Jeane loses her marbles
I’m skipping way ahead–the last two months will be a mystery until I get more free time to edit and write–but wanted to let you know about what fun we had on New Year’s Eve. We’re living in Minnesott Beach, a village that neighbors Oriental and even more closely neighbors Wayfarer’s Cove; as a matter of fact, I can walk to see Gypsy by taking a golf cart road a block away and then a short stroll across a lovely causeway and through a little woods. But more on that later.
Oriental is famous for its New Year’s Eve celebration: the Running of the Dragon. We warmed up by watching the Minnesott Beach parade, and I only wish we could have camped out to get a better vantage point. There were about a dozen golf carts plus a vintage pickup–just beautiful–and a few other odd vehicles, so most of the population of Minnesott Beach was actually in the parade. We’d been warned about this by Rex Horn, one of our new friends in town (the one who lives just $300,000 away from the river–another story for later, as well). But still the best viewing in town seemed to be about a block from Journey’s End, our little rental cottage, and we didn’t want to have to look over the shoulders of the dozen or so people who were, well, just thronging the place. So we avoided the crowds and watched from our roadside porch. We had a nice view, and some of the paraders waved at us, even though we were indoors. Actually, we were unloading groceries when the parade passed us by. Isn’t that just a metaphor for life sometimes?
But we had a nice batch of groceries after visiting the Food Lion ten miles away. Jeane made a spectacular–seriously–pot of Posole for dinner, using up some of her precious supply of New Mexico red chiles. And I made a little dip from yoghurt, garlic, and herbs, and we indulged ourselves for dinner without going overboard. Oh–there was eggnog, and we even had some pumpkin eggnog, which I think I liked better than Jeane did. Well, I thought it went just fine with dark rum. I’m entitled to my own opinion, after all.
We held the eggnog to a minimum because we really wanted to visit Oriental. The dragon was going to run twice, at 8 PM and again at 11:30. Jeane said we didn’t know anybody and therefore we went at 8. I think it was more to see the dragon when the temps were still above freezing, but it was still pretty darned cold–very unusual for the winters here. It’s traditional that people bring their own noisemakers to the dragon running, and Jeane had just cleaned out two cans of green chiles for the soup, giving her an idea. I went to the attic and brought down a decorative bowl filled with iridescent marbles. She put seven marbles in mine and five in hers (she’s not as loud as I am, in general) and we headed out for the festivities.
Parking wasn’t easy, but we tucked the Freelander in between a couple of out-of-state luxury cars and got out just in time to see the dragon coming in the distance, making his swervy way through the revelers–hundreds of revelers. It looked like the whole population of Oriental plus pretty much everyone else in the county was there, hoping to touch the dragon for luck.
I can SEE those legs
As the dragon drew closer, the crowd parted just enough that I could see his underbelly. I’m sorry, but I have to tell you that some camouflage is, well, better than others, and this dragon needs a better camo dresser. Somebody has to point these things out, even though I feel a little like I’m pointing out the Emperor’s new clothes don’t cover a lot of the Emperor… But as the dragon gets closer yet, the legs are forgotten as I realize just how huge this dragon is! Check this out:
Big enough to eat someone
I don’t know how hungry this dragon is–I mean, he only comes out a few times a year–but I’m a little more worried about the dragon’s posse. Clearly that woman behind his jowl is looking to stir up trouble.
I wish that I didn’t need my flash, or that I had a much faster lens on this camera, because the nighttime, flashless effect was just incredible. He had dancing, glowing green eyes (makes you appreciate the Cyalume lightstick, and appreciate even more the creativity in developing this costume, which had lightsticks hanging behind translucent pupils the size of basketballs).
We touched him as he passed by, and then got a better look at his many, many legs:
That's not a centipede. It's a stampede.
And finally, after 60 feet of dragon, and 200 feet attached to his legs, we watch his tail pass by, with a little help from a friend:
Dragon tail on a stick, no sauce.
After the dragon danced by, we followed him to the dock area, shaking our cans to add to the cacaphony. We saw some kissing, no drunken stupidity, and basically a huge variety of folks who were having a great time. We stopped at the dock to take some pictures of boats–I can’t help myself–and then met Keith and Mrs. Keith with their wonder dog, Roland. I told them Roland was my dad’s name, so we treated him with even more respect than his size warranted already. He’s an Anatolian shepherd, the same kind of dog Jeane’s sister Ruth has on her horse ranch to protect the goats from coyotes. I think these dogs could protect the goats from lions. Lions with machine guns.
Keith is the one with the coat. I mean the hat.
Both Keith and Roland have nice coats. Roland’s is far softer. In the picture above, Roland has just spotted what he wants: a Yorkie on a leash, about twenty feet away. He tells his father he’d like what the diners at that table are having, please. Keith turns him down.
Please?
Roland bargains. He offers to leave Keith with one good leg on which to hobble around if Keith will only let him go have the Yorkie for dinner. Keith is firm. We say goodbye before any bloodshed occurs, and catch the dragon on his return trip for a second touch. We can use all the luck we can get next year. But, again, that’s another story.
[I should note, here, because I'm such a scrupulously honest writer--as you can all tell-- that Roland is actually extremely polite and never threatened Keith with harm. I think he really just wanted a taste of that Yorkie and didn't plan to eat the whole thing, either. I just wanted to be more dramatic. I'm sorry if I went overboard.]
Jeane’s can was suddenly silent on the dock, and we realized she’d lost her marbles. We laughed and managed to find all five in the dim light, between and betwixt peoples’ feet and amidst the cracks. One problem was that our hands were growing numb from holding tin cans in the frigid weather. We moved to the outskirts of the masses and made our way back to the Freelander, only to have Jeane lose her marbles again by the car door. She had enough sense left to suggest that we leave them: “Imagine how happy some little kid’s going to be when he finds these in the grass someday!” Yep, probably he’ll go to show-and-tell and display the marbles-that-fell-from-the-sky, and then some other little kid will happen upon my blog someday and ruin his thunder. Ah, the sweet-and-sour serendipity that makes up our lives on this planet…
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