— From CB—
The intensity of preparations for the Eastern tour — leaving very early Wednesday — have fried my cockles to the crinkle point, so my blog post this week is comprised solely of what remains on my worklist:
Edit blog / Slide show edit for Ko / Tour info sheet & tour book / Pack workshop puppets / Library books return / Finish draft of Chapter 13 / Clean living room, dining room, kitchen, fireplace / Trash & compost out / Releases to Milwaukee / Apple peeling / Finish video edit / Chapter for writers’ circle / Email sort / Pack car.
Leave all the rest to Elizabeth.
— From EF—
I don’t think I’ll write about my work list. That could cause me to crawl under the house and refuse to come out. So I’ll write about my joy list.
We managed to find our Rubik’s Cube diagram of how we actually got all our stuff crammed into the Prius for the last trip, and the football-play diagram of how we frog-marched it all up front in five minutes so we could sleep in the back. The miracle is, we managed to revise it all to make room for the big bin of puppets we didn’t have last time.
And this makes me feel how supremely delicious it is to be about to hit the trail again — that vaguely outlaw feeling of heating one of my home-made meals in a fast-food parking lot, enjoying something real, flipping the bird (metaphorically) at the grease pit within, and rolling on. Come dark, after six or seven hundred miles, snuggling into the civilian area of a big truck stop, falling asleep to the distant rumble of the dinosaurs.
Gonna revisit the glories of US 50, that soft black asphalt ribbon unrolling straight east past every color that rocks can offer, past the eerie army of wind turbines blinking their red warning lights up into the darkness. And then next day there’s the rest area in Colorado that gives me a chance to look out between the cleavage of high cliffs, catching my breath at the enormous vista of basin and range that lies ahead.
About the time that the roads become the congested surly arteries of the Midwest and Mid-Atlantic and I start to wonder why I’m still in the goddam car, whoosh — here it is, the all-you-can-eat buffet of audiences and friends. I take vitamins to give my carcass a little extra vim, but performing is what nourishes my soul. I’m with my perfect partner, knowing exactly how to grab the trapeze bar every time, how to swing it back to him with the spin that gives a good laugh to the watchers.
And at the end of a month, it’s back home to paradise, looking forward to making and canning jars of tomato sauce from my Polish Linguisa and Druzbas, feeling the satisfaction of having made a whole bunch of applesauce right before we left. Our Gravensteins weren’t totally ripe, but they were still packed with juice and fragrance.
Sure, it’s a work list, but it’s one I’m blessed to have.
— From the Fool—
My worklist from now till Wednesday:
Decide about God. Make cops not so scared. Take Middle East out of the middle. Learn when to use commas. Clear up the mess. Love people for their deep good qualities when you find some. Get billionaires to think that’s enough. Correct the mistakes on the World Wide Web. Get some good ideas. Slow it all down. Decide what’s right. Save the planet. Make stones laugh.
I’ll help with peeling the apples if there’s time.
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© Bishop & Fuller 2014
I love this. But perhaps the stones are already laughing, and we just have to slow down enough to hear them. That would shorten your list, but you might have to work longer than now til Wednesday if you slow down that much. Just a thought.
Bon voyage and happy treking across to your dramatic conclusion of performance and all the love you seem to possess for each other. Nina