Da da da ta da da da ta da ta…… and so on.
Someone told me I sound like Suzanne Vega doing Tom’s Diner, and I am savoring this.
I went to Hood River over the 4th of July weekend.
We did a bunch of fun stuff but the best part was just hanging out. I’m reading a book: Hanging Out, The Radical Power of Killing Time. We need to do it.
I stayed with Danielle and we hung out with other friends and strangers, and familiar strangers, like at the farmer’s market. As is customary, a marimba band played. I love those even if the songs sound familiar. We are with our people. We buy strawberries, peaches, cherries.
There was a party over the river, way high on the bluff. It was mostly outside and two bands played. Both were good but one played all the favorites and we danced with people, most of them I’d never met before.
When hanging out with one person you can ask what books they are reading. When with a group, you can tell what songs they like to dance to. Oh you like to dance to this too, when message in a bottle plays.
Between bands, three people took turns reading the Declaration of Independence. It’s a little bit long but worth reading and very timely material because it was all about not having kings anymore.
The book said that hanging out is about daring to do nothing much, and even daring to do it in the company of others. Whether structured or loose, it’s about blocking out time to dedicate to the work of interacting with other people.
“We’re party bouncing tonight,” Danielle let me know.
The next party was closer down near the water and we sat like quakers, softly talking in the dark trying to stay awake until the 10:00 pm fireworks started. Later, in bed, I listened to the wind whipping through the trees, blowing the curtains open, for a long time, relaxing.
During the day we compared our reactions to current events. What are our perceptions, tolerances, intolerances? How are we responding?
We ate fresh cherries. In the late afternoon, we walked the spit into the Colombia river.
It was windy.
“We’re between Mt. Hood and Mt. Adams, they are the yang, and then the river is the lowest point, the yin, and we’re in the birth canal right here, it’s moving from the river to the ocean,” said Danielle. And I said, “we’re living in a myth,” she nods. She jumps in the cold water. I hold her towel and clothes and admire her verve.
With just an overnight stay I am reminded to read inspirational material in the morning. Eat more fruits and veggies. Take a nap. Even a couple of days away from habitual programming provides a vision into other ways of doing things.
The morning after I got home, I watered the artichokes, tomatoes, flowers, potatoes, and everything else then parked myself on my outside lounger, with my book, my feet pointing into the golden raspberries, noticing the yang sun and how much everything has grown in the short time I was gone.
The wind blows here too, through the quaking aspen next door.
The book I read today informed me that the average cumulus cloud weighs about a million pounds, which is roughly the weight of 100 elephants. Clouds float because the air is even heavier. It’s like a boat floating on water.
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