glowing frisbee with a small boy, admired more of my friend M's amazing building projects and inventions, slept in a tent and generally had a great time. There were fireworks and music and good conversation and somehow I lost a pack and a half of cigarettes. I wasn't even all that hungover and on Sunday morning I went to the beach for an hour. That was wonderful; whenever you come down off the mountain you must go see the ocean. Doesn't that sound like a great line from a mediocre folk song? Get to it, songwriting types.
The only thing that didn't happen was Fall Back. WTF ever happened to Fall Back? I was hoping for synchronicity: the last time I was around Charleston it suddenly turned out to be Spring Forward and I was expecting an extra hour to be added to my Sunday although, M, I've been thinking about it ever since and I don't think that if you're born in the summer you will have an extra hour forever. It boggled my brain throughout the 298 miles home but I just can't see it somehow. Anyway, Fall Back inexplicably did not happen - hope you weren't late for work, H.
I got home to a phenomenally messy house - it was messy when I left and had not been improved by the efforts of two teenage boys and A, who they apparently talked into cooking many odd things involving bacon and baking chocolate. The remnants are strewn about the house. There are sliced apples all over the deck; I seem to have missed the "toss the apple up into the air and slice it into ribbons with a sword" competition, unfortunately, and the refrigerator is completely empty. Anyway, A hung around, S & E came over bearing wine and beer and we stayed up half the night poking at the fire (it's finally cold here.) It was nice and made up for missing the New Pornographers, alas, but I decided I couldn't afford to go. And, out of the blue, my old friend M (another M, not the M at whose house I had just been partying) in Charleston called me; I hadn't talked to him in maybe 10 years. A weekend for reconnections, all the way around.