In the very back of my garage, a place I haven’t been for nearly eighteen months, stands a tiny, very pretty, pink bicycle. I had no idea it was there and I can’t recall (to my horror) whether it was given to me for my youngest Reason’s use or whether its been left here by accident. It’s way too small for David now and judging from a sideways glance of a seemingly tall, undoubtedly beautiful, young lady, it’s way, way too small for her use now.
My garage isn’t that pesky place that needs tidying up, a storage space for the seldom used tool (what’s a tool?) or the lawnmower (what’s a lawnmower?) or those old clothes that you just can’t throw away. It’s my can’t-face-the-memories place. A place of books, brochures, artwork and hand-knitted scarves, of pottery teacups, cards and love letters and boxes and boxes of yesterday.
One day they’ll bring a smile to my face, but right now – you guessed it – it brings a sense of sadness, what-could-have-been and melancholy. In years gone by I would have discarded these things – but now I know better.
I hope it won’t be another eighteen months before I visit here again.
Off to the Playa on Saturday morning with Dragon Pilot, CrAcKeR, Q-T Pie, Chow, Hondo, Dr. Mellow, Nichon and Mousse. It is tradition in Black Rock City that you give yourself a “playa name” by which you will be known for the week – I have dubbed myself Footloose, the name of my first Theatre Company, an apt name considering my present situation – there’s nothing like a bit of self promotion!
I’ve bought two throw away cameras to document the event and will also be keeping a journal (If I can see straight enough to write in it).
Back on the 7th – cheery pip.