Lake Union swimming always feels secretly magic as illustrated clearly by those Lady Mary interns who surely asked themselves far more frequently than most of us why they were doing what they were doing.
When the Riding of the Bulls rolls around this time of year, it’s hard to imagine seeing it as a responsibility to be fulfilled rather than an opportunity to be had; was anyone in their cubicle all afternoon making up excuses as to why they couldn’t attend?
Sure, when you’ve got to get up in the morning five days a week, including Friday, one tends to downplay the evening’s opportunities, but that’s not bad when it’s possible to pack what feels like a lifetime into less than half a day:
A change in the weather was in the offing, as well, but not until everyone had had their fill of heat.
And who doesn’t love freaking out the squares, especially when they’re hip enough to be out watching Tuesday Night Shakespeare or some other version of what happens in city parks on summer nights.
You had to wonder a little bit which of the two Madrona Moms would find more troubling: weed-smoking or shirtless shirt-cocking, both of which were indulged in dockside of the T’s. As a parent myself, I’d opt for the latter, but that’s due, in part, to aesthetic considerations as well as the obvious point that I was, and remain, an enthusiastic party to the former.
Of course the main lesson to be learned from the evening’s festivities is that the ride is bigger than any of us; even without a founding bull and our one and only matador, hijinks ensued.
Wine was squirted; whites were adorned; and in spite of a pre-midnight pumpkin hour for yours truly, escape velocity was achieved.
None were gored, but many a heart was pieced by the pointless brilliance of it all; strangers everywhere asked what was happening; the only answer to be given is yes.
When the Riding of the Bulls rolls around this time of year, it’s hard to imagine seeing it as a responsibility to be fulfilled rather than an opportunity to be had; was anyone in their cubicle all afternoon making up excuses as to why they couldn’t attend?
Sure, when you’ve got to get up in the morning five days a week, including Friday, one tends to downplay the evening’s opportunities, but that’s not bad when it’s possible to pack what feels like a lifetime into less than half a day:
A change in the weather was in the offing, as well, but not until everyone had had their fill of heat.
And who doesn’t love freaking out the squares, especially when they’re hip enough to be out watching Tuesday Night Shakespeare or some other version of what happens in city parks on summer nights.
You had to wonder a little bit which of the two Madrona Moms would find more troubling: weed-smoking or shirtless shirt-cocking, both of which were indulged in dockside of the T’s. As a parent myself, I’d opt for the latter, but that’s due, in part, to aesthetic considerations as well as the obvious point that I was, and remain, an enthusiastic party to the former.
Of course the main lesson to be learned from the evening’s festivities is that the ride is bigger than any of us; even without a founding bull and our one and only matador, hijinks ensued.
Wine was squirted; whites were adorned; and in spite of a pre-midnight pumpkin hour for yours truly, escape velocity was achieved.
None were gored, but many a heart was pieced by the pointless brilliance of it all; strangers everywhere asked what was happening; the only answer to be given is yes.
No comments:
Post a Comment