I suppose, if you've read more than two or three of these blog entries, that you could justifiably assume that I camp out at the Nevada City Fairgrounds and wait for the next fun event to come along and suck me in. I do spend more time at home than it might seem.
But, what am I to do when the annual Celtic Festival comes to town hot on the heels of the Draft Horse Classic? I've loved Celtic music before I could even identify it as such. And the misty moisty lands from which it comes (so far as I know, since I've yet to visit). And the stories. And the mystical history. And the aesthetic (green!). I just love the whole package. There's more than a bit of Irish and English in my heritage, so I'm told. We missed the festival last year because of our trip to Germany, so I was very much looking forward to this one, for sure (for the record, Tom did intend to go, but was under the weather, as they say, this weekend--poor baby!).
To my eye, the Celtic Festivals, of which there are many in the US these days, look very much like the old Renaissance Faires, of which there aren't quite as many anymore, or so it seems. For one thing, "Celtic" in this case often seems to refer to "medieval Celtic", as far as the costumes, decor and handicrafts are concerned. I kept running into (literally) elaborate processions and fancy tent villages full of folks that I'm guessing would have fooled the real Mary, Queen of Scots (that would be her avatar in attendance under the red umbrella), engaging in all sorts of bell-clanging, sword play and banner-waving. Seriously, on a very warm day like yesterday, these folks were wearing 40 pounds each of fabric and fur. I suggest moving the festival to December.
Besides the large number of officially-costumed fair folk, I was surprised by the big percentage of festival-goers who were decked out in complete Celtic garb of one sort or another.
Tightly-laced bodices (complete, as you might predict, with many near-levee overflows, so to speak), flowing capes, fairy wings, peasant shirts, veils and tams. Kilts of the tartan sort were ubiquitous, but there were also quite a few of the more contemporary khaki man-skirt style worn with t-shirts. Locally, this is an item of clothing we've noticed more often as casual male attire than we saw in Southern California, certainly. Don't know what that means.
There were enormous Irish Wolfhounds, generally acknowledged to be the world's tallest breed (though Guinness actually recognizes a harlequin Great Dane, Gibson, as the world's tallest individual dog--who lives in Grass Valley, as it happens. Perhaps he struts his stuff at the Danish Festival). These are very impressive animals, especially in a group.
There was dancing, carving, sheep-herding, caber-tossing, massaging (lots of massaging, for some reason), and eating (I had a veggie Cornish pastie-short "a"-and more lovely Lazy Dog ice cream). But the raison-d'etre for the festival is the music. Music everywhere! I was hopelessly overwhelmed by the 7 stages. Favorites were bands like "Enter the Haggis", "Molly's Revenge", "Solas" and a sweet 15-year-old Celtic harpist and her flautist mom who played and sang delicate duets. Not so much the Celtic rap band. Fabulous fiddles, crazy bagpipes, pipes and pennywhistles, drums, accordions, banjos, guitars...such a happy girl, was I!
No need to go into too many of the details, but Nevada County in general, and the Fairgrounds, in particular, are trying to be as "green" as possible. For these events, trash and recyclables are weighed and sorted, and the goals for lessening the impact on landfills keep escalating. Besides encouraging folks to bring their own shopping bags and beverage containers to refill for free at cold water stations, there were new features for this event. Food vendors keep their leftovers for composting and all food/drink containers are either recyclable or compostable. In fact, there are newer products made from corn or wheat which are washable (several uses) and also compost in 60-90 days. Some restaurants in the towns and food vendors at the events already use them.
At this festival, there is a trial program to "rent" them, get your food, then return them to the vendor for composting. No idea how that went over. I got my pastie in a little paper envelope and ate the waffle cone that held my peppermint ice cream. Oh, and I had brought my own cloth napkin into which they put my naan for me to eat on my way home. I think I left almost no trace (as we try to do on our backpacking trips--except John).
I stayed all day and into the night. Tom snoozed at home. I think we were both getting the best use of our time. So, hmm. I think I won't be back to the fairgrounds until, um, all the way to this Saturday, for the weekly farmers market.
