Posts Tagged ‘Booster Days’

Another Day

June 21, 2014

Another bag of peas.

Actually, it’s the same bag of peas, constantly recycled back to the freezer to get good and cold again.

Peas porridge hot.

Peas porridge cold.

Peas porridge in a pot.

Nine days old.

Some like it hot.

Some like it cold.

Some like it in the freezer.

Fourteen more days to go.

Ugh.

Midway between crazy and crazier.

But grateful for the care and support I have been getting.

So many wonderful folks who have helped with the group funding–people I barely know, to people I love and respect and know well, to anonymous donors, so much help–so much so that my rent is nearly covered.

That’s what the amount was for–rent, phone, utilities, and the gentleman who set it up added a little extra to cover the costs of the platform.

Today he asked me if he could swing by and have a cup of tea with me this weekend.

“You’ve got some awesome friends, and clearly lead an interesting life, I’ve gotten responses from Paris, from Iceland, wow!”

Then he said I would like to find out more about you, let’s hang out.

And it’s not in a seedy kind of way.

He’s gay, folks, and older.

Not that either of those things have stopped me in the past.

Ahem.

However, he’s just being of service.

To the point that he has also asked me to keep him anonymous, except for a few close friends who helped him organize the funding site, I have told no one.

It’s not my place, and again, I am so glad I am not doing it, I would muck it up, or make it out to be something more, or less than it is.

I explained to a lovely lady who was here this afternoon doing some work with me that I can’t even go on the site, it makes me feel crazy and uncomfortable–clear signs that it is the right thing to be doing–and that it is still hard to accept that so many people want to help.

I really am so blessed.

The least I can do is entertain my support network with a cup of tea and tell him of hijinks in the desert, Burning Man, or on the Continent, Paris, London, Rome, or just about Wisconsin, which is another world in and of itself.

“Let me know what you can do, or can’t do, if you can walk, or if you have any interest in doing, this, this, or this,” my best friend said in a voicemail to me.

My fervent hope is that I will be out of the boot, and though not running, I will be mobile and able to walk without it.

I am looking forward to seeing my friend and her family and having some Wisconsin summer, although, the weather here has been pretty lovely, truth be told, night-time in the Midwest is an amazing experience.

As long as I can out run the mosquitoes, I should be alright.

And of course everything she said sounded fantastic, mostly just because I will get to hang out with her, wherever we go, whether it is to traipse, slowly, about the Twin Cities, or it’s a trip up to her family cabin on Mud Lake.

Or Lake 19 or 7 or what ever lake number it is.

Minnesota is the land of 10,000 lakes.

Wisconsin is home to 15,000.

So, yeah, lots of bodies of water.

I wouldn’t mind going for a dip.

I don’t believe I will be pulling out my butterfly stroke, too much effort involved in the dolphin kicking, believe me, but I wouldn’t mind a lazy float in the water, that would be spectacular.

And silly as it sounds.

I am looking forward to Hudson, Booster Days.

Carnival.

I can get behind that.

Fireworks, Midway rides, Tilt-a-Whirl, the smell of popcorn and cotton candy, the lights, the Zipper, and most important of all small town carnivals, the ferris wheel.

I’d like a ride on a ferris wheel, in the warm summer night with the Midway lights below flashing and the air busking me with kisses, the smells, buttery, salty, hot, sweet billowing underneath the carriage, the wheel of love spinning against the horizon.

Something beyond romance in the archetypical wheel at the carnival, a kind of Americana mythic symbol all of its own.

I also never, my one regret, really, did go on the gigantic ferris wheel at the end of the Tuileries in Paris, by Place de la Concord.

I wanted to go, but I wanted to go during the summer and with someone, you know, not alone, not by myself.

There goes that old romantic fantasy again.

Sigh.

She still pops her head up now and again, and you know, darling girl, Paris, well she’s not going anywhere and we can go back, ok.

Ah.

Well.

Paris is another day-dream, another time.

For the being, time being, I am here, in San Francisco, getting very intimate with my room, with the back porch, with the sounds of the birds at different times of the day and the ocean.

How during the day I don’t hear it, but now and again, and then as the light fades, the traffic slows, the time between MUNI trains barreling down Judah eases up, I suddenly hear it more and more, until the whole studio seems engulfed in the thrush of sound and I am swaddled in the waves.

Sound waves.

During the day it is the warm sun that draw me to it and at night it is the cool rushing sound that assures me that every thing is fine, easy does it lady, you’re taken care of.

“Now that your rent is being taken care of,” she said to me, mocking with love, “what do you have to worry about, quick let’s manufacture something!”

Exactly.

There is nothing to worry about.

There is nowhere to go.

That might be the most exciting trip indeed.

Not to the playa.

Not to Paris.

Not to LA, Rome, or London.

But inside.

Inside to that cool, calm place of serenity that beckons with the lush seductions of ocean waves and steadfast compassion.

Sigh.

That’s the real journey.

The one to the interior.

My own little heart of lightness.

 

Sconnie Girl Makes Good

April 23, 2014

Or the prodigal daughter returns home.

