Every year when the sun comes out again after winter (early June in New Hampshire, and April in Ohio), I feel the urge to run in a thousand different directions after wildly random ideas, but the moment an interest goes from being a vague, intriguing concept to an obligation, I lose interest. I haven’t yet learned the trick to work around that yet. With that undirected energy in mind, I’ve been pondering summer goals. I’ve never really been good at setting goals, despite my obsession with lists, but I’ve been working on a few goals in recent months and seeing results, so maybe this summer will be different. Anyway, if I post about it on my blog, I’m more likely to do it, right?
So, some of my summer goals:
save money (or rather, spend very carefully)
run the D&D starter set “The Dragons of Stormwreck Isle” (which, counting prep work, has to be about 75% done even though I’ve only run one session)
maintain a garden and grow something edible (as I’ve planted five types of edible plant in said garden, the odds are good)
illustrate art cards to send by mail for no reason at all, other than to keep the art brain going and to amuse my friends
go somewhere/do something new
hike at least once (I’m setting the bar very low)
go out to dinner maybe twice (see the first point on saving money)
send a lot of postal mail
And a few other goals which don’t need to be stuck to the internet.
Researchers and people who publish things about people suggest setting SMART goals – Specific, Measurable, Attainable, Realistic, and Time-Bound. Reasonable, in theory; as you can see, some of my goals have more of these traits than others.
Here we are on the third to last day of May, and I’ve just now done some mermaids. But hey, I did some mermaids! It’s the first time I’ve done “real” art in a while, so the mental hurdle was tough to get over, but I’m pretty happy with these ladies.
Prep work for running the Dragons of Stormwreck Isle. These guys are Nolzur’s Marvelous Miniatures, and less than an inch and a half tall. I’ve only briefly played Pathfinder, never “true” D&D, but I feel like one of the biggest draws to D&D is the collectible accessories – and, for DMs, narrative craft time. My house is currently littered with bits of wood, bark, lichen, gridded carboard, glue, and paint.
In my latest recycling efforts, I’m making a braided rug out of old jeans which are too worn out to donate. It’s the first long-term project I’ve undertaken in a while; usually, long-term craft projects end up set aside and discarded somewhere down the line, but I have hopes for this one (and at least two more pairs of jeans). Fun fact, one pair of jeans can make 21 feet of braid. I don’t know exactly how many jeans are in this rug, but I think it’s greater than two and a half. Right now, it’s is about the size of two sleeping cats, or one moderately sized human butt, feet not included.
I’m probably not ever going to be a full-blown homesteader or even a truly “green” person, but I make an effort where I have the skills.
I lived in North Carolina a few years ago for a brief period, and while I’ve lost touch with everyone I knew then, the best thing I took away was contra dancing.
I moved to New Hampshire just before the start of COVID, and so haven’t pursued contra dances in several years, but I recently found a group which meets regularly all year-round not far from home. Both of these qualities are unusual, in my experience. Contra dancing as a hobby is akin to being part of an underground network, where no one knows anyone’s last name, which meets in a new location every time, and which requires deep research or word of mouth to find when and where the next meeting will be.
I had the sense at this particular dance that I was walking into a tightly-knit community event, made up of people who attended regularly and mostly knew each other (but then, it’s a trait among humans to see themselves as outsiders in new situations, regardless of evidence). A few of my fellow dancers recognized each other, even though they both lived hours away. “I’ve danced with you, haven’t I?” – meaning, not here, but at some other dance somewhere else, when we’ve both traveled halfway across the state. In New Hampshire, where the next state is no more than an hour in any direction, it seems particularly commonplace to drive to Massachussetts, Vermont, and Maine to find the next contra dance. Contra dancing is, I think, slightly addictive.
In all the contra dances I’ve attended, it’s usually been the older folks who are the best dancers. They’re familiar with the calls and the steps, and often have the best sense of rhythm, and usually, they make up a large demographic of the dancers. At this dance, the median age was probably in the fifties. One of my partners, Rich, cheerfully declared that he went to his first dance at the age of ten – in 1959. He was seventy-four, and probably the most enthusiastic dancer in the room.
