Broken toes and gender roles

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If your nose is held to the grindstone rough
And you hold it down there long enough
Soon you’ll say there’s no such thing
As brooks that babble and birds that sing.
Three things will all your world compose-
Just you, the grindstone, and your darned old nose.
-Julia Cameron
Thursday BJJ in Kirkland. Several basic guard passes, all of which I have done enough at this point to be able to focus on detail, speed and the Stupid Side.
Several spars, all of which I took the rough side of (with the exception of a new white belt woman)
Friday BJJ in Bellevue. Several guard passes, including a couple of the ones from yesterday.
One spar, in which I let a new white belt woman work upas on me, and ended up breaking my big right toe. She felt *really* bad, even though I assured her it wasn’t anything she did (and it wasn’t; it was just one of those things). After I rolled around whimpering for a few minutes, I got back up and said, “Let’s go again,” Partly to reassure both myself and her that this too would pass; and partly because I knew from experience how this would go. I would be able to do a little more (painful) sparring, before the injury swelled/stiffened/became more mechanically debilitating. This is useful triaging skill. I know that if I am on the path to Mordor and I break a toe, I should just press on those last fifteen miles instead of saying, “Let’s make camp and let it rest up a bit, and continue in the morning,”  In this case, it’s more of “Okay, I’m going to be on the bench for a while, so  I better get one or two more rolls in first,”  White belt looked at me very doubtfully (probably because I was kneeling with my right foot held up off the mat), but it was fine. Then I had to try to walk to the locker room and then out to the car without looking like I was limping too badly, because I didn’t want her to feel worse than she already did.
PSG- despite arranging for walking buddies ahead of time, *no* exercise happened outside of required work and two concerts with Eric (one of which I only lasted through half of). It was over 100 degrees every day, and the nights did not cool off much. I just do not do very well in those conditions. I spent way too much time parked on my arse at Herald Camp, hugging frozen gel neck wraps. Unfortunately, when you are at Herald Camp, you get fed (too much). We also happened to land right beside the Happy Hippies Food Truck. All in all, it was not a good setup for fitness and self improvement. The tuna packets worked out well, though. I have found a new appreciation for tuna and the things you can mix it up with. I will be incorporating more of this healthy item into my routine diet.
I did get those two concerts (Extreme Contact Improv For Martial Artists), which is one more than we usually get, so that was good. I did not get any face time with the guy who has been circling me for the last four years in a row with rather impressive doggedness…. which is just as well, as I have still not decided what to do about him.
The U-haul trailer as camper worked very well. Of course, having gone to all that expense and hassle, this was the second year out of twenty-something that resulted in *NO* rain, so I didn’t get to see how it performed. There was a notice on the inside warning that the trailer is “rain-resistant” and not “rain-proof”- bummer- but I still think that with the addition of a tarp on top, it should do better than a tent. I shall try this again next year. The 5×8 was the perfect size (I had asked for a smaller one, which they didn’t have). Next time I would like to try clothespinning some foil thermal blankets on top of my shade shelter. As it was, my camp was unbearable during the day. I was relieved to see that the trailer did not RETAIN heat- it wasn’t any hotter in there than it was anywhere else, with the exception of a layer of superheated air right at the top that would bake your brain if you stood upright. Sitting down- or lying on the metal floor- was not any hotter than anywhere else. Going to have to sacrifice some privacy for some trees next year, though. This site is like Wisteria in that there are precious few trees placed where you can put your camp- and I am limited in where I am allowed to park a trailer- but I’m going to have to try to get some shade next year so that I don’t die.
Ticks- my first shower resulted in removal of fourteen ticks. After that, I checked every few hours. I removed dozens. I also spent a great deal of time picking ticks out of other people’s hair and ass cracks. I actually went to the med tent (which I never do!) several times to get my itchy tick bites re-sprayed, re-bandaided, and also my poison ivy re-creamed. The Hunt space in particular was lousy with both ticks and poison ivy. I knew there was no help for it; I was just resigned to bathing in both, and so I did. I actually went to the doctor when I got home, though (again! I never do this!). That was just a hell of a lot of tick bites, and I was skeeved about it. She found one last hitch hiker hiding in my back tat. It was too late to get shots. I just have to watch for symptoms.
The new Hunt space is actually outside the camp gate- which did not thrill me, but Dru was even less happy. I’ve never been that stuck on the physical space as a strong factor in how the Hunt’s going to go, but it is definitely a minus in my eyes to be far enough away that the community can’t hear the Hunt. Other than that, no problem. I left Finn out there till the bitter end, and I would have left him out there another forty minutes if I could have. I also howled and barked in the woods to try to get the Hunters vocalizing…. it seems like once someone starts, the others feel freer to do it as well.
Michael (who did very well as Dru’s drum backup this year) brought up a point that I’m paying attention to, because I respect him. He said that it’s important for the community- especially the young women of the community- to see me as a role model in this venue. Honestly I had not looked at it that way, as my perspective was that Bo needed a backup to help with the work as well as to be able to step in and lead if he became unable. I’m perfectly content being a lieutenant. I don’t enjoy standing up in meetings and making announcements. What usually happens is that the Hunt coordinating team stands up there with Bo and he does the talking. I feel uncomfortable standing up there unless I have something pertinent to say (and sometimes I do…. if Dru’s not at the meeting, I make any needed announcements for the drum aspect of things). But usually I just stay in the crowd and Bo makes a point of waving at me at the beginning of the week and announcing that I’m part of the team. But Michael’s opinion- along with the fact that more than one person mentioned in the post mortem that they had noticed that the coordinating team was perfectly gender balanced this year, and how important that was- makes me feel as if I need to purposefully make myself more visible and audible in this role. As a female, specifically. Not very happy about this idea. It seems like egoist posturing, and all I truly care about is making sure the rit runs well. Also, as I become more and more sensitive to society’s outdated and restrictive gender-role pigeonholing and how much it annoys me, I become ever more resistant to being defined by my urinary plumbing before being defined as more important things. But hearing that message from multiple people….
When the Hunt began, the coordinating team was very Y-chromosome-heavy. This led to (among other issues) persistant rumors in the community that women were relegated to certain roles in the rit or not present/welcome in the rit at all. Those types of rumors have dispelled over the years but I think there’s still a bit of that lurking. Secondly, there’s a wealth of “fluffy-bunny-white-light” ritual. There’s nothing wrong with FBWL, but that’s not all there is…. and it’s important that *women* feel like they can move out of the Fluffy Bunny arena should they choose. Also, though it’s less of a problem in this community than in others, I do feel that women have still not reclaimed quite enough of their power/equality yet to feel comfortable moving beyond that into a place where it honestly doesn’t matter what urinary plumbing the ritual coordinators have. (It makes me sad and frustrated to think that we won’t get to this place in my lifetime.) I think I have been trying to occupy that place in my leadership roles without accepting that everyone else is not really ready for that stage yet. Feels like a slide backwards for me personally, but leadership in the Hunt is about serving the community- if they need me to do the “I Am Woman Hear Me Roar” thing, I should at least consider doing that service.
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How to survive the Apocalypse

