Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Just remember: Here at "The Gods Are Bored," there's no guarantee that Tab A will fit into Slot B. Or that you can get there from here. We say what we mean, but we don't always mean what we say. You get the pitcher.
There's a recurring theme in my life, and my Very Awesome Experience at the Firewalk Gala fits into it perfectly.
For many months I had planned to spend Saturday, June 12 at a public Firewalk. The event was scheduled with a 6:00 p.m. start, and I got there a few hours early. In the life of Anne Johnson, either you arrive very much earlier than planned, or you wind up lost in the wilderness and arrive an hour or more late.
Upon arrival at the Firewalk site, I was told that the non-public portions thereof had not ended. So I went off in search of adventure in a part of Pennsylvania I don't know very well.
For those of you who have never been to Pennsylvania, well. It's the best state in the United States. Don't argue with me. I will beat you.
Just two hundred yards from the Firewalk location, across a metal bridge, lay one of Pennsylvania's innumerable Cute Little Creek-side Parks. The whole state is crawling with these charms. Usually they consist of a babbling brook, two or three picnic tables, a trash can, and a "public park" sign. This was one such park.
Another feature of Pennsylvania's Cute Little Creek-side Parks is that they're usually empty or nearly empty. This park was empty. And it had the prettiest stream I've ever seen east of the Appalachians. Trouble was, the bank was a little bit steep. You couldn't sit on the bank and dangle your feet in the water.
It was a hot day.
What a theological dilemma! To which element does this day belong -- fire or water?
I guess they don't call me The Merlin of Berkeley Springs for nothing. Before you could say, "Anne, you don't have any other clothes packed along," I was dancing with the Nixies and the damsel flies in a fabulous, wonderful stream.
A pretty stream indeed. I wish it was closer to my house, not separated from me by the notoriously nail-biting Sure Kill Expressway and its sister in mechanical death, the Northeast Extension of the Pennsylvania Turnpike. In short, this was my one-night stand with a gorgeous creek.
Splish, splash! Soaking wet. Took a nap, wrote a letter to a friend. More splashing. Then squishing back to my car. Wistful kiss toward the Cute Little Creek-side Park, and back to the flat lands.
I set out for a Firewalk and wound up in the water. So typical. Send me out for a gallon of milk, I'll come home with cotton candy and cat food.
Never can resist the Nixies. Never.