music. When we asked the attendant why they didn't play any music, he said they did, only we couldn't hear it over the noise of the food court. However, I doubt even those riding on the inside row could hear any music - it just wasn't there, and wasn't the same.
I noticed some infants cradled comfortably in their mother's laps, while others screamed and carried on so that Mom had to get off, stand, and hold them. One woman rode peacefully "staring into space" looking as if she were reminiscing about her childhood days on the carousel.
By the time we decided to give it a whirl, the line was still long. Pat laughed as I stood, arms folded over my chest, and sulked, "I'm not getting on with this group if I can't have a horse that goes up and down. I won't do it." "Listen to you." She said. Once I realized what I had said, I rolled my eyes, grimaced, shuffled my foot and hoped not too many heard what I'd said.
When our turn came, I ran, to, and got a jumper. With hands gripping the brass pole, I looked over at the little boy riding next to me, who every time his Daddy said," Look, Momma is coming up," waved. I, too, looked to find her. She sat rocking a baby carriage. I got tickled when the little guy, confused whenever he couldn't find his Momma, started waving at everyone, saying, "Hi Mom!"
That afternoon at the mall, the carousel's magic filled the air. There was merriment-a pleasant break from the typical run-of-the mill surroundings of most malls today.
This place re-kindled the good times I had spent over the years riding carousels. And even though the horses were fiberglass and not the old time wooden ones, and I rode without any music, I still felt the moment pound within my chest.