Sunday, September 03, 20068 1/2 Hours In It is 1:35 a.m., PST, and we are 8 1/2 hours into the 30 hour blowout bash.It has been quite a party so far. My friend Jill flew in from New York yesterday, and Scott drove down today from Davis. I had people here tonight I've known for anywhere from 26 years to 26 seconds. Three people came from overseas -- Frankfurt, Barcelona and the Philipines. I had people here who are masters in martial arts, animation, computer development, music, visual arts, writing, film production, web production, psychology, physics, nutrition. And currently I have people sleeping on every soft surface on my property, including the futon in the treehouse. I'm not sure why I do this to myself. Fact is, I've been sick for almost a week and could barely talk throughout most of the party (thus far). A beer made me fuzzy and one sip of my friend Glenn's mojito-on-steroids made me immediately think of the excedrin in my medicine cabinet. I wasn't able to ever sit still for more than a few minutes, always thinking of things that should be done or people I should talk to. So I roamed a circle of back patio, kitchen, living room, bed room and back again. Checking on things, throwing out trash, figuring out what needed to be done next, if anything. I do this because I have such amazing friends. And I love to put them all in a blender, shake well, and see what happens. The chemistry is fantastic and I get such joy in seeing people cross pollinate, exchange stories, find out the treasures in each other that I have known about for so long. Some snapshots: The kids sitting on the swings talking about their time at their now-former elemetary school. Cindy arriving carrying a magnificant wooden sculpture made of paint, popsical and chop sticks for our immolation tomorrow night. We are doing a Burning Woman ceremony in defiance of our hip friends who would rather be out on the playa with oily hair and no TP than celebrating with us. We can be hip, too. We'll just burn our own statue. Craig, the tenor from Opera A La Carte, arriving in silk smoking jacket and brocade PJ trousers, bearing a patter of curried olives and peppers, ready to drink and spend the night. My martial arts guro El, arriving bearing four balloons, inscribed with the pattern of our kulintang rhythms. Each balloon symbolizing a part of me -- mind, body, emotion and soul. I am to inscribe what I want the next part of my journey to be on each balloon and send it to the heavens tomorrow at either dawn or sunset. I think I will write some words and then have everyone sign it who is here at that time. Scott taking care of the music, putting on playlists and running the sound system that Glenn put up. These two men being my friends from Santa Cruz and former theatre techs together at their college theatre. Feeling so on edge physically. Depleted. On the verge of either complete breakdown or total breakthrough. Unsure which. The darkness before the dawn. Craig walking up to the treehouse armed with flashlight, reading book, a bag of ruffles and a pillow. Going up there to find out why Sam is barking, only to find Sam curled devotedly at Craig's feet. What a circle of friends. What kids we are raising. What conversations we have had, and what more to come. Tomorrow we will do it again. With more people. Repeat people. More stuff. Why do I do it? Because this is what it's all about. # posted by Katherine Doughtie Nolan @ 1:41 AM  
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