I've needed to wear long pants during my morning walk the last week, or so (it's in the 40's, now), and I'm about to need socks with my Tevas. Soon, a jacket. The bracken fern are already yellow, and there are a few yellowish leaves on the tulip tree and my flipflop days are numbered. And, no, I never got the garden planted (sigh). But, there's time for a cover crop, I hear (she says, not too loudly, just in case that never happens, either).
The Wednesday and Thursday evening markets/street fairs are over (though there are still a couple of farmer's markets open through October on Saturday mornings). We went to nearly every one. Harvest fairs are popping up like mushrooms and pumpkins are everywhere. Canada geese are honking through the air every day. I loved fall in San Diego, but I'm crazy about it, up here. I'm just having my own little inner celebration at the autumnal equinox, that's all. Nothing too overt.
Just because, here are the two pics I took of my shoe next to a belgian hoof and a mini hoof. Also, just because, here's another cool video you should see. It was sent to my by Al. You don't have to be a music lover to appreciate it (Tom says you should follow the links at the end, also) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H5MLNMgpywk
And here's one more pun from, who else, but Al. Hold your nose:
Did you hear about the Buddhist who refused Novocain during a root canal? His goal: transcend dental medication.
I think I'll go make some soup.
One of the biggest annual events at our fairgrounds (yes, we're back at the fairgrounds, again) is the Draft Horse Classic. Seriously. The arena shows cost (it's where the horses compete or show off--quite the spectacle, they say), and I didn't go to that part, this year, but the rest is free. So, I went, yesterday. Besides the folks selling you-name-it-with-a-horse-on-it, and lots of food, there were quite a few other attractions.
Lots of live music, as usual. All manner of horse arts and crafts. Think of any possible earthly material, and someone is making cheesy horse "art" with it (says Ms Snooty Two Shoes). However, I must say, that there were a few pieces, mostly watercolor and photography, that I thought quite worthy, indeed. The thing is, these huge horses are so amazing, that people just have to try, and I can't blame them, really. Well, that's mostly true.
I watched a bit of clogging. Clogging seems to me to be a hybrid of line dancing, celtic dancing and tap, all of which I like. So, what's wrong, here? I'm not sure. But it looks like it might be dying out, anyway, if the average age of the dancers is any indication. By the by, it's just a suggestion, but I would strongly encourage the cloggers with the short, sometimes swirly skirts on an elevated stage to, um, not. Long pants are perfectly acceptable and can also look quite festive. Here's one thing I didn't know--clogging has been updating its music. Some cooler hip-hop and pop beats have invaded the repertoire along with some cooler steps. It's just that, unless you're under 25, it loses some of its--oh, forget it. It should be celebrated that anyone of any age and body type is dancing to any music and having fun. Pay no attention to me.
I watched and learned about the farriers' trade. Forging and attaching shoes to these enormous hooves looks like no walk in the park. If a 2500-lb horse doesn't feel like holding its hoof up off the ground, it doesn't have to. Tons of work, this profession. Fascinating demonstrations and commentary.
The most elaborate demo was the lumberjack/jill competition. It was a pseudo-competition for demo purposes, really. Maybe you've seen these guys on TV. World-class buck-sawyers, wood choppers, axe throwers, tree climbers, log rollers and log carvers. Guys can throw a special axe at a target 25 feet away and hit the bulls-eye (in this case, an imbedded full bottom of a beer can) four out of four times. The log-rolling sisters are truly amazing. 
And the finale is an ever-increasing series of "hot-sawing" demonstrations using chain saws powered with big motorcycle engines. I'm sure I would have loved it if I were a guy. As it is, all I can see is a whole forest made into mulch by lunchtime. Still, the log-rollers--cool.
The best part, of course, is all about the horses. I walked around watching and patting them, marveling at the size and beauty. Percherons, Belgians, Friesians, Clydesdales, Shire (the biggest?). All massive and all so laid back, or so they seemed to me. No high-strung, skittish thoroughbreds, here. There was one funny point of contrast. There were a few miniature horses brought in for comic effect. I put my own foot near a belgian's hoof and also by a miniature hoof. So cute! I patted them, too, of course.
