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Bikes and banjos
May. 8th, 2011 02:47 amToday was an exceptional day!
Like a crazy person, I went biking in a thunderstorm, with hail plinking off my helmet as I followed the Blue Heron Trail west along the Charles to Waltham. Ostensibly, I was going to see the International Steampunk Festival, but when I got there things were looking rather rained-out and bedraggled — some tootling music from the gazebo, a few dispirited-looking stalls featuring damp blacksmiths and miniature steam engines, a few dozen people trying to keep their top hats and crinoline dry. No matter — the ride itself was splendid, through tall trees and across the pristine, geometric Blue Heron Bridge. I saw the spooky remains of an old wooden railroad trestle (I got off my bike to climb and investigate), and a cluster of cormorants standing on pilings with their wings outspread like broken umbrellas. I was well protected by my rain slicker and rain pants, and the puddles unzipped sweetly around my tires, flinging water willy-nilly. I was a big ball of happy mud when I got home.
Then there was the Boston Highland Ball, to which I wore my new bright red quasi-regimental jacket over a black shirt and my black kilt. I lost track of the number of compliments I received — and, indeed, I did look rather fine. I danced Australian Ladies (the best of the Scottish dances) with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kdsorceress, and another dance besides, and danced the first and last dances with my lovely wife, and had some other good dances and some good talks and some good food, and really have no complaints whatsoever about the evening. And there was a banjo in the band! I've been agitating for more banjo in Scottish dance music for years — hooray for the punk-a-lunk-dunking during the reels!
Tomorrow: Lilac Festival with my mother for Mothers' Day!
Like a crazy person, I went biking in a thunderstorm, with hail plinking off my helmet as I followed the Blue Heron Trail west along the Charles to Waltham. Ostensibly, I was going to see the International Steampunk Festival, but when I got there things were looking rather rained-out and bedraggled — some tootling music from the gazebo, a few dispirited-looking stalls featuring damp blacksmiths and miniature steam engines, a few dozen people trying to keep their top hats and crinoline dry. No matter — the ride itself was splendid, through tall trees and across the pristine, geometric Blue Heron Bridge. I saw the spooky remains of an old wooden railroad trestle (I got off my bike to climb and investigate), and a cluster of cormorants standing on pilings with their wings outspread like broken umbrellas. I was well protected by my rain slicker and rain pants, and the puddles unzipped sweetly around my tires, flinging water willy-nilly. I was a big ball of happy mud when I got home.
Then there was the Boston Highland Ball, to which I wore my new bright red quasi-regimental jacket over a black shirt and my black kilt. I lost track of the number of compliments I received — and, indeed, I did look rather fine. I danced Australian Ladies (the best of the Scottish dances) with
kdsorceress, and another dance besides, and danced the first and last dances with my lovely wife, and had some other good dances and some good talks and some good food, and really have no complaints whatsoever about the evening. And there was a banjo in the band! I've been agitating for more banjo in Scottish dance music for years — hooray for the punk-a-lunk-dunking during the reels!Tomorrow: Lilac Festival with my mother for Mothers' Day!