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Note: there is no BJJ in this. There is a good deal of running about, which I guess counts as exercise.

Cliff’s Notes version: So my trip turned into the Apocalypse.

Although I don’t usually pay a lot of attention to either weather forecasts or to the PSG Facebook group, I had taken note of repeated warnings of mucho rain looming over the week. After my unpleasant experience last year with the rain, I took it seriously. I packed extra garbage bags, an extra slicker, an umbrella, some extra rain-resistant percussion options, and simply left several rain-fearing items at home. We always get one hard rain- so galoshes are a must anyway.

Kitsune (texting from O’Hare Airport): At curb, lower level, by rental car return. Screaming-orange hoodie with fox ears.

Dru (texting) I would expect nothing less.

I started the week off right by fooking up my very first heralding: I announced the coordinators’ meeting at the correct time but the wrong place. I blame my numbers disability. They have numbered workshop areas, and my brain has a really hard time both retaining those and also recalling which is which. And I’m not the only one. Whenever I announce something happening at “workshop site eleven” I get a dozen people stopping me on the road to ask “Where is workshop site eleven?” So I have to either carry a map with me or be forced to reply “Hell if I know.” The latter damages my air of authority, so I have to carry the map. I really need landmarks instead of numbers.

Harry helped me put up the tent, then I had to set up Dru- who is crippled enough that she can do very little physically. Got both tents up before it started raining. Tried a new tarping strategy this year, since we commonly tarp the tent to within an inch of its life and it always leaks anyway. I figured that if it leaked in the first rain, I could take the tarps down and try something else for the following day. I did not unpack much…. clothespinned a few ziplocked items to to the inside tent seams, and left everything else double-trashbagged on the floor. I extracted items on an as-needed basis, and put them back in the trashbags after use. I was planning to retreat with my double-trashbagged sleeping bag to Derek’s trailer if it got really bad.

The next day (Sunday) was load-in day for the non-staff. I was expecting it to rain all day, but it was beautiful. There was mud, of course.

In bygone times, one of the things I have most enjoyed was community drumming before the welcome meeting. It was the first chance to haul the drums out, and it started the meeting (and entire event) on a great vibe. About six years ago, Groove Troop took over and started doing a performance before the welcome meeting. Then for a couple of years, the sound guys were playing canned music. For the most recent couple of years, neither of those happened- but by then, people had been trained out of bringing their drums to the welcome meeting. I really wanted to restart that tradition. I hesitated to ask a bunch of people to haul their drums down, though…. if someone with more pull than I *did* have something planned, we would have hauled them down for nothing, and I would have felt bad. So I just recruited my twin. We picked up Finn and a couple of others as we went. Harry even came down and drummed on the opposite side of my drum, which was cool. It felt so good to do that, and I’m so glad we did it. Especially as it turned out that that was the only time my djembe got to come out at all.

The end of the welcome meeting was rained out.

We did do the opening rit…. I used a plastic tambourine instead of a drum due to on-and-off rain. For some reason, Groove Troop did not take over the drumming when we got to the bonfire circle as they usually do, so we procession drummers were kind of trapped there for a few hours. Which was okay, but I was tired. Lately I have tended to do processions- and sometimes the rits- and then bail.

Finn (proudly wearing his first real kilt… in the traditional manner): “Oh my God! OH my God!” (hopping about like a rabbit on meth) “Don’t spray your legs with bug spray while wearing a kilt!!!!!!!!!”

Bo was already stressing about the Hunt. Our previous space was unusable because the site owners had built some gardening trellises in the clearing. I wasn’t sorry. I never liked that space. The new space consisted of a section of small-treed woods, a dirt road which abutted the Faerie shrine, and two clearings. There was not enough room in either clearing to contain everyone. The finished Hunters would need to have their recovery space in the clearing #2. Not ideal, but I was okay with this. I just wanted to make sure the drummers would be able to see the kills.

One of the things I hadn’t liked about the previous site was that it made most of the hunters’ hunt spaces inaccessible to the villagers and extremely difficult to access by me and Bo. The Faerie shrine road would allow the villagers to see and send energy to the hunters. (It would also infuse a bunch of faerie energy into the rit, which could be good or bad…. this ought to be interesting….) I wandered in the hunt space a while and found lots of poison ivy, stinging nettles, (some of which we could remove), a stream to cross in the dark, and some disturbing waste. I hauled out some rusty barbed wire, sharp-edged metal signs, pieces of a deer blind with nails in it, and marked the site of a piece of rebar post that I would need Derek to help remove. Resolved to go through this area several more times searching for more hazards before we let the hunters go back there. (And wearing long pants. ow. I am very allergic to poison ivy, and I had to actually lie down in the field and roll in the mud when I came out because the nettles felt like acid eating through my shins.)

Found out, to my dismay, that it wasn’t the lightning that had caused Moonfeather and Selena to banish us to the sweat lodge last year. It was mud. They were anxious about liability if someone slipped in the mud in the hunt area. That upset me because I wanted to soldier on (OUTSIDE the sweat lodge) even if it was raining. This news made it much more likely that we might end up in the sweat lodge again even if it wasn’t actively storming… what were the chances of not having mud in the space, when it had already rained a few times and we were expecting more? I really didn’t want to be in the sweat lodge again…. although Chante was not there this year, so if we had to do it, we could and would. I began to push hard for having the hunter spaces in the field along the treeline as an alternative to the sweat lodge. The top of the field was reasonably dry and non-slippery. Bo didn’t like that idea, and I’m afraid I made myself rather obnoxious pushing it repeatedly. The sweat lodge thing just really sucks for the villagers and drummers, and I don’t want to do that ever again unless the ONLY alternative is to cancel altogether.

The Hunt coordinating team spent much of Saturday, Sunday and Monday having multiple meetings and- er- “discussing” our limited options. The threat of having to cancel altogether was hanging over our heads like the Sword Of Damocles. This was very frustrating to me…. but as Bo rightly pointed out, it would only take one really bad injury for Moonfeather and Selena to put an end to the Hunt permanently.

Monday started with rain, and Moonfeather as usual was extremely resistant to the idea of having the morning meeting in the pavilion. She never wants to do that, I don’t know why. Anyway, we had it in bonfire circle, and it rained on and off, finally deluging us near the end and driving everyone back to shelter. I had the doumbek, so did get to participate in the drumming, although it’s not the same without the djembe. (That thing cost over $100 to ship this year- ONE WAY- it’s getting to the point where it will seriously be cheaper to buy a fucking djembe onsite every year and then give it away at the end of the week.)

I had a dance date with Eric on Monday night, but the rain started pounding in earnest in midafternoon and continued to pick up the pace therafter. An emergency staff meeting ensued. The creek was rising. I am camped beside the creek. I was only mildly concerned. The bank was pretty high, and we had gotten hella rained on before without it getting anywhere near high enough to worry me. Some people sounded worried, though…. I had work to do, but I ran back to camp and got my car keys, my twin’s car keys (which she had given me in case I had to retreat to her car), my drivers’ license, credit card, and the itinerary for my return flight. The drums were safe at Herald Camp in Derek’s trailer. I looked around and decided that life would go on if I lost all the rest. Then set off to Herald- which I did for about the next ten hours almost nonstop, running through knee-high mud and pausing now and then to carry bins, haul tents, and push cars out of mud.

It was raining so hard that you almost had to breaststroke to walk. You couldn’t hear someone standing with their lips touching your ear and screaming at you. I did the best I could, and so did Derek and Dru and my underheralds (of which I had only two…. I had already released the one who was half-blind and had a bad hip, deciding that she was unfit to this challenge). But it was the Apocalypse. When the end of the world comes, that’s what it’s going to look like. I was Heralding The Apocalypse.

They started evacuating hundreds of cars out of the flooding back lot. I don’t know how they did it, but we ended up losing only six cars. Dru was too busy heralding to try to go save her car. (Do I know how to pick my co-coordinators or what? This chick takes her job seriously!) Not that she could have saved it anyway, as in her condition it would have taken her until NEXT Friday to get down to the back parking lot. At some point she threw her keys to Dawnwalker, who ran down the road howling, “What does Dru drive? What does Dru drive?” (This is going to be a new chant in Herald Camp next year.) She ended up turning the keys over to Rhonda, who knew no better what Dru drove. Poor Rhonda was reduced to crosstrekking the back lot, stumbling and skidding amongst hundreds of cars in the downpour, clicking desperately at the key fob and waiting for a returning beep. Of course Dru’s car was in the very back row at the far end. When Rhonda finally found it, she actually dragged a tarp over the seat before she got in- being head to toe mud from repeatedy falling in the parking lot. She saved the car and didn’t even get mud on the seats.

We started evacuating the people along the creek. At some point I found myself with an extra few minutes on my hands and decided to see if I could save any more of my belongings. Since almost everything was still sitting in double trashbags, it was the work of only a few minutes to pull down the ziplocs clipped to my tent seams and toss all the stray items into the trashbags. I ended up with four trashbags stuffed with all of my gear and belongings. I hauled two of them to the road, and there was Brian in his golf cart. He took them, and I went back for the others. There were Talon and my twin- they each took a bag and disappeared. All four bags later reappeared in Herald Camp none the worse for wear. I was now a bona fide refugee- fleeing the destroyed remains of my home with all of my worldly possessions in trash bags. I bid a bitter adeiu to the case of Dr Pepper and two cases of Slim Fast sitting beside my tent.

Thank Gods for Finn. He’s Derek’s son, eighteen, young, strong, and he’s desperately in love with me. He was one of my Herald minions for the day, and I ordered him around like a serf- heralding, hauling, fetching, message-carrying, he did everything I asked him to with a cheerful and waterlogged smile.

We moved my twin out, and everyone else along the creek. Then everyone on that side of the pond. The staff brought trucks and carts up and we just flung everyone’s crap into them and hauled ass out of there. The smaller tents, once empty, were being picked up by teams of four- one on each corner- and marched down the road held over their heads.

By the time I got a chance to go back to my campsite for a look-see, it was under two feet of rushing water. The tent was gone. I later found that someone(s) had collapsed it and dragged it up to higher ground- along with (to my embarrassment) a pile of Slim Fast bottles and Dr Pepper cans. People’s cars and entire camps were being washed away, and someone was running around picking up my Dr Pepper cans.

Harry, Finn and my twin went back hours later (without me) to see if anything else could be salvaged, and my twin- since she reads my blog- was able to instantly identify my wreckage by the presence of the Dr Pepper cans piled on the mounds of soggy detritus. To my further dismay and shame, the three of them actually loaded up all those fucking Dr Pepper cans into Dru’s wagon along with the tarps and hauled them back to Herald camp.

Dru got stranded at the pavilion and ended up stuck there for most of the night- triaging the people who had lost their campsites and had nowhere to go, and babysitting for people who were trying to move campsites and needed the sprats out of the way and safe while they did this. Others donated extra tents, bedding, and took orphan campers back to their own camps with them.

Kitsune: “Your son’s been my heroic slave for two days. I may sleep with him after all.”
Derek: “Tell Rhonda that.”
Kitsune: “No.”
Rhonda (shouting from down the road): “Tell me what??!!!??! TELL ME WHAT??????!!!!”

By around midnightish, we had everyone moved who desperately needed to be moved, and all the cars moved that were able to be moved out of harm’s way. It was incredible. This was a campsite of a thousand people. We moved at least 1/3 of the campsites and probably 3/4 of the vehicles. The staff was a well-oiled machine, and everyone was running around helping others before they even thought about their own needs.

A huge live tree fell on a (fortunately unoccupied) camper in the middle of the night and totalled it.

NO ONE WAS KILLED. NO ONE WAS SERIOUSLY INJURED.

Usually our rainstorms at this site have high winds screaming across the pond. If there had been winds thrown in with this storm, people would have died. No question.

If this had been anywhere else, the Red Cross would have been deployed. Maybe the National Guard. We had a thousand people- more than in many small towns. Many of them elderly, disabled, etc.

I have a new respect for the homeless. It’s difficult to keep track of your stuff and stay organized when you are living out of trashbags.

Dru (over staff channel radio): “Are you coming back over here?”
Kitsune: “No. I’m moving in with Harry. I know it’s sudden, but it just seems so right.”