So, there you are. Next week: The Celtic Music Festival. I can hardly wait!
Oh, does it never stop? No! We keep a grueling pace of fun around here! It's who we are! We can't help it! Here's latest:
Uh, we went to a lecture. We drove all the way to Sacramento in the middle of the day, yesterday, to hear a lecture. Well, not just any lecture, of course. It was Garrison Keillor. And, yes, it was fun (I keep forgetting I can italicize words). That kind of quiet, warm, friendly fun. He is promoting his latest Lake Wobegon book, "Liberty", and read from it and also some old and new sonnets he's been writing. We like him. Having listened to him on the radio for the last, oh, 27 years, it was very fun to see him in person. Didn't buy the book, but enjoyed the experience in the lovely restored old Crest Theater about a block from the Capitol building. Then we walked a few blocks for some nice food at a sidewalk cafe in the City of Trees.
Got home just in time to head off to choir practice. We're working on the choral parts for Beethoven's Ninth, which we'll sing (in German) with another choir and orchestra in Sacramento in October. It has some rather intimidating sections, but I will overcome! Need to get my black outfit together, as well. Very long. Very serious. But, fun, too.
Tom is attending his first Night Sky class at the community college, at this very moment. Thought it might be fun, especially since the sky is so cool up here and also, we have this amazing telescope to use. Took his little planisphere and off he went! More on that, later, I'm sure. By the by, have you noticed Jupiter up there this year (it's in Sagittarius in the southern sky, these days)? So pretty!
You have to look at these videos! It will be fun, I promise!
Here's the first: It's a video of Griffin, youngest son of Joy and Marcus (Joy is Tom's sister's daughter) watching Olympic gold-medal winner, Nastia Liukin perform the floor exercises on TV. It's pulling well-deserved huge Youtube hits! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T-WOYBoK-SY
Next, fun with water! Seriously, this is wonderful! I love this thing! Got it from a calligraphy newsletter, today. http://videos.komando.com/2008/08/19/water-painting/
Last, for now, is so cute and funny, your teeth will hurt. Get ready! (this one was forwarded by Ruth)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2V1hOeQCp4c I can't get enough of this one!
And, now, a couple more of the goofy puns that Al sent last week. I decided, in the interest of safety, that it was best to dole them out gradually:
"A vulture boards an airplane, carrying two dead raccoons. The Stewardess looks at him and says, 'I'm sorry, sir, only one carry on allowed per passenger." (think about it...)
"Two Eskimos sitting in a kayak were chilly, so they lit a fire in the craft. Unsurprisingly, it sank, proving once again that you can't have your kayak and heat it, too." (ooh, sorry!)
And now it's time for me to go have a little fun with the Ninth. Well, maybe "fun" isn't quite the word, this time...
The actual race took up most of Saturday morning, so, in the course of the weekend, there was time for other stuff, too! We picked Dylan and his cool bike up in SF on Friday afternoon and all drove down to Monterey together. We dropped him off at his hotel (all the Team in Training athletes stayed at the Hyatt Regency) to fill up on pasta with his team. I don't know how many participants were entered as members of the "Team in Training", but they filled a ballroom--I'm guessing perhaps 1/4 of the total triathlon entrants. All sorts of folks--of both genders, all ages, sizes, and levels of fitness. But all having raised a bunch of money for a good cause and ready to rock and roll next morning, often in memory of a lost loved one. Very inspiring. The team color: purple. Meanwhile, we went off to eat and get settled at Borg's Motel, which, because of its prime race location, was very tricky to get to, with all the prep going on.
We were out on the course around 7am, Saturday morning (encouraged by the loudspeakers) and made our way over to the bay side where we found Dylan's friend, Rich, who had driven down from SF to cheer him on. Besides Dylan, there were Matt, Hayley and Kelly (Matt and Kelly being new friends to us) at whom we could scream encouragement, as well. They all did great--personal bests, I think. In the few minutes before Dylan crossed the finish line, Emi, Dylan's girlfriend, and her sister, Erica, found us--having recognized us from pictures--and introduced themselves (that's Emmy with Dylan and I in first pic). So fun! They had driven down early that morning from SF. We didn't have too much time to get acquainted before Dylan appeared for the Big Finish.
