Pick or It Will Be Chosen

Choices choices!

What to do today? It’s September already. And nearly gone at that! Time for festivals. I’d also add time for cooler weather, but it’s been a cold summer.  The plan for this weekend was to go to a local Pow Wow. Have you ever gone? I love them, but it’s been several years. Then, Denver got their very own Native American food joint. Native American tacos whenever I felt like it. Holy crap! Then, of course, I fled Denver. No more tacos for me.

Ug, there’s a reason I don’t make plans. It’s not because I’m indecisive, it’s because the universe likes to play constant cosmic jokes on me and thwart all plans. I innocently volunteer myself as tribute to work Saturday when the orignal person couldn’t, and that very night, I get a Facebook post that the Last Unicorn is not only going to be in Madison, but it will be pairing with a unicorn museum exhibit in Milwaukee. What! Unicorns! Please, please tell me you have and/or watched the movie/read the book? Not one of my coworkers knew what I was talking about. 

Could not go yesterday, so I woke up today: Pow Wow. Unicorn. Pow Wow. Unicorn. What to do! I told myself, unicorn. One must always choose unicorn.

It was gloomy and drizzly. Stand in the rain, or wander safeky inside a museum?

Pow Wow won. I was sitting at my computer, taking a pause from writing, and trying to look through the window blinds to outside. The wind was making the tree dance. Didn’t look nice out. But, outside won. Outside should always win. I need some air, and some drums, and some tacos. The boys need it all more. They balance on the edge of a belief: one, that Native Americans no longer exist, and two, that they dress like frontier days.

Ahh, the drums, and the singing. The opening ceremony was so strange. Towards the end, it began to rain, this straight down, gentle rain. People left. I pulled out an umbrella. After the procession, they said a prayer. And midway into that, the rain stopped, and the skies were blue and clear, and the sun got hot. Booger number two kept looking up, saying, This is so strange.

 

They had tacos, but not like I’ve had them before. Vegetarian option involved fry bread, shredded lettuce, cheese and tomatoes. Very dry and tasteless. So sad. But, there were drums.

And birds.

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We’d wander the vendor tents in spurts, always getting called back to the arena by the drums. Go out eat. No, scarf it down, let’s go watch. Wander- no, let’s go back. Booger 2 also joined in and danced. #1 and I do not dance. We stayed put and watched.

There was a movie, Things We Lost in the Fire. That phrase haunts me. Never saw the movie. Why is it, in fantasy novels mostly, there’s somewhat old ways of life? Midieval, primitive. Lots of singing and dancing. I write it into my own stuff, and hear Julia Robert’s derision from Mirror Mirror. Don’t people have jobs? Why is it that all they do is sing and dance, and sing and dance?

Because it’s community. It’s a link between all. #2 turned to me after listening to an explanation of a coming dance, and went Oh! This is how they tell their stories? Ceremony and tradition. We don’t gather around a fire at night with our neighbors and swap stories anymore, share legends, dance, sing. We’ve regressed to making ourselves little isolated islands in the center of all our progress. We don’t do anything with our neighbors except try to pretend they aren’t there. My culture and traditions are gone. Forgotten, and I crave them. My boys are constantly asking, how old until I’m grown? Until I’m a man? Until I can date, marry, have a job, drive a car? We have no rites of passage for them, no occasion for pride when they reach such milestones.

Maybe that’s why the world seems to have gone crazy. Everyone’s lost.

While I get a little snippy and would like to only see dancers who know what they’re doing dance, I understood their purpose in making it so open and welcoming.

Anyway, I found a crystal stand, and they had rose quartz, which I’ve been on the passive hunt for. Ever shopped for crystals? It’s a little painful. My middle was clenched up and tense before I’d fully reached for them. I held my hand over the tray and moved it slowly until I got so uncomfortable I couldn’t stand it. Underneath would be the stone I needed. Also grabbed a blue lace agate in the same manner. Not sure what that one’s for. Haven’t had a chance to look it up, but it came up recently.

Oooo…I just looked it up. Introvert writers and self-pubbed authors, find yourselves some blue lace agate.

So, next weekend for the unicorn exhibit it is! Crap, that just came out like a plan.

Go read the book!

Check and see if the tour- and author Peter S. Beagle- is coming to your city.

 

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