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phredddWe got back from a dizzying, joyous, wild week at MMF last night about
10:30. It was enough time to lose my mind, get it back, and get a
fierce haircut (all gone). The vegetarian cuisine was toooo
good for the effort (Not a bad bunch of meals - although I skipped a
questionable-looking eggplant and cashew casserole twice on Sunday
night, the second time when it was mistakenly served as dessert.), and
the company I was keeping - some distinguished gentlemen I've known for
at least five years in a few cases - was really good company.
I also took some steps to address some unresolved (and uncomfortable) issues from my personal and Festival histories, and I'd like to think I made some positive steps with each of those issues, and the people related to them. Coming out of Festival, so much seems possible, and so many happy memories seem to be colliding inside my mind all at once...
The oddly ritualistic haircut I received to the reading of Dr. Seuss' "Oh, The Places You'll Go!".
The auction at which I ended up showing off items, a la Barker's Beauties.
The arguments, followed by making up, with John and a few others (lubricated with my tears, among other substances).
A "no-talent" show that took on lounge act proportions.
The pretty fireworks.
The musk of many men in a hot, humid setting.
The refreshing sounds of slightly twangy (and not-so-twangy) accents not caught up in a red-state/blue-state dichotomy.
The discovery that even a recovering hoodrat like myself can exercise hippie sensibilities and love doing so.
The reminders that I am someone much admired, and maybe I need to treat myself like it. Ditto for the rest of you.
I also took some steps to address some unresolved (and uncomfortable) issues from my personal and Festival histories, and I'd like to think I made some positive steps with each of those issues, and the people related to them. Coming out of Festival, so much seems possible, and so many happy memories seem to be colliding inside my mind all at once...
The oddly ritualistic haircut I received to the reading of Dr. Seuss' "Oh, The Places You'll Go!".
The auction at which I ended up showing off items, a la Barker's Beauties.
The arguments, followed by making up, with John and a few others (lubricated with my tears, among other substances).
A "no-talent" show that took on lounge act proportions.
The pretty fireworks.
The musk of many men in a hot, humid setting.
The refreshing sounds of slightly twangy (and not-so-twangy) accents not caught up in a red-state/blue-state dichotomy.
The discovery that even a recovering hoodrat like myself can exercise hippie sensibilities and love doing so.
The reminders that I am someone much admired, and maybe I need to treat myself like it. Ditto for the rest of you.