Something like that.

Or nothing like that at all.

Suffice to say, from my title it may be hard to interpret, unless you have been to Wisconsin or are from Wisconsin, what that means.

It means that last night after I wrote my blog and caught up on the MadMen episode I missed on Sunday (saved Game of Thrones for tonight) that I went online and I bought a ticket to go back to Wisconsin and visit my best friend and her family.

They live in Hudson.

Which is just across the river, on the right side of the river, if you ask me, but I am biased, on the Wisconsin side of the river, if you prefer, from the Twin Cities.

I have been chatting back and forth with her for a bit, trying to suss out the best possible dates for the trip back, what will work for her schedule, my schedule, her families, the families I work for, and finally settled on a date.

I will be in Wisconsin the week of the 4th of July.

I will be in Hudson for Booster Days!

Huzzah.

Now, if you’re not from the Midwest or don’t know about living in a small town, the 4th of July is a big deal holiday.

There’s usually a fair, there’s usually a carnival, geez Louise, I hope so!

I imagine that I will be out on the midway, under the stars, in the warm night air (perhaps laced with more mosquitos than I should care for) without a layer or three, without my scarf (because July in San Francisco is scarf weather, don’t be fooled by it being in California) queuing up for a ride on the Tilt-a-Whirl or a the ferris wheel.

I sure do hope so.

I may also be laying beside a lake, or paddling around one with my friend in one of the canoes at her families cabin by the lake.

Holy crow.

If you don’t have a definition of heaven, I offer you this, a cabin by a lake in Northern Wisconsin. ┬áThere will be swimming in the water, which is far different from swimming in the ocean, there will be canoeing, there will be, farmer’s markets with fresh sweet corn, ripe tomatoes, oh Wisconsin vine grown tomatoes, gimme, there will be bald eagles–they nest near by and fish the lake–there will be my best friend and walks in the woods and perhaps yes, berry picking.

There will be sitting on the porch in the morning, when it is still cool, drinking a big cup of coffee and watching the sun light up the lake and glow through the north woods like a beacon from God.

I can’t wait.

For summer vacation, I might actually have a summer vacation.

I don’t typically (unless you count Burning Man and considering how hard I work when I am there it’s a working holiday at best) take a vacation during the summer.

Shit, I don’t typically take a vacation at all.

But a friend pointed out that perhaps I should and then I started talking with my friend, and it’s been too long since I have seen her and then the seed was planted and it took root and I just couldn’t shake that it was time to go back for a visit.

Especially since the last time I went back it was January about five years ago.

Yah.

Not quite so nice.

Still lovely and awesome and sweet to see my best friend and her husband and their amazing boys, but damn, January in Wisconsin is cold, lest you’re a polar bear.

Actually, I just realized, the last time I went back, it was summer time, June, to be precise, I went back for my high school 20th reunion.

That was in Madison though and I didn’t have the time to go up to see my friend and her family in Hudson, it’s a good four-hour drive north of Madison, if not just a touch more, but I have a lead foot when I drive, so hard to be accurate.

And this will be in July, I need to remind myself.

The days will be warm.

No, scratch that, the days will probably be sweltering.

Humid.

Hot.

Sticky.

But, an admission, I don’t mind that so much.

I miss the Wisconsin winter right around Christmas, but I miss the summer the whole time of summer.

Summer in San Francisco is chilly, you may have heard a quip or two about his from Mark Twain, and there is always a day or thirteen so locked in fog and chill that I cannot really believe that it is July and wish mightily that I was in Wisconsin where it was warm.

Hell, I might even eat a brat.

Sans bun.

One not soaked in beer.

Hmm.

Maybe I won’t have a brat.

But I will have corn on the cob and thick sliced tomatoes.

Yes.

And big glasses of cold water and probably all the iced coffee I can get my hands on, iced coffee when it’s hot has to be my favorite beverage of all time.

But, it’s got to be hot.

Iced coffee when I am not hot through and through gives me the chills.

I rapidly become an old lady before your eyes wanting to nest in a crocheted afghan and sit in the sun in her rocker.

The smells of Wisconsin in July too, so good, cut grass, the aforementioned grilling of brats, hamburgers, chicken, all things that need to be grilled over hot charcoal, the smell of a lake, the lilacs, peonies heavy-headed and thick with luscious syrupy scent, the smell of hot pavement and the way the wind feels whipping over your arms and shoulders when you drive out in the car, rolling through the greenest green on Earth.

Can you tell I am looking forward to the visit?

Just to capture all the sensory magic of it.

To see fireflies.

Oh, I haven’t seen fireflies in years.

And to see my dear, sweet, wonderful friend who has known me for the last twenty years.

Twenty.

Whew.

I just realized that, this summer will mark our 20th year knowing each other.

‘Bout time I went home.

I have to continue to cultivate this relationship.

I am going to want her around for the next twenty.

And, selfishly so, I am going to want another invitation to come up during Booster Days and to go for a day or two to the cabin by Lake Number 26.

Yes, that is the name of the lake.

Mud Lake was already taken.

 


%d bloggers like this: