Sun Worship, Rain Year, Son Chasing

Going to the Solstice festival with a small child has to be about sharing the experience with the small child, or else you'll get very cranky thinking about the things you're no longer free to do. (And by you, of course, I mean me.) Dancing all night by the fire circle, going to concerts that start after the small child's bedtime, attending workshops to learn about other branches of Neo-Paganism so you can be on informed happy terms with your neighbors, assisting at the open ritual your own tradition hosts, even helping tend a merchant booth where your own books are for sale--all of these are possible only if you dump baby duty on your spouse, who would also like do something at festival other than chase a toddler or spend naptimes sitting on the cabin porch next to the baby monitor.

As my sister said of going to the zoo with toddlers, if you think of it as a leisurely stroll in the park with a picnic and maybe a couple of bonus animals if you're lucky, you'll have a fine time, whereas thinking of it as a trip to the zoo will only drive you crazy.

Gareth had a blast chasing the bigger kids around on the greensward, flirting with friends old and new, and learning new songs. Best of all, as far as he was concerned, there were lots of muddy puddles to stomp in. What could possibly be better than stomping in really deep, extra squishy puddles? Oh, and I learned that I can distract him from things I don't want him getting into (as long as they're not puddles), by offering to teach him a new word. Hey, it's more fun for all concerned than a time out. He demanded an explanation of why the pavilions we set up over our encampment's kitchen were pavilions, not umbrellas, and by the end of the conversation, he and I were both inordinately pleased with ourselves that he understood the difference.

It was a rain year at festival. Not the rainiest rain year we've ever had, but the alternating intense bouts of thunderstorm and clear blue were enough to set off my chronic pain. It's like having arthritis, only without the actual joint damage. Now I'm home with a dozen laundry loads' worth of damp things I need to save from moldering before I fly for Seattle in about 48 hours. I really, really do not want to ask my house sitters to take care of laundry while we're gone.

After this past week, I feel well prepared for a writing retreat in a rain forest.

Invitations for Seattle Area Folks

On Wednesday the 24th, we'll be going to Ristorante Tropea in Redmond for dinner from 6pm to at least 8pm, or later if our jet lag and toddler allow. Anybody who wants to catch up with us in the evening would be very welcome. No need to RSVP or reserve a table, just show up as you are able.

During the day on the 24th, we plan to be at Seattle Center doing touristy things at the speed of toddler. We don't know yet what time we'll be arriving, but anyone who'd like to play cell phone Marco Polo and catch up with us can call me at seven three two three zero nine six nine four three.

Father's Day Blog Tour Post

This month's Drollerie Press blog tour topic is fathers, for Father's Day. My post, about my Dad's many peculiar ways of supporting my writing over the years, can be found here, at Angela Korra'ti's website. (You may know Angela as annathepiper.)

Considering that we've been doing this blog tour thing for several months now, it's surprising that this is the first time we've had mass confusion about deadlines and destinations. I was supposed to host Jessica Howe's post this month, but that ended up getting emailed to Anna, too, so all I have to do is plug my own post and the blog tour as a whole.

Of course, now that my post is up, I'm wondering if I should have spared more time for fact checking. Was the edition of Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings that I remember really available in 1978, or do I have the year, and therefore the continent I was living on, wrong? Was it the twentieth anniversary edition of Playboy, or some other anniversary? If I weren't between two several-days-long trips out of state with only 48 hours turnaround time between rained-out camping and an airplane, I'd eat the time cost of checking. In any case, the story of it, the feeling of it, is absolute and faithful truth.

I have to be at an airport in seven hours. Off to bed with me.