I can always tell I’ve had a good weekend by how sore my feet are. From use, anyway, not from smashing, though I am still sore from that too, when last week I “caught” my dropped phone by the corner on a fragile footbone and spent ten minutes alternating between “ow ow ow” and “is that broken?” Neither the foot not the phone were, so, success? But ow. This though is a different kind of sore, from use in pursuit of joy.
It started Saturday, when I brought the RV to a house concert in the back yard of my friends’s place. The band was new to me, or almost so, having seen a single video on the YouTube cinematograph. They played on a stage of hay bales and plywood, with Christmas lights and a PA. The few dozen of us were charmed by a hauntingly good fiddle tune, and it wasn’t long before I was compelled to dance. So, sore feet #1 followed, in the form of jumping around to the rhythm section on the uneven turf. The evening progressed wonderfully with bonfire, casual music and pleasant conversation until I crawled into my portable bed up the hill. I awoke to coffee and bacon and more of the excellent conversation. We disassembled the stage so the hay could be returned to the farm, and the plywood could become a future stage before I showered and headed out…
To sore feet #2, which was wandering around the Woodstock Fair with friends both new and old. I ate fried things in ball form, crunchy bacon cheddar burger balls, apple fritter balls, crunchy taco balls. Plus a non-ball sandwich of sausage with peppers and onions, and some jerky. Fairs for me are about food and watching people and occasionally vivisected Model T engines. The last of which is pretty unusual, but one of my favorite things to do at the Woodstock Fair. I’m fascinated by machines, especially old ones that are made brutally and heavily. Many of the farm machines are set up to puff and chug and whirr their way through the work of sawing, pumping, ore smashing and generally giving the impression that they could continue to do so after the sun burns out. I’m sure there is plenty of maintenance and restoration involved, not to mention quite a bit of oiling, but the sheer tenacity of these contraptions is staggering. Their flywheels of hundreds of pounds spinning at visually reasonable but constant speeds could be discounted by the casual observer, until said observer gets too close and becomes bits of disassembled meat. There’s a safety rope.
I left the RV fridge on DC, which is really just a heating element. I figured I’d be at the fair a few hours and the solar would pick up most of the slack. The battery was down to 34% which is the lowest I’ve had it. Once we found a shady seat we spent a lot of time there (see sore feet). It was nice catching up with my ex and meeting her boyfriend. It was dark by the time I left and the 185 watts had pulled the battery down quite a bit. Fortunately I didn’t need it, and on the drive home it charged to 55, which would have been ok for an overnight, even with heavy use. I plugged it in anyway when I got home, and leveled it going the other way in the driveway, since it doesn’t matter that it’s blocking that car in for a while.
This morning I watched a couple of YouTube videos in how to replace the shocks and struts in the RV since it’s pretty squishy and rolly. It looks easy so I ordered the best shocks I could find, figuring the money I save in labor will make up for it. They’re Koni Reds which are adjustable, creating a whole new problem of what setting to use. This is a good problem to have, but reminds me, as often I am, of Buddha’s 83 problems, a parable concerning the endless challenge of life. Essentially that any problem solved is replaced by a new one, such that there are always 83. Of course 83 is an arbitrary number, which is also part of the point, in that there is no sense enumerating them. The 84th problem is wishing you had no problems. Learning to let go of that one is tricky but valuable.
So after solving problem 83 and placing the order, I got back to sewing, which is a thing I haven’t mentioned yet, you don’t need to re-read this post. I was replacing the fur on my chipmonk costume, which is not spelled wrong. I needed it for the Renaissance Faire today, and so I spent the first few hours of the day cutting and hand sewing black and white stripes on the back of my monk’s robe. This is the fourth time I have worn it, the first being Halloween 2017 and the others being last year’s Ren faire. I got that done and made it to the fair just as it started raining. I brought an umbrella to keep my ears and tail dry, plus the other in between parts.
I worked on sore feet #3 wandering around talking to the vendors. I got a massive cheese steak, probably because I was the last order of the day and they’d have thrown it away otherwise. Picture a giant chipmonk whose goatee and hands were completely covered in melted cheese product. It wasn’t my proudest moment, but at least I didn’t spill any on the costume.
On the way home I checked out a river, since it had stopped raining. I scrambled over the rocks and sat a while listening to the waterfalls. I’m going to call that sore feet #4, even though there was more sitting than standing.
So, problem 83: had too much fun, send new feet.
H