far too much writing, far too many photos

runswithscissors


Saturday, May 19, 2007

[continued from previous entry]

On the way out, we stopped before a video screen showing post-game commentary on NESN, watched a clip of the climax, my teeny brain still trying to absorb everything that had happened. Around us, happy people streamed out into afternoon sunlight, groups of males hooting, crowing, exchanging high-fives. Which got me thinking about the strangeness of how we identify with a team, how that identification breeds competition with other cities, hatred of other teams and other teams' fans. Couldn't think about it for long -- had to keep up with my friend, S., without getting run down or running down any of the hordes heading away from the park.

Hiking back to the car along Comm. Ave., the afternoon still beautiful, front yards still exploding with the colors of blossoming flowers, bushes, trees. At some point, I realized we were walking in the middle of a small cluster of humans, all striding at the same speed. People in front of us, people in back of us, creating a strange, subtle, creeping sensation of being boxed in by, er, humans. Pulled S. to the side, waited for humans to pass, resumed forward movement, suddenly feeling free, liberated, and absurdly happy about it.

Found car. Drove home. Hung around kitchen discussing food, washing dishes, preparing dinner -– a meal that turned out to be vegetables, vegetables, vegetables, with some grains and excellent baked chicken to offset the overindulgence in dead plants. (My hostesses' diet: far, far too healthy.) In theory, I have no problem with eating mountains of vegetables, especially when friends are making and serving me a meal. (Just the fact that someone else is feeding me automatically makes chow much more appealing.) The me of earlier years did, after all, spend a bunch of those years as a vegetarian. So why did I find the millet and chicken to be the tastiest part of the meal? Hmmmmm.

I bored my sweet hostesses with a tour of an exhibit of photography I have showing elsewhere on the web. They retaliated with bunches of photos taken on a recent trip to Israel, pix comfirming my suspicion that Israel is a corner of the world worth a visit. I crashed, stumbled to bed, got up the following morning and hit the road for the return trip north.

That return trip was to include a stop in New Hampshire for a visit with an old friend I hadn't seen since last autumn. A woman who lives with her husband and their daughter in an old house on a dirt road in a small town off I-89.

There are two ways to get to their home once off the interstate, the first along a two-lane that gives out onto other, smaller roads (the longer route, used during the cold season), the second via a small road that begins by a house with a teeny replica of Fenway Park in the back yard then proceeds through woods and up to the top of a long hill (the faster, more direct route, though its last stretch is rough enough that the town will not plow it, closing it instead during the cold season). By May the more direct route is always open, I take it without a second thought. Prior to tise weekend, don't ask me why, I wondered in fleeting fashion if I should call D. and ask if that road was open and passable. Just in case. But other things came up, access had never been a problem in the past, I forgot about it.

Until I was on it, approaching the final stretch, and saw the ROAD CLOSED sign still up, off to the side. My little car has all-wheel drive, I've always through any road regardless of the conditions (except once. several years back. in this town. when I pulled over to the side of a two-lane and discovered that accumulated leaves didn't hide a safe, solid shoulder but a gulley deep enough that the car's two right wheels sank into it. in this very town -- hmmmmmmm.....), I breezed blithely by that sign. And what I found up the road was a long stretch practically demolished by washouts from heavy spring rainstorms. Impressively deep, broad washouts in places, the kind nothing short of a tank could navigate. All this close enough to the top of the hill where the road becomes paved that I thought I might be able to manage it, and inched along for a while, picking my way through until it became 100% clear that I didn't have a snowball's chance in the freakin' Sahara of getting through the last 30 yards.

[continued in next entry]


España, te echo de menos.

rws 3:47 PM [+]
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BLATHERINGS

August 2001
September 2001
October 2001
November 2001
December 2001
January 2002
February 2002
March 2002
April 2002
May 2002
June 2002
July 2002
August 2002
September 2002
October 2002
November 2002
December 2002
January 2003
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March 2003
April 2003
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June 2003
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November 2003
December 2003
January 2004
February 2004
March 2004
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December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
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December 2006
January 2007
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June 2007
July 2007
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September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
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September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
June 2009
July 2009

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


MORE FOCUSED BLATHERINGS


Travels:
London '01
Pamplona
Italy '03
U.K. '03
Sevilla
Casablanca
Stoke-on-Trent
Barcelona
Québec/Ottawa
Boston/Lisbon/Madrid
Italy '04
Montréal
La Sierra

Events:
Madrid -- arrival
9/11
Emergency Room I
Holidays 2001
Holidays 2002
Holidays 2003
Holidays 2004
Holidays 2005
A neighbor's passing
Madrid -- March 11 bombings
  and aftermath
Emergency Room II
Israeli friend/Madrid Marathon
Madrid -- Royal Wedding
The DELE exam

GONE, a novel:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10

THE BASTARD CHILDREN OF
JOE ROCCO, a novella:
-- Part 1
-- Part 2
-- Part 3

BURBANK SHRUGGED,
a screenplay:
-- Part 1
-- Part 2
-- Part 3
-- Part 4

Short stories:
Murphy's Wife
Another Autumn
La Queja de Una
  Hermanastra Muy Conocida

Autobiography
-- Personal History
-- Hormones On Parade
-- Accidents, Random Mishaps,
    Personal Problems

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


OTHER SOURCES OF WHOLESOME ENTERTAINMENT

People/Weblogs:
dooce
foxvox
fudge it
fear not
rebekka
bookslut
802online
idle words
madhaiku
wockerjabby
grow-a-brain
rebel market
letting me be
out and about
kung fu grippe
fanatical apathy
baghdad burning
wfuv's music blog
kexp's music blog
mimi smartypants
between the miles
just a hippie gypsy
the impossible cool
tomato can brushes
vermont homestead
sugar mountain farm

Good Clean Fun:
gizmodo
futurismic
postsecret
dave barry
human clock
mcsweeney's
spaceweather
book-a-minute
internet archive
self-portrait day
my cat hates you
out of context quotes
surrealist compliment
  generator
strindberg and helium

Makin' Musical Whoopee:
last fm
stereo8
pandora
soma fm

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


ABOUT RWS/CONTACT





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