Non-sequitur

One time when I was little, (and my parents hadn’t yet realized that if they didn’t take me out of public school I would eventually turn into a yowling, biting, sobbing,, rabid animal)* I was in kindergarten and I drew a picture of a turtle in the water. It was a panoramic picture, as small children’s drawings tend to be and so it included the horizon where sky abruptly met land, and a marvelous sky it was. I made the clouds blue and the sky white. I don’t know why, it certainly wasn’t on purpose. Perhaps I have a touch of dyslexia; I certainly get things backwards once in a while now**. Regardless, when I presented my drawing to the teacher he suggested do it again with the correct colors even though I told him I knew how they were supposed to look.

So without getting into a debate about the school system in the United States and the quashing of creativity*** in the classroom I think it would be pretty neat if the clouds were blue and the sky was white. Perhaps when I fly tomorrow some blue clouds**** will pop up somewhere.

*This makes me sound spoiled, but I wasn’t. I just really, really, really HATED public school. Still do in fact, and for pretty much the same reasons now as then when it comes down to it.

**Metaphorically and literally, but usually literally.

***Not that this case is necessarily an example of that.

**** Also a very nice jig, but not so good when coming out of a vehicle, and particularly bad I'd imagine if they are emitted from a flying plane.

up and away

Right now the coolest place to be (besides Megadodo Publishing*) is comfortably seated in front of this large fan filling the lower half of the doorway. This is summer as I remember it as a child, except that for some reason my body seemed to shed the excess heat a good deal more efficiently back then. (Yes, Willa, that would have been the sixties.) Alas, the garden is all wilty, as is just about any human you might happen to encounter away from air conditioning. Heat and drought, and yet the summer started out so cold and wet. I understand that the latter weather scenario has been playing out in Mongolia, so things average out around the globe.

For some reason this weather has me thinking about riding in a hot air balloon -- well, that's technically inaccurate because you don't ride in the balloon, do you? More like under it. Anyhow, if I had a bucket list (which I don't, and I've never seen the movie, either), I would have "riding in (or under, although that could also mean on the ground in some sort of vehicle, which very much misses the point) a hot air balloon" as one of those things I would really like to do someday. And I'm not talking about five bucks to go up on the end of a tether and come back down like a ride at the carnival. I would be quite keen to pack a lunch and ride the wind until sundown. I understand there isn't much steerage. One could easily end up in New Hampshire, or something. That's what the champagne is for; so the landowner doesn't come out and skewer the pilot with a pitchfork.

Many years ago** when I was living back on the farm, someone landed a balloon in one of our meadows. It was a lovely thing, two shades of green and white. I was always one of those kids who was hoping some sort of aircraft (or spacecraft) would land somewhere on the farm and weird adventure would ensue. So even though I was well past old-enough-to-know-better, I still got that same happy tingle to see this huge object hovering over the meadow. This particular craft was called the Bonny Drifter, and just as in the earliest days of the sport, the pilot almost immediately disembarked and offered me the bottle of champagne. I also got a certificate to prove it had really happened. Of course, I've no idea where that is, but the memory is still clear enough. Great times.

And that's the sort of thing that can happen in the summer. Yeah, it's hot -- blisteringly hot and dry and nearly as life-threatening as 30 below. But it's NOT 30 below, which is what we need to remember, because within five months it could be. And keep an eye out for that polychromatic teardrop shape dotting the horizon in the late afternoon haze. It could be your own Bonny Drifter; have the glasses ready.***
                 
*yup, still reading that
**say thirty for the sake of argument
***utterly meaningless footnote

At last, a post!

You know how you stare aimlessly and think aimlessly when you’re ill and you’re lying on the couch and you’re too sick to do anything, even read, but you’re too uncomfortable to sleep? This stems from that...

First off, I got a song called *“F*ck you, I’m a ukulele” stuck in my head, which says a lot about my condition right there. Then I stared at a nearby bookshelf for a while thinking things like, I should really read The King’s Indian, by John Gardner. This regressed to random ramblings of my mind which grew steadily less coherent, even to me, as the week went on. I hope I forget it all as soon as possible. I think the cold medicine has helped that.

I’m on my way to recovery now, though I still sound like **Marcel the Shell when I speak. I’ve lost a week’s worth of Things I Need to Work On time but hopefully that’ll just make me more efficient now.  I had to miss a piping competition, thank you very much, which did no one any good.  I did use my weakened state as an excuse to finish off Season ***Two of Mad Men tonight which, in case you’ve been living under a rock, or at least away from the influences of television, is a beautiful, dreadfully historically accurate and very sexy show. It really makes me glad I didn’t have to grow up and/or survive in the 60s though, kudos to everyone who has done so successfully. 

*The asterix following this one is not a footnote but rather a place holder for a letter that would make this word a swear word which would upset my mother who reads this blog who would then start asking me things like “Would you want a potential employer reading that?” Yes, I would. Actually she probably wouldn't do that (in this case) but it makes a good footnote.

**Follow that link

***I’m behind. I blame college, it keeps me from catching up on one of the most educational pieces of television out there… not that I couldn’t just go get a book about the 60s…

church of the patriotic

It's cooled off and I've closed the doors to keep the no-see-ums and mosquitoes from coming in through the holey screens. But I can still hear the thunder of fireworks being launched from all directions. Okay with me, since I like fireworks, and I might have touched off a few from time to time myself. They're more common since Vermont changed the laws regarding sales on this side of the border, but tonight is of course the night of the big July 4th displays so everyone is bringing out their fattest and best. The "ohs" and "ahs" will no doubt be deafening.

I danced in two parades this weekend; my first time out in the border morris kit. And although I didn't actually dance a border dance, we did a processional down the street doing moving border figures. It was blisteringly hot, especially in Montpelier, but fun all the same.  Nothing like a good sweat swinging a stick in a heavy costume and face paint to facilitate contact with that primal consciousness. I'm focused. And it never ceases to amaze me when prominent politicians chose to have their pictures taken with morris dancers. Maybe the contrast enhances their credibility. Works for us, though. All the time the crowd was cheering for Bernie Sanders, we could pretend they were totally cheering for us. And it was great to have the bells on in public again.

I didn't warm to the patriotism thing which, given that I was exposed to some of the biggest flags ever run up a pole, must indicate that years of inoculation  have finally managed to produce some kind of immunity. It worked for religion, too. Enough so that I pretty much lump the two together under the same genetic predisposition. It's not that I don't feel the stirrings; I'm wired the same as the next human. But it's similar to the way I can also tell fairly early on when I'm catching a cold and I work to minimize the impact. The flags WERE impressive, though. The biggest one was at the judge's stand in Montpelier, and it took two cranes to keep it aloft. The second biggest was flying over the hockey float. I'm still not sure how to read that, but it was a popular one because they were throwing snowballs out into the crowd. Then people in the crowd would gather up the pieces and throw them back. All in good fun, of course.

Montpelier is a very interesting town, and it's probably safe to say that a lot of the interesting bits were well represented in that parade. At one point one of my fellow dancers said to me, "You know, sometimes Vermont scares me just a little bit." I thought about that. "Yeah," I said, "anything can happen here. Good or bad." But whatever it is, there's a pretty good chance there will be a float to recognize it in the July 4th parade.