Well, truth be told it's really been a madhouse.
A very enjoyable, rather silly madhouse, but a madhouse nonetheless.
I should be more regular in keeping with this blog as so much happens that it's hard to summarize and I don't like to write giant posts that try to give each event its due.
Right now I'm at the NorthStar, trying to write while a poetry slam happen around me. It's neat, loud and obnoxious.
Portland is the city of poets - at least if you start with Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and go from there. A great tradition is continued here - maybe less structured but still expressive.
For myself - Saturday saw the "Valentine Bandit" strike the streets of the City of Poets. Red hearts appeared on the doors of businesses all along Congress street - a giant heart flew from the top of Portland Museum of Art.
Typing-paper sized ones were everywhere else.
It's been happening for more than two decades. Who does it, where they come from - and why - are still mysteries. I suppose I could get up early (and was tempted this year) and track down this creant (a "miscreant" causes trouble - this one causes fun, so a "creant" is the best I can come up with ).
Somehow that takes the fun out of it. I can live with mystery. Come to think of it I think all of my friends are that way too.
That and they have a high tolerance for knock-knock jokes. I just seem to get along better with folks like that.
Sunday saw a trip up to the Loki Clan Wolf Sanctuary.
My friend L/A drove us up, with her two wolf-dog hybrids in the back seat. Odin, the larger white one seemed to cotton up to me very quickly, something his owner called a rare occurrence. Naia, the smaller dark one, spent of the trip up either trying to hide behind a seat belt or throwing up.
Interesting.
The Sanctuary itself is on the side of a mountain overlooking the Maine/New Hampshire border - very lovely, but very, very cold and ice.
The animals - both full wolves and wolf-dog hybrids (still working out that terminology) are in large pens, almost an acre in size, 8 or 10 each containing a pack of 3-4 animals.
Without exception they are beautiful, powerful animals - very much themselves, very much present in the place they are. I can see how someone could give his life to saving such creatures.
I'm pretty sure I'm not that kind of person but it's still something to think about - the idea that such folks are out there in the world.
I'm working on a web site for the Sanctuary and it's leading me into contact with all sorts of people that I wouldn't have met before. Just like sitting here with one ear on this poetry slam is showing me things that I might not have been aware of.
And I like words.
Oh. yes.
I saw a strange, coffin-like box just squatting in the snow of Bosnia behind Geno's.
I suspect it was a tool box that someone had tossed off the back of a truck, but, like so many of these things it implies some kind of story happened there that I just missed by a few minutes.
Actually, it was a tool box. I figured since it was still late afternoon and the sun was still up I'd have a good chance to open it safely.
No undead screaming in agony at the Sun's intrusion. Just a car net, some rope and duct tape.
Maybe I'd come on the end of a failed murder case. Who knew?
Oh well. Enough mystery in my life these days. I have too many on my plate.
I guess, like with the Valentine Bandit I'll have to learn to live with that one too.
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