November 18, 2018

Gleaming winter morning, Maud rumbling beside me like a little vanilla thundercloud..

Saturday was mostly given over to the 74th Annual  Asheville Christmas Parade. I’ve dodged such things in the past as devourers of time, but I have felt a slow return of vitality, and I wanted to put that to the test. It was, in fact, a devourer of time, but also fun, me waving from our float at the crowd, many of whom I knew, many of whom called my name. Arrived early to help decorate the float, but the men who usually take care of that had it so under control that all I did was hand them things. The parade was quite long, maybe as many in it as watching it. I ended up walking across downtown, first from north to south, then from west to east, the whole time measuring how much better my stamina is than it had been. In the evening we returned to sing for the Treelighting Ceremony. In the past the Vance Monument has been the tree, but it’s too phallic and too Confederate, so the spindly deciduous trees of the Square joined a giant plastic Snowflake as The Tree, lit elegantly (and rater gaily) in purple.  I hadn’t realized what an honor was given to the Asheville Gay Men’s Chorus in being the official and singular voice of the Treelighting. The city’s recording catches my solid bass on the carols. Sweet day all in all. My soreness in the morning came from working a body that had not been worked very much since Ireland last July. On some days, one fights back on all fronts.