Number 32

Finally remembered the blanket!

The meal: Taco bus. The beverages: Gourmet beer from the best beer shop ever.  The companions? Our fabulous friends from out-of-town, Sayra and Cory, plus two fabulous (and local) dogs.  The view: Sunset over Mt. Rainier.

Number 33: Or that thing I never did put on the list

33. Buy roller skates. Skate.

My sister received a pair of roller skates when she was young, and I was (as is still the custom) even younger.  Our basement at the time was unfinished, which left a cement floor on which was centered a big braided oval rag rug. It was around (and around) this rag rug that my sister skated. I followed, though skateless. (There's a photo of this. I'm in socks, pretending to skate. Pretending, I want to say, is not the same.)

Cut to junior high, when everyone I knew owned rollerblades and was highly skilled on them.  I spent the last day of school at French Park on a friends' skates, learning that I could skate given enough coaxing and safety equipment. I was in love. And yet, so scared.

I never did buy my own set, for the following reasons: 1) fear. I hate learning new things that involve bodily harm when you screw them up. 2) embarrassment. I hate being new at something. 3.) fear of embarrassment.  I hate looking dumb in public. And by dumb, I mean visibly afraid--read: freaking out. (see number 1, above).

Cut to my 32nd year.  I am now the proud owner of a pair of quad roller skates. And even though I've skated about 6 miles in the two days I've been on them thus far, I still don't know how to stop. But that's what the grass is for, right? (Or that park bench. Or the trash can. Etc.)

When I can stop shaking long enough, I look almost competent on them.  But that's not really the point. Competence.

I think the point is this: learning new things is hard. For everyone (for me even more). Doing things that utilize body coordination and balance are especially difficult for me (I blame the fact that I'm six feet tall and my center of gravity is somewhere around neck-level).  But this is something I have ALWAYS wanted to do. And I'm finally old enough (read: I've finally stopped caring enough) to try it out.

My sister (original owner of quad skates, see above) said she was so proud of me. And that I should be proud too. And add it to my list so I could cross it off. So there. Done.

Love letter to Fremont: Number thirty

Dear Fremont Solstice Parade:

I love you. I really do.

And not just because you begin each summer with your heraldic cry of roaring naked bicyclists festooned in full-body paint (or not).

But because you have the best rules of all parades: 

1. All floats must be human-powered. 
2. No written or printed words or logos.
3. No animals (except service animals).
4. No real weapons or fire.

(It's those top two that make you so spectacular.  You allow for people to build floats pushed by teams of people.  You insist on no "sponsorship" floats or elected officials waving from convertibles. You ensure that your entire parade is hand-made, hand-built, and foot-powered.)

Also, I love you because you are put on yearly by the Fremont Arts Council, a group of people with a building in Fremont that plan this party all year long. And because you invite the entire area to come and play.

[Want to join the African dancers in next year's parade? Want to learn to walk on stilts?  Ride a unicycle?  Build enormous puppets? Come to the (free!) classes held at the Council building during the year.  Come one come all.

Not a joiner, but want to build a battleship around your recumbant bike and ride in the parade? You are most welcome.]

Fremont Solstice Parade: You are the best, most arty, totally nuts, completely family-friendly (assuming you can deal with nudity) parade ever.

And even though the sun rarely shows, you still mark the beginning of summer.  And if nothing else, that ritual is critical to the wellbeing of we overly soggy Seattlelites.  So thank you.

With love,
Cupcake