After the wildflower-garden-writing, we went out for thai, meeting Meryl's mama and husband, in which there was some discussion that led to the questioning of whether or not M's tea was alcoholic, and she admitted she was giddy for being with her favorite people, to which Shawn and I said, essentially simultaneously, that we were going to tell her sister... OOooooh... Also, there was rice in carved-out pineapples. Who doesn't love a pineapple-boat?
We made our way across the stone arch bridge, slowly, clogged up by some bedazzled moat with scantily clad girls on it, making our way to the cluster of shanties and displays for Northern Spark. Our aim was the Letterpress Shanty, showing off a collaborative poem, which was run off on what was essentially ditto paper (remember dittos? my parents are instructors, so I used to love that purpley stuff). We glimpsed a bit of the ten-second film festival, squiggles of light on the old mills, bursts of activity and tented chaos.
Our last stop, my feet swollen, my brain and heart so delighted, was MCBA, where Meryl was working a shift on an interactive exhibit on non-intentionalism. Meryl was practicing her excellent teaching skills by allowing the participants to roll the drum themselves; her husband Shawn pulled the prints. I also showed off my brain-drain by forgetting crucial steps on the Vandercook, but two days later, I found out just why.
And I'll share that news here very soon.
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