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]

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.