Eleven months of the year on the road with you, my dear

[sovay]

I did not dream that I discovered a book of short stories by Lloyd Alexander; it just existed in the children's library collection of the church where part of the dream was taking place. It was from the mid-'80's and had little sandy-looking pen-and-ink illustrations like chapter headings. I remembering being particularly struck by the one for Vesper Holly.

I am awake at this hour because I'm going to be part of this parade: "Reclaim the Streets for Horns, Bikes, and Feet!" The last time I was in a parade, I was still in the Girl Scouts. This time, I got invited by old-time radio people. I have dressed accordingly. I hope someone takes photographs.

Comments

[ap-aelfwine.livejournal.com]

Interesting dream, that. I wish I could remember anything I've dreamt lately.

That's a grand concept for a parade. I might actually go to such, were it happening in my vicinity.

The last time I was in a parade, I was still in the Girl Scouts.

Still, you're most likely ahead of me on the number of parades you've been in. I once marched in a St. Patrick's Day parade in Stamford or somewhere like that, mostly because the band I was playing with were doing one set before and one set after and we were invited to fill up the time between by joining the Ancient Order of Hibernians or somesuch.

As we waited for the parade to start there were WWII or Korean War re-enactors with a beautifully restored half-track who were conversing with somebody in an Easter Bunny costume. Sadly, it was before I started carrying a camera at all times. I was hoping the Bunny would actually ride on the halftrack, but no such luck.

I hope there were photographs taken, and that some will be posted online.

[sovay]

That's a grand concept for a parade. I might actually go to such, were it happening in my vicinity.

I can't imagine there isn't comparable activist brass in New York City.

I was hoping the Bunny would actually ride on the halftrack, but no such luck.

It's still a good juxtaposition.

I was in a Girl Scout troop from second through sixth grade: every other girl in my class was. I think my parents thought it would bond me with them. I just remember it giving me another setting to be ostracized in. And we didn't even learn very much woodcraft! I envied my mother, who grew up in Kansas and Oklahoma: she was a Camp Fire Girl. I still have a thing for the cookies that used to be called Samoas, though. I sold a record number one year and traded the points in for a stuffed animal for my brother.

[ap-aelfwine.livejournal.com]

I can't imagine there isn't comparable activist brass in New York City.

True, but I don't have acquaintance to my knowledge with any of the folk involved in such. It's no fun without that.

It's still a good juxtaposition.

I wish I'd had a camera, or at least that I were able to paint or sketch the scene in an adequate fashion.

I think my parents thought it would bond me with them. I just remember it giving me another setting to be ostracized in.

I'm sorry for that, and I sympathise. I remember very similar experiences.

And we didn't even learn very much woodcraft!

It's always annoying when things work out that way. What's the point in going to camp or being a scout if one doesn't even learn to make a fire or acquire useful skills for being trapped on an island with an insane big game hunter, such as camouflage and the best way to build a mantrap with rope and sticks.

The cookies-formerly-known-as-Samoas are distinctly delicious, yes.