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[May. 17th, 2011|04:38 pm]
terribleturnip
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Well, cross THAT off my bucket list -- I've now officially used a virgin portapotty. Assembled just hours before, anointed with the blue juice just minutes before and then I added the holy water. There you go, folks, proof that running a renaissance faire is ALL about the glamour.
I passed by the jabbering news feed in our lobby just in time to hear some earnest commentator insist that "...people want honesty. People want to hear the truth."
Really? As someone who really struggles with telling anything BUT the truth (unless I'm telling a story to entertain), I find it more of a flaw than a saving grace. Hey, Lady, can I live in YOUR fantasy world?
I think a more accurate statement would be "people don't want to be lied to". There's not usually a big line at the Truth Told Here booth, at least in my experience. But I may be letting the HeadCold of the Apocalypse be getting me down.
It's time for my annual apology to my colleagues, as I bring in bouquets of peonies this time of year and no matter how hard I try, there are always a few ants left who wander out of the blossoms and meander from cube to cube. I've always loved peonies, but as I've gotten older, I especially appreciate how their aging mirrors are own. Beautiful just about to open blossoms, full of promise and potential, the full open glorious intricacy and beauty -- and now, past their prime, blowsy and overblown, starting to wilt, looking a little worse for wear, but still soft and fine-scented and beautiful. This stage is becoming my favorite. Fancy that.
Tonight I pick baby chard to saute and serve with grilled chicken sausages and while the Captain is grilling, I'll be potting up the tomato plants and building supports for my pea vines and zucchini plants. Dear Thunderstorm -- I just need a small window. Although, as usual, you may deluge all over my ass if only you will make the weather clear for the weekend. Not the first time I've potted plants in the rain. |
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