Inland, Dreaming of Waves

Summing up the weekend

I had to get my birding fix today, at Stearns Lake. It's beautiful around there, with the fields stretching out to the mountains. The clouds were spectacular after our unseasonal February rain. I saw some mergansers, goldeneyes, shovelers, and mallards. A hawk perched on an electrical pole as I drove in to the lake, but it was gone when I drove back. Afterward, I stopped at the top of Lac Amora open space, which looks down Rock Creek Farm into Stearns Lake, and savored the sense of space that view gives. There were lots of native grasses growing up there; maybe last year's wet summer helped the top of the trail look less like a dust bowl.

I'm not quite sure why I'm obsessed with birding. Todd calls it "pattern matching," but that's not quite right. Of course, birders look at patterns (field marks) to identify birds, but they don't do it because they like to put puzzles together.

For me, it's because birds are creatures I can't influence. They're untameable (though of course people hunt with hawks, but still, they're mostly free). I like the idea that I can't really reach them. And sometimes they do the strangest things, like the goldeneyes I was watching the other week. The males were doing their displays for females, which involve reclining their heads so far that they touch the crown of their heads to their backs--only they did it really fast. It's like an up-and-down Exorcist move.

***
We went to a conviviality party Saturday night and heard all about the naked party from Susan. She said it was the most relaxing weekend she's had in ages--people just hung out and did what they wanted all day. They had a gourmet cook to feed them too.

After the weekend she went out and bought 3 sarongs; said they were a must-have for this kind of affair. Apparently she had to keep reminding people (i.e., guys) to put a towel down on chairs and couches so they wouldn't ruin the furniture (using towels solves the wet spot problem I was wondering about).

The party was officially for Frank, Grady's brother (Grady's in the Conviviality Society). So they made everything Frank liked: little White Castle-style hamburgers, cake, pina coladas, shrimp cocktail... I met Frank, who told me he liked my red velvet shirt. I assured him I would give it to him when I was done with it. Then he asked me whether someone had given it to me or I had bought it myself. When I told him I had bought it myself, he slapped me on the arm. I asked Grady about that later, and he looked a little worried that I might be offended. He said Frank was either slapping me because I was so good to myself or because my husband hadn't bought it for me and I ought to stop putting up with that neglectful shit.

Can you tell from this post that Frank's developmentally disabled? Or should I say retarded? That's the word I grew up with: people were always calling my brother retarded or making fun of me because I had a retarded brother. But I feel guilty when I use it anymore, as if it's a dirty word. All it means is "slow": what's wrong with that? Anyway, I guess I feel about DD people the way Sex feels about people in wheelchairs. I don't get all weirded out about them; I'm used to them.

posted by Price of Silence @ 9:09 PM