After that, Rachel appeared, not having been able to get there any sooner. She missed the race, but came for the post-event fun--her specialty. We all cheered Kelly and Hayley on (they having started in a later wave--you can see them with Rachel at right), so there we were quite a few of us at the end, chattering away, some sweatier than others. We hung out until all the purples were in.
Most of the racers rode their bikes back to the hotel (several miles away--they'd had to ride them to the race, as well,early that morning), to decompress and rest awhile. The rest of us split up to other stuff. For Tom and I, it had been awhile since we'd been on the 17-mile drive, so we grabbed some lunch and paid our $9.25 and drove The 17+. Though I truly believe beauty is found everywhere and can't be ranked, that rocky coast with the Monterey Cypress trees in clumps along the edge just blows me away every time. 
Back at the hotel, we found a bunch of our triathletes and their groupies sipping wine and nibbling on fancy pizza. We found out that Hayley (who lives in SF, now, but is Rachel's good friend from Boston) and Kelly (lives in Chicago, now, but knows Rachel through Hayley) grew up together and do marathons and triathlons regularly. Very impressive. Around 9, we peeled off, while the GenXers took off to do whatever it is they do at night.
Sunday morning, just the four of us had a lovely brunch at the hotel before Dylan and Rachel drove back to SF together, and we to GV went.
All the while, we were glad, once again, to be close enough to participate in such events.
He totally nailed it! Dylan swam/biked/ran his first triathlon on Saturday through some of the most scenic terrain on the planet and sailed through it like a seasoned veteran! It was an Olympic-length triathlon (there are several classes in tri-world--who knew?), which means, in this case, about a mile (1.5k) for the rough water swim (the "kelp crawl", at this venue), about 25 miles (40k) for the bike segment, finishing up with a 6.2 mile run (10k).
There were roughly 1100 individuals entered, and Dylan placed at 85 overall and 11th in his age group. An excellent result of all the workouts with Team in Training this summer! He also raised $3600 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society! Many thanks to all of you who gave so generously! You will be hearing from Dylan (that is, if a certain someone raised him right)...
The race "hub" was at Lover's Point in Pacific Grove, just west of the Monterey Bay Aquarium. The swimming leg was right there in the little bay next to the point. It consisted of laps in a triangular pattern (fitting in nicely with the "tri" theme of things) around giant inflatable orange buoys (the first photo is Dylan just before the race). Everybody is wearing sensors (to calculate accurate times for each race participant), and the swimmers actually had to leave the water after lap 1 and run around a transmitter on the beach before jumping back into the water for the second time around.
A couple of interesting obstacles: First, the racers are organized into many different categories, or "waves" (11 for this triathlon),
and up to 175 people are running into the water at once and trying swim hard whilst also not getting clobbered by the other swimmers nearby. It was impossible, really--they looked like a net full of freshly-caught fish flip-flapping around. Secondly, the water is thick with kelp. Dylan was in the sixth wave (that's a shot of his group jumping into the water), which meant the previous swimmers had cleared some, though not all, of the kelp by the time he dove in. He also positioned himself near the front so as to avoid as much of the crowd as possible. Of course, there are also swimmers from the previous waves still swimming the course, which makes it even more crowded. He completed his swim in 30 minutes, however, which is a great time! 
Then, it was out of the water and up to the bike stations, peeling off the wetsuit as he ran (third photo). Tom and I had to walk way around to get over to the bike-race side of the course, so we didn't see him take off. It turned out the door to the motel room that Dylan had arranged for us was right on the bike route, just 50 feet, or so, from the "hub" and bike turnaround. So, we stood on the slightly-elevated walkway in front of the room and had an amazing view of the bike race. Even so, we somehow missed him whizzing by the first couple of laps (which, at the other end of the loop, turned around out at the Pebble Beach Golf Course). He must have zipped by a couple of times without our paying close enough attention or recognizing him. Feels terrible not to be able to pick your own kid out of the group! Anyway, we finally did see him, but didn't get good photos of that leg. No worries, though. He cranked off the 25 miles in about 1 hour, 10 min. We saw him head back into the bike area to start the running leg, and, once again, we had to walk way around to the other side to catch up.
