Torch

Covid Silver Lining, right?  You learn to find joy in much less.

Last year, there were at least three score of us, probably a hundred trees minimum, and hot chocolate with Everclear libations poured out liberally by stealth Elves and their families; the music bike boomed magnificently over the sands, and a full moon made the festivities that much more festive; massive good times overflowed with abandon as towering flames rose up to kiss the sky.

And then, there was that occasion, back in the Obama administration, where the conflagration was so big that it attracted the attention of Seattle’s finest and required a hasty egress to another festive location for consuming the rest of the carbon.

Good times.

Last night, by contrast, numbers were barely large enough to field a couple of softball teams—although still way larger a crowd, several folks pointed out, than any of us have stood among for months—and the total amount of holiday-themed fuel would hardly have broken a sweat on the man in the silver suit.

Still, it was all and everything a nice (or naughty) little (or big) boy or girl (or non-binary individual) could have hoped for as a nightcap to the holiday season.  Not only was there a solid dozen or so opportunities to marvel at how quickly pine trees ignite and turn to ghostly glowing skeletons, there was also, courtesy of our friends at Peddler Brewing, several cases of free Blind Date Beer, which would, I think, be a brilliant marketing campaign if it weren’t illegal—like so many things, after all.

Speaking of which, no doubt we did nibble around the edges a bit of what, strictly speaking, accords with the Governor’s regulations for outdoor gatherings, but it strikes me that people are so grateful for human connection these days, that, by and large, basic rules are respected and attended to.

Doesn’t take much to ignite joy; slow burn is plenty burn enough.