Ain't no party like a banjo party

It is snowing outside, people. And it is kind of sticking. To roofs, trees, grass and cars if not sidewalks and streets. It may stick around in crusty, frozen form as cold Arctic air from Canada drops in to say howdy, but this is kind of a pleasant surprise. We don't get much in the way of snow in these parts.

Perhaps clamming in the snow is called for tonight?

If we do go clamming, we can use those clams to make clam fritters because Ray got a mixer yesterday. Not that he didn't have a hand mixer, but he didn't have a grinder, and he realized his mixer was a little on the inadequate-for-a-foodie side so we had to go to a mall for one of those Kitchen Aid jobbies. Not just any mall, though, one in Olympia. We had another mission — get out of the Harbor.

We first hit downtown Oly for Xmas shopping. Got my brother his gifties, finally. I can't say what they were because he might read this. Ray got toys for his cousin's kids at this amazing toys store, possibly the best one I have ever been in. I sat at the "game table" doing little logic puzzles from this game which was way more fun than you would have expected from a game that takes the shape of a chocolate box.

After bumming around downtown Oly, especially checking out the galleries (we saw one painting, of a young, attractive Native American woman in a deerskin-type non-covering dress-blanket of some sort reclining against a young, attractive Native American man with no shirt on. Tribe was uncertain, and there was no background. But the title of the painting, "The Lovers," totally cracked me up. I hope that as soon as the mascot wars are over and there are no Washington Redskins and Cleveland Indians and the Atlanta fans stop the tomahawk chop, that all that attention and effort will be focused on the new-agey sexualization and fetishization of Native Americans. If you can explain to me why these or these or this aren't something more than plain tacky I will listen. Maybe.) Oh, hai there bluecorn comics, wow, that was some good information, thank you!)

The same gallery also had very expensive watercolors of cats and some pictures of wilderness that looked like they were done by sixth graders with colored pencils. But a grown-up had done them. A grown-up who clearly didn't even know the rules of perspective, composition and drawing from life before breaking them. And here I am thinking my robot art looks bad because I can't get the weight of the lines right and I want to draw curved where robots are rectangular. Why must *I* feel shame in this world? How come some people come with so much shame and self-criticism while others clearly have none?

This was a "classy" gallery, too.

So we ate at Lemon Grass in Olympia and it was so, so much better than anything we ever could have gotten in Aberdeen. The green curry was divine. Ray got the apple curry.

Thus fortified, we hit the mall. I nearly decompensated just doing the parking lot. We drove for a good ten minutes before finding a spot and of course there were jerks in the parking lot. I was glad to put it all behind us.

We were in and out of the mall relatively quickly. By some stroke of fortune, we were parked near the entrance where the Santaland was, and we saw the Victorian carolers and the loooooong line of kids waiting to see Santa. One little girl with red ribbons in her hair and a black velvet dress and white tights was doing an excited dance wherein she kind of punched the babydoll she was carrying. It sounds scary, but it was totes cute. As we walked away from the Santaland, I heard a kid go, "no, No, NO!" Ah, Christmas at the mall.

We were pretty much in and out with the light chrome-colored mixer (we both had different opinions about ideal colors — I liked the "green apple" and the Martha Stewart blue (not on website, it's a Macy's special. It's kind of Tiffany blue.) because I'm a funtime girl and Ray liked the white and black ones because he's mister "let's not get crazy, now." The chrome was a third for both of us. Compromise, that's what it's all about people.) We got the grinder so we can grind up clams for fritters.

So we left Olympia and headed back to the Harbor and got ready for the Festival of Lights in Montesano. An earlier post will show that the Banjo band has been pressuring me to become one of them, and to come out to the FOL and go to a post-FOL party at Bob Carter's house and museum.

The FOL was pretty crazy. I thought it was a little ole parade, but there were something like 70+ floats and parking was insane. The Retired Senior Volunteer Police were out in force, making sure the rowdies didn't go out of control. We drove over and it was snow-showering, emphasis on the showering, and we feared the worst — two plus hours of standing out in the cold rain — but Montesano was really lucky to have missed that precipitation. There were a few minutes of snow, but that was it, thank heavens.

So we stood in the cold, our fingers and toes gradually losing feeling, bouncing up and down to generate heat, while some crazy floats passed us by. There were a lot of ATVs with Christmas lights. There was a "Mambo Schoolbus," a bus pimped out with so many lights all over, even the rims, yo. I could totally imagine my school bus drivers of yore driving it — Jackie, Zebra Lady ... Joe could have totally picked up more women driving that thing (he had a penchant for calling out, "you need a ride?" to fine ladies walking down the street. This worked ONCE and I don't think he got a phone number out of it).

Pictures are worth 1,000 words, but dang it I left the camera at home. Stormy Glick brought his reindeer out of his exotic animal farm and Santa led it down the street. There was a motorcycle pulling a functioning carousel (small scale, obvs, with lit up deer as the horses and stuffed animals riding them) that was all lit up and pretty. There was a guy on a ... I couldn't find a picture of this, but I kind of want one ... it's a toy horse made for even a big old dude to ride and your feet are off the ground. There are wheels on the bottom. You pull on the head or something and it kind of propels it forward. You can steer with the head. There do not appear to be brakes on it. Whatever this adult hobbyhorse is called, it is a fascinating creation that made the kids freak out.

There was also a Santa on a toilet in the plumbing company's float. A live man, dressed as Santa, on the pot. Pants up, but still, on a toilet. When the kids saw that they went bananas.

The Banjo band came by, playing Christmas songs. I can't imagine how their fingers didn't fall off from the cold, and neither did they, really. Apparently the tuba player had it worst, what with all that brass and silver conducting the cold straight to his hands and mouth. A flag-pole situation might have been near developing.

Finally, around two hours after we got there, there were fireworks to symbolize the end of the parade. That was enough, we were back to the car and to Bob and Cathy's place, where we went straight for the hot cider.

Ray and I and some of the folks from the banjo band, including a fellow named John who plays first chair violin with the Seattle Symphony (not too shabby!) got a tour of the museum, and Bob got the player piano going with a rag. It was from a roll recorded by George Gershwin, it was basically Gershwin playing. John got teary-eyed at that, he was so overcome.

The food was great. There was delicious clam chowder, chili, some kind of round sourdough bread that had been split into lots of sections that had been loaded with butter and cheese and then baked until it all ran together and a whole table full of desserts. Seriously, there were about ten dessert servings per person. These people love their desserts.

Some chatting was done, petting of the Carters' many many dogs was done, and then it was banjo playing time. Andy and Linda, who is the most bestest banjo player I've ever heard live, put me right in between them and we all rocked out with "I'm Looking Over A Four-Leafed Clover," "Ma," "Down Yonder," "Chinatown," "Just Because" and maybe a Christmas song. A fellow with a six-string banjo tuned like a guitar sang a funny song about how it's a sin to tell a lie. He wants the band to learn it, but he was playing it in the key of A, which made everyone shake their heads. They will do it in C, thank you very much.

I'll catch up now that I can start going to the banjo band sessions late. Apparently they're having another party Tuesday night before, during and after playing, and I'll be getting some of the banjo band's program books.

Ain't no party like a banjo party 'cause a banjo party don't stop. Seriously. We didn't make it home till after 11 p.m., which is kind of late for our old selves. We saw it was snowing when we got into town, but we didn't expect it to continue until, well, it's still going strong. Almost puts me in a mind not to go out and get my NYT. Oh, what am I saying! I know I have to have that crossword.