I did get some running shots, though. Here's one. 
He struggled with an adverse stomach reaction to an energy product, so he looked uncomfortable the first couple of laps. By the by, energy products come in an unbelievable array of forms, these days--it's not just about bars and liquids, anymore.
He completed the running section (over six miles) in 47 minutes, with which he wasn't that happy. The stomach problems slowed him down a bit. But his total race time was 2 hours, 31 minutes, which is outstanding, especially for a first time. The last picture, where the ground is blue, shows him just a few paces from the finish line. We think he looked pretty good after 2 1/2 hours!
So, that's the gist of the race, itself. It was so much fun to watch and we felt just a little more fit by osmosis! Next, pictures of the social part of the event, featuring our first pictures of Dylan's girlfriend, Emi. Cont'd...
I haven't posted an art update in a little while. That's because the main project, these days, is a big, slowly-developing one. I'm doing little ones on the side (baskets, calligraphy), but I'll get to those next time.
So, out in the shop, as you may recall if you've been following along, I'd just begun cutting the pieces for panel #1 (of three) for CCC (the last three of eight, actually). Each panel has anywhere from about 450 to 570 little pieces of glass. As of today, panel #1 (worship) is cut and foiled. "Foiled?", you say. Good question. But too early. Panel #2 (hands) is cut. And panel #3 (prodigal) is in the early cutting stages.
If you're not interested in any technical stuff, you may now skip to the bottom, where I'll try to come up with something to amuse you.
For the other one or two of you, I will move along. There are two primary types of stained glass construction (there are others , but who cares?). The traditional, long (LONG) standing method (centuries) uses lead between all the little pieces of glass and the places where the lead "lines" meet are soldered together. The other method, invented by L.C.Tiffany (yes, that Tiffany) uses copper tape, or "foil" to wrap the edges of each piece, then the edges are soldered together, forming the "lines" (solder won't stick to glass). 
The two methods are used in different kinds of projects, though in certain cases, they are interchangeable. For indoor or 3-D work, foiling works great because it's more rigid (for 3-D) and it's easier to make tight curves or use very small detail. But lead is used where weather is a factor because it expands a contracts a bit and is waterproof. OK.
In the photos, you can see the whole work area, panel one with the copper foil, panel two all cut and sitting there, and then, for panel three, the "cartoon" (pattern) on the light table with tools. The last shot is the whole scene from the opposite side. I do most 9though not all) of my cutting on the light box (24"x 36"--made it myself, thank you). What you can't see, are the grinders, where I can refine the shapes and smooth the edges, so that I don't need so many bandaids as I'm foiling. 
I'm hoping to finish these guys in a couple/three weeks, if all goes well. I'm still waiting for some glass that I couldn't find and had to order, so we'll see what happens. Still learning how it works, up here.
OK, here's a pun. It was sent to me earlier this week by our friend, Al, from church, who is an incurable punster. We can only hope for a vaccine, some day. He actually sent a whole passel of pun fun, but I'll print the rest next time. Here it is, brace yourself-- Mahatma Gandhi, as you know, walked barefoot most of the time, which produced an impressive set of calluses on his feet. He also ate very little, which made him rather frail and, with his odd diet, he suffered from bad breath. This made him a super calloused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis.
I can't explain why I cringe and laugh at the same time. Don't worry, though. I'll give the appropriate warning before I print the 9 (nine) others.
We're off to Monterey, in the morning! Dylan will be running in his first triathlon on Saturday! Stay tuned!
I did it. For me, even for us, it feels like a big step.
In the nearly 17 months since we've moved, one of the lovely side effects has been that we have no regular local commitments. We have our work, which is fine, but there have been no responsibilities beyond that, which allows us to do what we want whenever we want. No meetings, no expectations to be anywhere any particular time. We're flyin' completely under the radar. Free as birds! So lovely!
