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There is a time and a place for everything. The time is now and the place
is here.
Is there anyone not in denial? What is wrong with denial? Does denial not help us survive? Music is good. Those are some thoughts
that occured to me this morning while wondering what in the world to write
about. Any one of the above subjects could, and probably should be explored
in some depth on an ongoing basis. But for now I'm having difficulty staying
focused on any one thing.
When I was in college, a couple friends of mine and I would go fluming. We,d drop a car 10 miles away and head for the top of the flume. After inflating our inner tubes and afixing a rope to a satellite tube loaded with beers and munchies, we'd float down the aquaduct in the hot afternoon sun. |
The water was about 75 degrees, the air 95 degrees. The beer, just right.
We were always alone. People hadn't thought of floating inner tubes down
the flumes in the foothills near Chico, California. They were too scared
to try it, or too smart perhaps.
But we loved it. The water flowed at a steady pace. The views were lonely and panoramic as we sat on the edge of the world. The flume winds along the sides of steep hills where few men walk. The only challenging part was floating through the long wooden tunnels that confronted us occasionaly. There was not much headroom, so one hand had to go facing up above your forehead to avoid whacking your noggin on a crossbeam. When you enter one of these tunnels, the end looks like a pinprick of light at the bottom of an impossibly tight, dank stairwell. And there are always the spiderwebs and dark slime to keep things interesting. So, one hand up and the other to fend off hidden dangers. Eventually you pop out into the welcome blazing hot sunshine. Yeah. |
By the time our flume was over, we would be relaxed, happy and ready to
face the world. It may have been the beer, but I think that the ebb and
flow is what did it. And the trickling sound of rubber through water.
I haven't flumed for a while. I'm sure that glorified irrigation ditch we used to cruise is probably grown over, or worse yet, fallen down. But when the going gets rough, I try to get some inflated rubber into some water just as quickly as possible. So, I'm going off radar for a few days. To float, sing and reconnect with gravity. To lurk, look and listen. To paddle, submit and hopefully, to rise again. No, you won't see me riding the Schwinn Flying Star down Hopkins, or tossing down miso at Takah Sushi. I'm outta' here. |