I was fortunate enough to have the choice of moving into Derek’s trailer, my twin’s car, or Harry’s camper. I picked the camper. I love Harry, but I hate living in close proximity to even people I love. Yet, desperate times and all. And I just wanted to put on some dry underwear because I couldn’t remember what that felt like. I spent all of Monday in a sopping purple velvet tank dress with a torn and knotted-together transparent rain poncho over it.

Tuesday morning: Harry helped me hang up six clothelines full of my wet things, then made me scrambled eggs and sausage for breakfast. I was dry and felt like I was living in the lap of luxury. As I was about to do the dishes, yet another staff meeting was called.

My thoughts: a lot of people had already flown the coop, and we would probably lose a lot more today. But the ones who stayed were going to have the party of the century. After what we had accomplished over the previous evening and night, I was feeling ten feet tall and raring to do the Hunt. I sidled up to Bo and said, “So, about that edge-of-the-field idea….”

Moonfeather and Selena had different plans. They had decided to shut down the entire event and boot everyone out.

Disbelief. Dismay. Grief. Frustration. Anger. Bitterness. Tears. Arguing. Resignation.

Half the portajohns were in accessible, and the showers were down with no hope of resurrection. If nothing else, the health department would shut us down just for that.

Morning meeting: Just because the universe is perverse in this way, it was a gorgeous sunny morning with butterflies spiralling, birds trilling, and a whole bunch of triumphant, relieved people dancing and singing and laughing because they had survived the Apocalypse.

They told everyone.

Disbelief. Dismay. Grief. Frustration. Anger. Bitterness. Tears. Arguing. Resignation.

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(This is not a photo of a lake. This is a photo of a campground.)

My voice was an aspirated croak- but miraculously, Dru (whose day it was to be in charge of Heralding…. I had been in charge on what was officially the Worst Day Of PSG EVER) had all three minions show up for work, and a couple of extra volunteers besides. I was able to rest my voice for the first half of the day, which was fortunate as there was a buttload of Heralding to do all day long and the next day as well.

We found ourselves pressed into counseling and diplomatic negotiations as well. I was thoroughly cussed out BY NAME down in Rainbow Camp. Knowing emotions were high, I didn’t really take it too personally- but it was a bit wounding to be cussed out BY NAME. I also had to (several times) herald a long list of people whose cars needed to be moved NOW because they were blocking others in. One woman ran up to me bawling her head off. She and her family were packing up as fast as they could, they were traumatized, and because she was on this “naughty list”, she felt as though I was reprimanding her. I had to stop and talk her down.

Zero (going in for a hug)
Kitsune (holding up hand): “I’m really sweaty and smelly.”
Zero (husky whisper): “Good.”

We got a lot of people out that day, but there were just too many- and too many vehicles stuck- to get them all out. Fred had to winch upwards of 100 vehicles out of the mud, one by one.

All of the workshops, riutals, concerts and other programming were cancelled- but every musician on site converged that night to perform a “bardapalooza”- the best part of which was when one would start a song and the rest would join in as best they could, winging it. Wonder of wonders, Eric appeared. So we got our dance date after all.

That night, the people who were left set determinedly to work to dispose of what had been intended as an entire week’s generous supply of alcohol. Between the pavilion and Herald Camp, I was accosted by three separate people weaving along with a bottle in each hand, weedling me to help them finish it off. I got invited to a half dozen Bacchanalias. Harry had to be half-carried home by some buddies. I think Dru and I were the only sober people within a two mile radius.

In the morning, Moonfeather sent me out to herald. The message boiled down to “Get The Fuck Out ASAP”. It was not even 8am, and most of the remaining campers were hung over in bed. I did not use my pot lid and spoon to bang. I did not linger. I yelled and then fled.

I had to help pack up my twin, which was bitter as this is going to be her last PSG for at least a few years- and what a finale! Glad we got that one drumming session in at the welcome meeting.

Kitsune: “I had a dream about you last night.”
Zero: “Are you going to tell me about it?”
Kitsune: “Nope.”

I would like everyone to know that- even after being told that I had just gone through a bona-fide natural disaster- United Airlines raped me an extra $200-plus to change my ticket so that I did not have to spend the next five days sleeping on the floor at O’Hare.

Before the fest, I had actually been pricing camper rentals due to the (now minor-seeming) trauma I had had with the rain last year. They are all of course way out of my budget. When I got home, there was an envelope waiting in my mailbox. It contained an escrow refund check for (what is to me) an eye-popping amount. Normally I would funnel such a thing straight back into the mortgage (If I make only minimum payments, I will be paying that thing well into my eighties), but the timing would seem to be a clue-by-four that I should use this money to rent myself an actual hard-shelled six-sided structure in which to weather PSG next year. So I will. (Even a small cargo trailer would suffice to keep the drums and sleeping bag dry….. and I no longer own a tent!)

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(The sign says “to water”. Just in case you can’t find the water.)

So now I am feeling mostly depressed, with anger edging in. I know this is nobody’s fault, but this is my one vacation of the year- I count on it to fuel myself up for the rest of the year, and it costs me literally thousands of dollars which I can ill afford to flush down the toilet. It was quite an adventure, and a miracle than nobody was seriously hurt, and seeing the way everyone pitched in to help one another was almost enough to restore one’s faith in humanity. But yeah, these next few weeks at least are going to be emotionally tough.

