snow is wonderful because of the effect it has on people's plans; it is a great equalizer, sparing no one's plans rich and poor alike, and people are forced to shuck their expectations and schedules and interact in an improvisatory manner, unexpectedly sincere.
after my triumph of lovecraftian pastry at etana's gingerbread house-making meet (suffice it to say the involvement of many gummi worms as facial tentacles were involved) we cross the lane to a friend's house wherein we anticipate intercepting a van to deliver us to a skytrain station...
excepting that of course since it had started snowing, one of the parents had taken it into the next municipality to pick up a sibling at eleven o' clock at night. this granted me the opportunity, in hanging around their house awaiting its return, to make use of the piano music I'd lugged over and not had a chance to use at the gingerbread meet.
I felt Debussy's The Snow is Dancing was a fitting choice. The rest I was merely glad to find I could still mostly bang out, the gropings on the ivory more the reflex of an itch being scratched than the intentful placings of a lucid mind.
The vehicle is recovered and its use, following heavier snowfall, is forbidden. If you want to toboggan down the hill, go and do it with garbage bags, but you're not going to use this van for it. So we are shuttled, two by two, to the station in the vehicle which had rolled in similar weather in years yore and had a crushed-shut passenger door to prove it.
The journey home was less eventful - a gang of 13 drunk Santas prowling the Downtown Eastside, making me recall the (Ho, Ho, Ho) Santa-cap-bearing prostitute of a few nights earlier.
The hat is getting sheepy, but it is finding rare use (and is being used well.) Peeling off my garments upon garments I turn to the mirror and smile in finding that there is to be found a single drop at the end of every hair on my face; a multitude of dewmotes in a forest of follicles.
Tonight pending weather glitches, ticket-booking clerical errors and overly judgmental customs workers I should be arriving either at 7 or 10 pm via coach to
Olympia, Washington, for the
nothin' but coal e2con, where
prole,
sparky and
company are expected to lavish activity and stimulation beyond my wildest flights of fancy on my stressed-out frame.
I mention them for the sake of accountability; if I abruptly disappear from the community, by all means grill them. Where'd you hide the body, Billy? Once I get on the bus no one knows what to expect.
in our last episode... | p_i-logs | and then, all of a sudden...