Saturday: Took the little ones (well, slightly smaller ones) to Mother Earth’s Harvest Faire at Spoutwood Farm, after the Lad’s soccer practice. Had good hippy fun for a few hours. At least I did, and I think the Princess did. The Lad was largely unamused. I can’t really fault him for that – like many 8 year-old boys, he has little use for homemade aromatherapy soap and ecologically sound farming techniques. His distaste for the affair went above and beyond mere boredom however; I’m coming to the conclusion that Republicanism may be genetic. The boy has an inate and unerring sense for all that is conservative. Boys have no business wearing flowers. Small children should be should be fully dressed at all times. There is no reason to try unfamiliar delicacies so long as cheesburgers are available. “World” music is dumb. I could practically hear him sniffing with disdain at all the damn, dirty hippies. “Take off those silly rags and get a job!” His manner seemed to proclaim. *sigh* I guess now I know how “normal” parents feel when their kids start listening to wierd music and getting body piercings…
By far the kid’s favorite entertainment, and one that they were loth to leave, was a simple rope swing dangling from a tree limb in one corner of the grounds. Mine, on the other hand, were the beautiful bellydancers that wrapped up the festival. Turns out I’d met them before, at a show in Baltimore. As avivahg says, they have great chemistry.
Sunday: Shopping for sukha decorations, the Lad’s soccer game (his team won), video game shopping, a picnic at on the overlook at Rocky Ridge park, browsing at Borders, and home in time to watch the season premier of Law&Order: Criminal Intent. For future reference: Isaac’s Deli makes great sandwiches. At the mall, the Lad’s status as a budding Young Conservative was again confirmed: “I hate Hot Topic!”. True, we echo his sentiment, but for very different reasons. One gets the impression that his stepping foot in such a den of iniquity may someday endanger his standing in the campus Republican Club.
Today: Sleepy, as usual. Still getting up at a godawful hour, for no good reason other than variety. A million things to do at home and at work; I stand paralyzed at the thought. Of greatest concern: will we be able to find sufficient lumber for the sukha? And how much longer is my car going to hold out? A vague, pervasive sense of dissatisfaction does not help. Not enough to contemplate drastic action, but too much to easily dismiss. The closest I can get to putting my finger on it is to say: I am feeling a freedom deficit, that is not sufficiently offset by security.
My subconscious has brought it to my attention that I require more tribal dancing, for lack of a better term, in my life. Specifically: I need to dance barefoot in sand, grass, or mud to primal rhythms beaten on hand-drums. Futurepop and EBM plays an important role, but I’ve come to realize that there’s a need that’s not being met. There is a trance-like place I sometimes knock at the door of, only to find myself falling away and back before I get more than a tantalizing glimpse. I need to lose myself in something old, pagan, rooted. Something that doesn’t end after three and a half minutes, something organic, alive, responsive. The hippy side has been neglected, and it demands care and feeding. Anyone got any suggestions?