Applying copious “purring cat therapy”.

Bigger than a raccoon.

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Even some of the best people I know live by the “I just wanna do my own little thing.” Satisfied with the happy little island they created for themselves in the middle of the ocean of the surrounding disharmony, they look at life from their seat in the audience. I consider this attitude one of the main causes in the mediocrity in the state of things. Often for creative people the beauty of their inner world can become a handicap. Too caught up by their subjective experience to learn how to dance through the physical world. The result is that, limiting themselves to the cultivation of their own spiritual world, the most sensitive people leave to the most careless the management of collective reality. Daniele Bolelli, On The Warrior’s Path

PSG.

The weather was not our friend this week. It was either raining or brutally hot and humid. I did go over some defensive stuff with Dru, but not nearly as much as I’d wanted to. I didn’t get to play MA with my Evil Twin at all, which was a huge disappointment. She had kubatons, and I’d really wanted to play with them.

Although my tent and tarp situation is reasonably adequate for a few normal showers, what happened this week was not normal. I had Lake Michigan inside my tent. We got six inches just on Thursday alone. I  returned from the Hunt at around 1am to find every inch of floor space underwater. I had known that was going to happen, but there was really nothing I could do as long as it just kept coming and coming. So I spent the next few hours just walking from one end of the tent to the other and poking at the ceiling to tip the water off as it collected and dripped through. Near dawn, it finally slowed, and I used my wet clothes to mop the standing water to the front end of the tent. Threw the sleeping bag down and hoped that the wet floor wouldn’t soak through too much.

Kitsune (after someone mentioned jiu-jitsu): “Yeah, I know sixty different ways to choke someone unconscious with their own clothes.”
Nataraj: “All the more reason not to wear any.”

Speaking of Nata, he had a little pink tube dress and was photographing as many different people as possible wearing it. I rarely allow photos to be taken (especially wearing something that revealing), but one could hardly refuse after he donned the thing himself.

What’s worse than having a screaming baby camped right next to you? Having TWO screaming babies camped right next to you! They woke up wailing every morning at the crack of dawn, at which point their entire camp was up and talking, so I couldn’t get back to sleep. There were also a few small-hours operettas. On Thursday their tents were gone. I know it’s selfish of me, but I was SO HAPPY. I thought I’d finally get some sleep…. but then the tent flooding.
 
Flat Harry was back (see photo). Fortunately, 3D Harry (who drums much more skillfully and is also better at helping put up tents) was back as well. He asked me to bring Flat Harry out as a prop one morning while he addressed the morning meeting. While he stood there talking, I propped Flat Harry up beside him and then pretended to grope him from behind all during Harry’s speech. The crowd was in stitches. I’m hoping that someone will post a photo (I saw several being taken).

Extreme Contact Improv for Martial Artists, x3…. although the third session got rained out halfway through. Although we were deliberately BEHIND the audience, we had many people come up to us both at the concerts and at other times on the road to tell us how much they enjoyed watching the ECIfMA. Including one woman who was delighted with me and my “husband”.

Tuatha Dea performed a song about “Celtic women” with the two adult sisters and their mom. With the first verse, I had goosebumps all up and down my arms. By the end, I was crying, and so was Harry. I found all three women over the course of the next two days and thanked them for sharing that song.

Drummed in 2 ritual processions, although I bailed when we reached the site for the 2nd one (Bonfire opening). Apparently that rit was “the best one EVER”, so maybe I should have stayed….

Number of times this year that I left my walkie-talkie in the portajohn: zero. I think I have conquered that particular bad habit.
Number of times I left my umbrella at Herald Camp and found myself caught in the rain elsewhere without it: 3. Needs work.

I was asked by the gal in charge of the Croning rite of passage to scramble a drum section for the rit. Unfortunately, it was on Friday, and it’s really hard to recruit anyone to do anything in the last few days. Since she’d asked me personally, I felt obligated to show up and do it myself. Selena tends to pull some distressingly arrhythmic chants out of her butt, but I have figured out that I just need to ID those right out of the gate and simply “let the voices rule.” I haven’t been drumming for these small rits for a long time, but it is a service to the community, so I decided that next year I am going to go out of my way to do more of them- even if I am doing them solo. Dru said that she might be up for doing some.

Dru to Kitsune, upon hearing that I had heard something fall in the creek in the middle of the night and suspected that it was a bear: “Maybe it was a raccoon.”
Kitsune: “It was bigger than a raccoon.”
Rhonda’s frantic disembodied voice from her tent, where we thought she had gone to sleep: “WHAT was???!!? Where???!!?”

The Hunt- Ummm. Someone asked me how it went, and I said, “I don’t really know what to say.”