The older, more experienced dancers are also typically better at asking partners to dance. I’ve been to many dances where I sat out, or, after I learned the gent’s role, where I invited other ladies to dance with me. At this dance, I was courteously invited to the floor for every dance. In fact, I’d considered leaving before the night ended, but couldn’t get away. I enjoy both the lady’s and the gent’s role for different reasons – the important thing is dancing, after all – but I still sometimes enjoy the old-fashioned air of a gracious invitation to dance, if only for that brief illusion of feeling desirable. There’s still a faint sense of awkwardness, at times – I was keenly aware of how warm my hands were, and the hangnail on my right thumb, and how uninteresting I am in social settings – but unlike arbitrary mingling events, where small talk and deliberate eye contact and responsive facial expressions are paramount, contra dances are about dancing. Attentiveness to your partner is still extremely important, and it still requires shoving social anxiety to the background, but someone is literally calling out instructions on what steps to take next.
There’s a kind of abrupt intimacy among dancer partners, as everyone quickly learns something about complete strangers through the immediate method of touch. Confidence, experience, pushiness, awareness can all be conveyed with a meeting of hands. When both partners are aware and experienced, a lead can direct their partner with a lightly controlled grip, using slight pressure to guide them into a twirl or to transition smoothly into the next step (swing to promenade, for example, or the reverse). Skilled dancers are not only competant in the steps of the dance, but are attuned to their partner’s speed, skill, and rhythm. A good dancer will match the pace of a less-experienced partner, lightly guiding them if possible, but never dragging them across the dance floor. (If you ever lead a dance and give a cue to your partner, and your partner doesn’t respond, DO NOT push them into the step you cued, particularly if it’s just flair. This happens. It shouldn’t.)
The night brought to mind one of my friends in North Carolina, who was a regular partner and an excellent dancer, with the added bonus of being just the right height for me. This was actually the person who introduced me to contra, and while we’ve fallen out of touch, the love for contra stuck. It reminded me of the unpredictability of human connections – it’s unlikely that anyone will be in your life forever, but maybe some part of them will be. Like a contra dance: you may not dance with the same partner all night, but the important thing is to treat each partner well for as long as you dance.
A brief example of contra from Saratoga Springs, NY pre-COVID:
This is a test panel for an idea I had for a painting combining fabric and oil paint. I used a piece of thick paper rather than burn through a canvas, resulting in a bumpy texture. But I think I learned what I wanted to know…
Something I noticed while I was in Greece recently was that humans have always created. People have always felt the need to capture an image, to visually tell a story, to make functional items beautiful or narrative, to represent someone on a grave stele or depict an idealized moment from their life. Art and creativity are part of the human experience. That’s why universities make students take Humanities as a course.
I think the quote above sums up one of the driving conflicts of being human in today’s culture (I say “one of,” not “the biggest of” or “the most important of.” There are a lot of conflicts out there and I refuse to put an opinion on whether one is more significant than another) – or at least, a conflict which I feel keenly as a creative person. It’s the conflict between efficiency and creativity, between product and producing, between resource management and exploratory wastefulness which does studies and sketches and paints and draws and spends months on an idea which no one thinks is important until the artist is dead.
There’s always an element of balance – human beings need data and numbers as much as we need spontaneity and experimentation to function as a society – but the point here is that the goal of art is not a product. Humans don’t exist to generate things; living isn’t about making more stuff in less time. We need things to live, and work has to go into making them or growing them or raising them, but we don’t need to do it all so damn quickly.
I took a ferry to the nearest of the Greek islands on a whim. From what I’ve heard, it’s much more important to buy tickets in advance during the summer, but I was able to walk up and board a ferry within half an hour.
