May 30, 2005

9:16 p.m.

Feast, Fire and Souvenirs

Well, my hit counter came back right away, so I guess it just had to pee.

I've spent a very interesting couple of days. The band and I met in Newfane, Vermont, to see Steve's Morris team dance at their 30th annual big event called an Ale. Usually there is quite a bit of ale involved in these things, but in this case Ale just means a big gathering where people dance. It was wonderful! They'd been flitting towns all afternoon and Newfane was their last stop -- maybe 17 teams altogether, one from England and one from Canada and the rest American. Some of the teams were made up of women. Many teams had a resident Fool who dodged around creating a little havoc during the dance and making people laugh. They started with a procession near the town Common, and it was so grand and there were so many of them (they just kept coming!), with drummers and accordion players and pipers, it almost made me cry. Steve's team was the first to dance, so we watched half a dozen or so other teams and then headed out to a nearby college where the dinner was being held.

Steve had bought us all tickets to the dinner and we came as his guests. It was just beautiful outside, and we took a walk and strategized about the new CD and when we returned it was still half an hour or so til the busses were to arrive with all the teams. We sat and chatted at the designated table while some of Steve's teammates helped in the kitchen, put crudite on the tables, and organized champagne glasses. Apparently, though, our early presence was looked down upon by the guy who was in charge -- not a teammate of Steve's but someone he knew, let's call him Dick -- and when Chris saw someone nibble a piece of pita from our tray, he helped himself to one. A couple of nibbles later, and Dick was at our table, admonishing us not to eat anything until people had arrived. But the thing was, another teammate was standing there eating from the tray as he was saying this, so I honestly thought he was kidding. So I made what would have been a funny retort... if he'd been kidding. But he wasn't; he got really mad and said he would REALLY appreciate it if we would NOT eat ANYTHING until EVERYONE ARRIVED. By the time I realized he was in stunning earnest it was too late to save the moment. We said okay, he stomped away, and a minute later Steve came up very apologetically and said that Dick (I think his last name was Head) wanted us to leave until 7:30.

It came out of nowhere, and I was so taken aback that I had to just go sit in a field for about twenty-five minutes and try not to cry. Well, I did cry a little, but I didn't have a tissue so I had to wipe my nose on my jeans. I simply couldn't help myself. Couldn't do a thing but cry and let the bugs swarm around my head.

I finally got myself together enough to go back inside, where now the large room was teeming with people. I left my glasses off so I wouldn't have to look anyone in the eye. My mates were tucking in already, so I got some salad and we started eating, Steve next to me.

A few minutes later, a friend of Steve's, all unbidden, came to the table and squatted down next to us. He said, "Hi, Bornearly, I just wanted to say it's nice to see you again, and I'm really glad you're here."

I managed to smile and say thanks, and look back at my plate, and wait for him to leave before crumbling into tears again.

Steve went out with me to the car, and we talked about it for a little while. He was so pissed at DickHead; he said they had a policy at the Ale that if there's an issue, they don't bring it up during the festivities, but later when it's a better time to talk it out. So he hadn't pushed it with D.H., but had told him that he was out of line and he wished D.H. had come to him with the problem rather than lashing out at the guests. He assured me Dick was an asshole and this sort of thing wasn't uncommon for him.

Eventually we went back in and I was able to eat dinner in relative anonymity, among all the noise. But the peculiar thing was that, before long, it seemed that everyone on his team knew about what had happened, either because they overheard it or just heard it from someone else, and was siding with Steve. A couple of them came directly up to me and said, in a confidential voice, that DickHead was an asshole and they hoped he hadn't ruined our enjoyment of the feast. Gradually I felt better and we did enjoy some pub singing, esp. from the British team, and I met some very important personages in the folk tradition -- John Roberts and Tony Barrand (I'm not sure I'm spelling his name right), who have passionately collected and recorded folk songs for decades and are sort of the authorities on same; and Jimmy Strickland, a cute little old Scot with a twinkle in his eye, and some others whose names escape me right now. John and Tony did a rendition of John Barleycorn that was simply magnificent, with the whole room singing on all the choruses. It was like looking through a window into a whole world that's been there all the time, unseen by me.

And I didn't run into Mr. Head again.

I don't know, it was such a weird thing to happen and it just crushed me. I don't do well when attacked out of the blue.

It's okay now.

I stayed over at Steve's, and today we went for a lovely hike and then I gave him a Reiki session on my new table, and then we bonked each other. All that and I left by 2:00 to avoid holiday traffic.

********

This afternoon, a house on the block behind me caught fire. I wasn't aware of it until the sirens started, and though there was never a lot of smoke in the sky or wafting in our windows, by the time I went outside and looked, there were numerous fire and rescue vehicles and police. All the windows to the second floor were busted out and firemen were walking around inside pulling down debris. People spoke back and forth through megaphones. It's almost 10:00, and as of half an hour ago they were still there, the house lit up with floodlights.

When I lived here with the now-deceased bipolar musician, there was another fire nearby. One morning around 2am, he woke me up and told me to put on my shoes. We went outside and a defunct factory building about six blocks away was burning up the sky. It looked from here like the whole town was ablaze. We walked outside, where other neighbors were drifting down the street, and went to where the trucks were gathered. We stood silently, gaping. Reports said that there was probably a lot of spilled oil and stuff on the floors inside, and it fed the blaze. It smouldered for days. That might have been the site where, a few years later, they built the famous Frog Bridge. Now all the other buildings in that row have been renovated for businesses and artists' lofts.

And the family across the street, I suppose, will have to find another place to live.

********

Bug bites are now emerging on the back of my head, from sitting in the field letting them swarm all over me. Little souvenirs from the Ale. This visit's wildlife spotting was one porcupine, hale and hearty and nosing about at the side of the road. That's all for now.