 The first monkey wrench occurred about a week before the event when Dru informed me that she still had a touch of pneumonia and had to bail out of coordinating the drumming. I said fine, I’ll do it myself.

There was a young teen- he looked about 13- drumming beside me at the processions and at the morning meetings. Although I generally loathe kids, I was impressed with his drumming skill and focus. I thought, “That kid might actually be able to do the Hunt,” Lo and behold, Thursday morning he asked me if he could drum for the Hunt. Normally we don’t let under-18’s in (we have let in a few 16 and 17 YO’s in special circumstances), but I decided (after getting a green light from his dad) to let him do it. Found out at the pre-meeting that he is a wrestler- which explained both the unusual focus and the way I’d glommed onto him right off. I asked Finn and Marshall to help look out for him.

Second monkey wrench: less than an hour before the rit was supposed to begin, it was decided (by people who were not me) that the lightning made it too dangerous to put the hunters in the woods, and we were going to put them in the sweat lodge. I was horrified. Without being able to see the hunters- and with the villagers clustered under a tarp on the opposite end of the clearing- my drum group was going to feel like it was all alone in the world, drumming to itself.

Interestingly, none of the hunters bailed. I had expected at least a few to do so. They had put a lot of work into their hunt spaces (which were now not going to be utilized) and into their weapons (which would have to be left outside the lodge), and they had prepared for a completely different format. A sweat lodge is not something to take lightly.

I placed our easy-up so that it faced the sweat lodge fire- with the lodge visible at stage left and the hunt fire at stage right. (The guy erecting the shelters looked deeply into my eyes as he placed the front pole and declared passionately, “This is the LAST time I am moving this goddam easy-up…. are you SURE this is where you want it?”)

When I explained to the drummers what was happening, one of them asked a question about what the hunters were doing in the sweat lodge. Good question. I haven’t a clue. That was obviously going to be a Hunters’ Mystery. I replied as much, adding that it was “Not my circus, not my monkeys.” (That became a major catchphrase for me this year…..)

I had to shoehorn twenty drummers- and their chairs- into an easy-up and hang tarps on three sides so that the sideways rain didn’t dull the drumheads. They were inaccessible to the villagers who were supposed to be bringing them water. They were practically sitting in one another’s laps. Of course this left no room for me. I stood toe to toe with the front row, holding my drumhead just under the edge of the shelter. I had the synthetic, but I had never played it in extensive rain, and wasn’t sure how it (and my hands) might perform (or not) in the middle of a thunderstorm. The freezing water running off the edge of the tarp and right down my back was the least of my problems.

I realized quickly that the right-hand tarp was going to prevent most of my drummers from seeing the kills. I was able to solve this by asking Finn and Marshall to roll that side up as soon as the hunters started coming out. It would be distracting- and we would be getting a little wet at that point- but the drummers needed to see the kills.   

All the coordinators met in the center and stood there in a huddle with our wet hair dripping in our eyes, discussing the changes. I realize that the sweatlodge leader cancelled her own event and offered up her lodge, time and effort to help us out- but man, she was ****NOT**** displaying good team player skills. As soon as the lodge became involved, it turned into her show instead of ours- and she didn’t know what we were doing. I started to ask about cues, and she informed me that her second, Colleen, would be giving me cues. I attempted to relate what cues I needed and when, and she cut me off rudely… at which point I tried to address Colleen directly, and got cut off a THIRD time with a snapped, “You’ll get your cues, don’t worry about it.” End of discussion. I realized then that I was not going to get my cues, and that I was not going to have any idea WTF was going on. Which is exactly what happened.

Usually before the ritual the drummers circle up and paint one another, and I make an inspiring speech. This time, I said, “Sorry, people. We’re packed into an easy-up like sardines and it’s pouring. We’re just going to stay where we’re at.” Dru asked if we could at least do an “ohm” to sync up, and I said yes. Bo headed up the hill to get the hunters. I got exactly half a sentence into my soul-stirring speech, and the horn sounded. Fuck. He must have had the hunters right outside the clearing already, and just hoofed them in with no speech and no rigmarole. I had to abandon my own rigmarole plans (and the ohm- sorry Dru) and get the heartbeat started immediately.

(At least the hunters were not processing solemnly down the hill to an accompaniment of “It’s Raining Men”. The concert stage and its amplified music is distressingly close to the area where the hunters are supposed to be sitting in meditation and then processing. There was a drag show scheduled this year (thus the “Raining Men”). I can’t remember what was playing last year while we were trying to meditate and process, but I remember being really annoyed with how upbeatedly distracting it was.)

So we worked the heartbeat, while the amplifiers from the concert blasted “Go Ask Alice” arrhythmically throughout. (Dru did an absolutely hilarious replay of this at the post mortem meeting…. almost wet my pants) the hunters all disappear into the lodge. We keep doing the heartbeat for a really long time, since I had no cues to tell me otherwise. I glared pointedly at Derek- I felt bad putting that on him, but at least he was getting to move around the site and hopefully had a marginally better idea of what was happening than I did. I couldn’t see, hear or sense a damn thing.  Finally Derek cues me to stop the heartbeat and start the thunder drumming.