While we both have intended to become involved up here in myriad ways eventually, we'd been stretching the Total Freedom Thing out longer than we thought we would. I'm still fine with not getting out there to make a bunch of new friends, yet (though Tom has been more interested to get that aspect of our life cranked up sooner--but, hey, we know a couple of our neighbors!). I guess I always figured that when I got my work spaces set up, I'd start circulating in the art world, then add in some other kinds of stuff like music, volunteering in social services, etc. 
All in good time.
But, a few weeks ago, I saw an item in the paper about auditions for a local community choir. It's a group of about 100 that sings with the symphony orchestra several times a year as a part of the organization "Music in the Mountains". We've been to a few of the concerts. Very high quality. The original (founding) director for both the orchestra and choir retired a couple of months ago after, like, 27 years or so. While they haven't yet replaced the conductor's position, they've split off the choir director's job and hired a young man (26 years old!) to lead the choral group.
I had thought about trying out for the chorale as early as a couple of years before we moved. Just looked like fun to sing some different kind of music with a large group. And, this seemed like the perfect opportunity to join in, (plus, I HAVE missed singing, since we moved, haven't I?). While I had (and still have, if I'm honest) some reservations about the weekly commitment and beyond (some of which is still a mystery to me), the biggest hesitation I had turned out to be the dreaded Audition.
I haven't had to audition for anything since I was in college. Robert Shaw. Scary business. Never mind that I've sung in many kinds of groups, before and since, and have read music for nearly all my life--still, I almost couldn't face it. I put off the decision to try out until the afternoon of the audition evening. Finally, I called and got a 9pm slot. I went by myself to the church in Grass Valley and tried to remain nonchalant-looking as I waited outside. Hmm. Nice stained glass. Good leading technique. When it was my turn to meet Ryan (child director), my brain turned to mush (what IS my name?) and when he put some sheet music in front of me, it was as though I'd never seen such a thing in my life. What ARE these funny little black dots, I wondered (not aloud, fortunately)?
I went home very sure that I should just put that little episode and any thoughts of joining the Festival Choir out of my head. Oh, well. At least I had stuck my head above the surface a little bit. How brave of me! I'd done the scary thing and survived.
I'd nearly forgotten about the whole unpleasant business, when I check my cell phone on Tuesday afternoon (nearly a week later) and there was a message from Ryan that invited me to sing with the group and to report for practice the next evening (Wednesday) at 7. Last night.
I must say that the best part was not having been rejected, though it makes me wonder if he was tired and maybe a little deaf at the time of my tryout. Anyway, I went. And it was quite the happy experience. There must be only 10 or 12 new folks, like me, and one woman said that we stood out since so many of the members have been a part of the group for many years--some since the beginning. I sat with another woman-first-tenor like me, who, along with her husband (who sings like Pavarotti), have been there 22 years. All friendly folks, and, seemingly, all crack sight readers. Yikes! I'm gonna have to scrape some of the rust off in order to keep up.
It's a beautiful sound, so many voices! Ryan is a first rate director. And I now have experienced the second harbinger of Christmas. The first was at Costco last Friday, where I saw the ribbon and tree ornaments set out. Last night, it was all the Christmas music we were singing, from stunning latin chorales by Saint Saens to White Christmas. All challenging. And fun. 
Am I on the slippery slope to over-commitment? Well, not yet, I guess. But Tom has just signed up for a local Sierra College class (six weeks on Thursday nights) to learn about stars and such (of which we have quite a lot, around here).
Seems that little pop I heard a week ago was the sound of our shell cracking open just a bit. Plus now I guess I'd better get something black to wear.
In other news, the nearby town of Smartsville has just triumphed in the mighty century-old struggle to restore the "s" (the middle one, duh) in its name (this issue has taken up a significant amount of front page Union real estate in the past couple of months). Somehow, in 1907, the Post Office, in a fit of efficiency, dropped the "s" in the interest of brevity. That would be, by my calculations, about a nine-percent sleeker name, which makes total sense. Begs the question as to why San Francisco or San LuisObispo have been allowed to keep all their letters all these years. Perhaps we should be Rass Alley.
