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.

What's it like being anything?

Here’s another million dollar idea. Take a camera and follow hikers/trackers/wildlife biologists/foresters/people who walk around the woods a lot. Take a picture of their face every time they *walk into a cobweb.  After you have a hundred or so of those, publish them all big and glossy in a coffee table book. You’d make a killing, especially around Christmas, it would be the perfect, “Oh God what do I buy for Aunt Snafu this year?!” gift. 

On another topic: Do you ever spend any amount of time trying to figure out what it would be like to be another person? For example whenever I drive by a policeman staked out on the highway somewhere I spend at least 45 seconds wondering what it’s like to be sitting in a car with a radar gun waiting for someone to drive by speeding. I think it would be unpleasant to say the least, even with doughnuts. 

Sometimes I get so busy trying to get inside someone or something else’s brain that I stop paying attention to any conversation I may be having.  It makes for awkward moments. “I’m sorry, I entirely missed what you said about your traumatizing experience with your bicycle and the June bug, I was busy wondering what it would be like to be a June bug that had flown into someone’s ear on accident.” I thought at first it might be traumatizing but then thought probably that sort of thing happens to June bugs all the time. They don’t seem superbly clever. 

At least I stopped anthropomorphizing everything as I was wont to do in my youth. “I’m cutting out the head of this picture of a horse first so it can breathe, ok mom?” [**Insert mother’s sarcastic remark here]. I could actually convince myself to feel sorry for the last piece of broccoli left in the pot (and I didn’t like broccoli back then) because it was alone and obviously unwanted.  Fortunately I’ve gotten over that (mostly….except for that one poor little mitten… )  and reserve my sympathy now for things that are alive. You know… like people and… rocks…

*Man, I walked into one this morning that had me really feeling for Frodo. I should probably check my neck for puncture wounds from the offended arachnid.

**Actually I believe her response was something like “Honey, I refuse to weigh in on a conversation about respiration for paper horses.”

Troglidition

After so much cloud and rain for so long, it seemed like the clear sun and blue sky were entirely anomalous. Honestly, it was a joy to spend as much time as possible outside, but I think it scorched my retinas. Now I'm back in the cave and it's dark and we're huddled around the fire, smoke blackening the vent hole in the rock above. I know I should be working on my wall paintings, but we all had a full day and I just don't feel like pounding pigments.

School's out now, of course, and tomorrow morning the job thingy will suck me back in and I'll immerse myself in washing kiddie furniture in the classrooms. It's not a bad way to spend time, although it's not a skilled sort of job. But a third grader can layer grime with astonishing thoroughness, and there's satisfaction to be got in removing it. Then teachers wander through and comment how nice and clean it smells. That would be my old buddy, 6.0% sodium hypochlorite. Conditioning is a marvelous thing. But we're all glad that the colds, flu, head lice and conjunctivitis have finally taken a long-overdue summer holiday. We hung on an extra week to make up for all the snow days this winter past. And now here we are, six months removed from the winter solstice.

Summer solstice doesn't charm me the way the other one does. It's a marker, to be sure. But this is a sort of bitter-sweet holiday for me. In my mind, after the summer solstice we start that long downhill plunge into darkness. The long days, the heat, the growing things -- all that I crave and dream about the whole winter long; at the summer solstice I begin to see it slipping away. Never mind those useless seasonal delineations marked on our calendars*, I define my seasons by the reality of the weather. Summer began on June 1st, and it ends on August 31st. Just seems reasonable to me. And we've certainly had plenty of winter before the winter solstice arrives.**

That's when I'll finish my painting; the one with me heaving a spear at a fleeing buck, atlatl artistically extended, the deer's fate a foregone conclusion. Future generations will be so impressed with this. I wonder if they'll call it art?

*Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter
** because winter begins on December 1st... and goes on forever.

Why yes, this is a *friendly juxtaposing post to the last post!

Night is the best time to think. Perhaps since the majority of the population on your side of the world is sleeping their thoughts aren’t cluttering up the atmosphere and yours have more room to breathe. Although dreams must take up space I feel that they’re generally much less directed and therefore are easily pushed aside.  

**Tonight I’m feeling lucky with my life. Here are some great things:

I had two kind people let me in whilst I was stuck in two different tricky driving situations today. I’d have given them boxes of chocolates (the good kind) if possible but I had to content myself with waving and grinning at them in true fool fashion.

My brother’s dog is hilarious and awesome. It’s as if somebody took a very dramatic and solemn old man and stuck him in a dog’s body. 

I had a great time at a gig yesterday.

I’m ***surrounded by creative people with interests and senses of humor similar to mine

The weather was perfect today and I spent the majority of it tromping through swamps and over a mountain.

My peach-rhubarb pie came out perfectly.

I’ve had it with reverse psychology/general paranoia. If I’m happy or looking forward to something then damn it, I’m going to enjoy it and say so. 

Here’s a thought to ponder. If all the politicians working in the White House had to bring a ****kitten to work with them every day would the country be in worse or better shape? How about if they all had to do one creative thing in the morning before they started work? What if they had to spend two hours a day doing community service?

*Which, if one didn't know what was going on here, could make it seem as if I'm arguing with myself. The previous post definitely makes valid points, many, I'm just trilly-trallying on in a Pollyanish fashion, or if you ^prefer, a last scene in Life of Brian fashion, as a study in contrast.

**By “Tonight” I mean 1:22 a.m.

***I use the term loosely. If they were all here it would be quite the crush and mid-June is simply too hot for that sort of thing.

****I'm not a weird cat/kitten obsessed person, I swear. They do seem to be popping up here an awful lot 

though.

^That'd be my preference, never did read that book.