Still no Colleen- I never laid eyes on that chick for the rest of the night. Derek finally gave me a rampup cue.

Suddenly- it seemed like we’d only been drumming for about 10 min, although I found out later that it was about an hour and a half- one of the drummers in the 2nd row caught my glance and cut her eyes several times exaggeratedly to stage right. I turned my head, and there was a hunter at the fire.   WTF????!!!!?????? It was waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too soon, and we’d only done one ramp-up, and… cues? CUES, PLEASE, ANYBODY???!!!???

Since no one was there for me to glare at but Marshall, I glared at him. Eyes popping, he and Finn scurried to roll up the side of the tarp. The water that had collected on it went cascading right into the ass pocket of the unfortunate drummer on the right front corner.

(Later at the post mortem, Marshall said that he had never been stalked or felt threatened in the hunt before this one- and it wasn’t even a hunter, it had been me. I hadn’t meant it is a recriminating glare, just a “Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeze tell me what the hell is going on” glare.)

I quickly realized that the poor lighting made it very difficult to see what was going on at the fire- which was problematic since I was supposed to give the drum section a “Fuckabazoo” cue when the hunter made hir first strike and a “go back to thunder drumming” cue when the kill was done. That first one, it appeared that he just went over to the prey, stood there and stared at it for a time, and then when down on his knees and collapsed on top of it. I later found out that that guy had fasted and deprived himself of water. Sweat-lodging dehydrated? Not recommended.

Another thing I realized, but this was a good one: I had positioned us so that as the hunters came out of the sweat lodge, the muffled drumming that they had been hearing abruptly turned into a wall of sound that smacked them in the face as they emerged. Furthermore, rolling up that right-hand tarp was allowing the drumming to extend out toward the fire and kill area. I think that having them crammed together like they were- uncomfortable as it was- helped the syncronicity. I had Dru in the rear center, and placed Michael on the right rear corner and my Evil Twin on the front left corner so that I had a strong grid of powerful, experienced drummers supporting the newbies in the middle.

One of the hunters tried to charge straight into the lake, and Derek had to chase him down….

Had a drummer wet hir pants…. kept right on drumming….. I’ve had several drummers puke after the hunt, but this is the first loss of bladder control I’m aware of.

Finally Bo comes over and says, “All the hunters are out… do you want to keep the drummers going for a while, just for their own sake?” It was nice of him to ask, but no. The climax of the entire thing is the kills. I felt unfulfilled (and other drummers did as well, and I think some villagers too), but continuing to drum after that would have felt like masturbating for two hours and then not being able to finish. (Sorry for the crude, but I don’t know how else to explain this….)

Here was my Big Fail of the night: I allowed myself to get so distracted and stressed out by the weirdness of this “Gopher Hunt” that I completely forgot to check up on my teenager afterward. Thank goodness Dru talked to him a little- she said that he seemed kind of zoned, and when she questioned him, he told her that he had seen visions. She asked him what he’d seen, and he replied, “I saw all my fears.” I had mentioned in the pre-meeting that the drummers sometimes hallucinate (Caitlin reported two years ago that she had seen it “raining snakes” in the hunt space). So at least he had some warning. Thank Goodness also for Marshall- who, unlike me, DID remember this particular responsibility and walked the kid back to his campsite. Dru and I, though, were both kicking ourselves for not making him goto the counseling center. It had been my decision to let him in, and I should have personally made sure he was okay and not messed up in the head. (That *was* my circus and my monkey, and I failed in that respect.)

I was relieved that my bad shoulder- which was STILL giving me problems- did not rebel during the hunt. I had been really worried that it would be in agony- either during, or after, or both. I had resolved to treat myself to a massage if I messed up my shoulder in the hunt. But it performed fine, and I was not in excessive pain the next day.

Bo suggests that instead of adding “in bed” to our fortune cookie fortunes, we should now add “in a sweat lodge”.

There was a lot of poor nutrition this week. I hate flying, and always console myself on my single yearly flight with a candy binge (Mostly Runts, double dipped (peanut butter and chocolate) peanuts, and Mint Whoppers, this time). Dru had peanut butter stuffed pretzels- which sounds disgusting, and I should have just left it at that- but like an idiot, I tried them, and they were delicious. I hadn’t wanted to deal with cooking this year, so I had decided to get one or two meals per day at the vendors’ booths- which I usually eschew as much too expensive and also excessive in portion size.

Most of what I ate at Phil’s Grill wasn’t terrible nutrition-wise… chicken and pork wraps with onions, mushrooms, and a little cheese and rice… would have probably made my nutritionist/Evil Twin roll her eyes, but not cringe. The problem was, each wrap was twice the amount of food I normally consume in a sitting. With no refrigeration and no microwave, I just had to snort it or waste it (and I hate waste). I now have some extra weight to work on taking off.