Ain't That a Kick in the Head?

(Actually, it was more like a knee to the temple, but pretty much, yeah.)

A couple weeks ago at acrobatics and trapeze class, I was spotting someone's handstand when they lost their balance and tumbled.  I'm happy I was there to keep them from landing on their head, but they kind of landed on mine instead.  Exciting!  I'm fine, and only had a tender spot the day or so after when I'd try to rest my head in my hand to look interested when anyone was having a conversation with me.

However, this was the same day when we unexpectedly lost a longtime educator from the OMSI staff (a total surprise to me, at least) and a day after I nearly ran a red light for absolutely no reason.  I still can't figure that out: I wasn't tired or upset or distracted by any phone, object, multi-dog-walking pedestrian, really awesome billboard or what-have-you.  I was headed home after work and all I can remember about the incident is thinking, "Hmm.  Those other cars should be stopping."  Nope.  That red's for you, dear.

So a shaky and shook-up beginning to the week necessitated a complete release at the end.  And after work on Saturday, I hopped in a half-full car, more haphazardly "filled" than packed - kind of like a grocery sack done by the fourteen year old bag boy on his first shift of the summer.  Even in that disheveled state, Granny D made sweet time heading down through the sunset-colored valley to Shangri-La.  Valhalla.  Avalon.  The Oregon Country Fair.

Mmmmmm... Ahhhhh...  It was, as always, a completely transporting experience.  Fairies, hippies, pirates, vagrants, circus folk - with music in their blood and twigs in their hair - all congregate for one glorious weekend a year in the otherwise tiny town of Veneta, Oregon.  It's a different world entirely: the last time I went, my car was directed to its parking spot by a cheerful bearded man in a tutu calling out to all, 

"Welcome home!  Welcome home!"

Beautiful.  This time I got to camp on nearby land thanks to the distantly-related generosity of my excellent housemate's boyfriend's cousin, who was working security at the campground there.  At night, you could hear the revelry continue in the wooded Fairgrounds, but we hippie have-nots were on the other side of the fence, and had to make do with our own smaller drum circle, overpriced foodcarts and hemp-jewelry-weaving artisans.  But the bonfire was warm, the band was high, the hayfield campsites were mown.  There were so many stars.  I'd forgotten, living in the city!  Even the last time I camped, I hadn't noticed so many.  I'm thankful in my life for the times when I can crane my head back and get woozy with the scope of it all.

So Krista (excellent housemate!) and I wandered meandering paths all day, eating delicious vegan coconut frozen treats-on-a-stick, witnessing all manner of invented musical instruments, passing parades formal and spontaneous, and getting progressively covered with layer upon layer of dust and sunscreen.

Late in the day, we reluctantly exited.  And treading the dusty flag-framed path into the sunset, I got a little teary.  I’m man enough to admit it: I cried.  Prickly, bittersweet tears that there was So Much Good.  And I realized (as my hands, of their own accord, cradled my middle) that what my own tutu-clad self was feeling was a sense of BellyHappy that I haven’t felt for a very long time: comforted and magical, borne on imagination and the kindnesses of strange strangers.  Free hugs.   

Yes Yes Yes.

Coming up next: “As the Sailor Said, quote: ‘Ain’t that a hole in the boat?’”