There was more of the island that I didn’t see, but since I didn’t rent transportation, I mostly stuck to the little port town. Unlike Athens, which typically labelled street signs with both Greek and English, all the signage was completely in Greek, and I didn’t have a map. It worked out – I was only there for the afternoon, and I spent most of it at the archaeological site/park, happily sun burning my nose.
People live on Aegina year-round – 13,000 of them, according to the internet – and I find it baffling. What do they do? The island isn’t even twelve miles at its longest point. I don’t even know if there’s a bookstore….
Maybe, like me two weeks ago, you have no idea of what Athens actually looks like. Sure, there’s the Acropolis, but what’s it like to be walking around on the ground? Does everyone where chitons and sandals? Or do they burst into ABBA songs to narrate their lives?
Neither, actually. Athens is very much a big European city, with plenty of modern conveniences. The Acropolis even had free wifi. The area to the north of the Acropolis is notably older (Monastiraki and Plaka neighborhoods), and many of the streets there are foot-traffic only. There are orange trees all over the city, and everywhere smelled of olive trees.
Most of the interactions I had with Greek-speakers started with the Greek-speaker addressing me in Greek, and me hopefully asking, “English?” Unlike when I traveled in France and Spain, I actually enjoyed not knowing any of the language or culture because I was paradoxically less worried about getting it wrong, and was obviously a helpless tourist who couldn’t even read the signage. A few days in, I identified “hello” (“yassas”), and started to greet people with “Yassas, hello,” just to identify myself as someone who doesn’t speak any Greek at all but wants to be polite. I also learned to read a bit of Greek (although I still didn’t know what it meant) from studying names on the metro.
I stayed in an Airbnb right next to a 24-hour bakery/café, and by the end of my first twenty-four hours in Athens, the staff recognized me and started to say “See you tomorrow.” No regrets.
Monastiraki SquareA restaurant with 3-euro gyrosThe metroI ate a lot of gyros and souvlaki.Greek salad at this particular restaurant included neither lettuce nor olives.
Lycabettus Hill
North and east of the Acropolis. The paper map I got of Athens at the airport did not adequately communicate the enormity of this hill. It shows up in the background of almost any picture of the Acropolis taken facing northeast, such as in the first two pictures.
View from Philopapou HillView from the AcropolisHoly Church of Saint George
Philopapou Hill/Filopappou Hill
South and west of the Acropolis. Although less tall than Lycabettus Hill, Philopapou is essentially an enormous park. I visited on four separate days for at least five separate encounters, and I saw new territory every time. Don’t go in without a map and extra food and water in case you end up spending the night. Socrates’ prison is here, although I must have walked around it every time I was in the park because I don’t think I saw it.
Cimon’s TombPhilopapous monument at the south east point
Clean Monday
Kites on Clean Monday. Analogous to Ash Wednesday, Greeks take their families to the park with kites and a picnic. The kites represent the soul reaching for the divine. https://www.athensinsider.com/best-clean-monday-kite-flying/
National Gardens
Located east and south of the Parliament building.
Tomb of the Unknown Soldier
This was the second time I went by the tomb. The first time, there was a protest around Syntagma Square and onto the tomb grounds (since it’s in front of the Parliament building), complete with police and riot shields, and taking pictures seemed like a bad idea.
Souvenirs and such
Athens is a city that’s geared for tourism. According to worlddata.info, Athens received over six million visitors in 2019.
During the afternoon, shop owners in less busy areas often relaxed outside, drinking coffee or chatting with locals until someone walked up. Some shops closed for the afternoon siesta, and were often open late into the evening.
Many of the shops sell the same souvenirs, as though everyone buys in bulk from the same distributor. Jewelry, keychains, hats, t-shirts, figurines, magnets, patches, cups, shot glasses, everything you would expect to see in a city with tourism at its (literal) center. A few of the Greece-specific themes were replicas of ancient statues, owls (a symbol of Athena), and wards against the evil eye.
A parting gift from Aegean Airlines, which I am not wearing. Bring on that spring sunlight.