Anyhoo, the stalwart citizens of the town (pop.947, these days) have been fighting the good fight ever since, not losing hope even after being denied their request, um, a few times, the last being in 1947. But this time, their pitiful cries and persistence paid off. They were heeded by the U.S. Board of Geographic Names and the missing letter was allowed back to its proper place. By the by, for you conspiracy-theory types out there who believe that there are unknown forces controlling our lives, indeed the very spellings of our town names, there's an organization you can wrap your crazy little brains around. Go for it.
So, now the confusing signage within the town can be made consistent, not to mention the highway directional signs, which I'm sure have caused no end of grief and quandary in the last hundred years. There are 947 happier campers along Hwy 20, this week. After all, says Kit Burton, resident of said village, "You wouldn't want somebody calling you Jimmy when your name is George. Heavens no.
And, speaking of goofy little villages, it's time to catch up with the ol' Police Blotter.
"2:45 p.m.--A man in the lobby reported he had lost his wallet about one month ago with $340 in it." [might not be filing that under "Drop Everything and Look For This Guy's Wallet"]
"12:19 p.m.--A business on Brunswick Road reported a man just drove away from a gas pump and broke off the hos doing so. Officers found the driver and filed a report. [So embarrassing. APB for car with hose dangling...]
"8:05 p.m.--Officers told two young men on the city hall parking lot to quit making strange noises at law enforcement." [I'm trying to picture what that even means...]
"4;37 p.m.-- A man in th police station lobby said he was there for a child exchange and the mother was 37 minutes late. He requested her lateness be documented." [Can we assume this wasn't one of those "amicable" separations?]
"4:31 a.m.--A caller from the 200 block of Coyote Street reported a man outside the post office taking off his shirt outside a car with all the doors open and music blaring." [was the guy too hairy? Listening Neil Diamond? Come on, there's got to more to it than that]
"12:51 a.m.--A patrol officer noticed a home on the 100 block of Castlemont Drive with all the doors open. The officer learned it was the homeowner trying to air out the house." [file under "Are We a Little Too Jumpy?]
"10:34 p.m.--A caller reported a fire on the 100 block of Dorsey Drive. Responding firefighters found a man barbecuing." [same file folder as above. I'm pretty sure the firefighters were OK with the false alarm, though, since it probably broke the monotony of the slow season they're having...]
[and I'm not sure I want to know what's going on with these next two--a rash of portable toilet capers]
"2:19 a.m.--A caller from the 13000 block of Golden Eagle Way reported someone stole his portable toilet. The caller said he suspected his neighbor." [is he an ex-Hell's Angel?]
"2:20 a.m.--A caller from the 200 block of Broad Street reported a theft of a portable toilet. The caller said it was taken by a neighbor who is an ex-Hell's Angel member. The portable toilet was gray and white with a chair and a bucket attached. The caller said he wasn't sure if the portable toilet was stolen or just missing." [just missing???]
I suppose, if you've read more than two or three of these blog entries, that you could justifiably assume that I camp out at the Nevada City Fairgrounds and wait for the next fun event to come along and suck me in. I do spend more time at home than it might seem.
Tightly-laced bodices (complete, as you might predict, with many near-levee overflows, so to speak), flowing capes, fairy wings, peasant shirts, veils and tams. Kilts of the tartan sort were ubiquitous, but there were also quite a few of the more contemporary khaki man-skirt style worn with t-shirts. Locally, this is an item of clothing we've noticed more often as casual male attire than we saw in Southern California, certainly. Don't know what that means.
At this festival, there is a trial program to "rent" them, get your food, then return them to the vendor for composting. No idea how that went over. I got my pastie in a little paper envelope and ate the waffle cone that held my peppermint ice cream. Oh, and I had brought my own cloth napkin into which they put my naan for me to eat on my way home. I think I left almost no trace (as we try to do on our backpacking trips--except John).
