July 4th Cynicism and Celebration: A Rollercoaster Mood Ride.

The flight from Denver to Bend was long and packed with layovers. Three of them, as a matter of fact, which gave total strangers plenty of opportunities to ask me what kind of guitar I play (or is it a cello?), if I play the blues, and, am I going to play them a song? After about the 20th question in one day--I did actually count--I responded in a defeated, annoyed, and perhaps bitchy tone to the final curious 45 year old mullet donning male: "Does it really matter what kind of guitar I play?" He looked hurt, but OK, what can I do? I might as well have a sticker on my forehead that reads: "Please! Talk to me! Ask me about my guitar!" It doesn't seem to make much difference who is carrying the case, which is interesting. When Chris has it in his hands in public places, the same fate unfolds. Except, he doesn't hold back like I do. He'll tell people it's a flute, or that he isn't holding a guitar at all, and they must be imagining it. "Oh well, it's probably just a symptom of your hangover. Have a nice day!"

When I made it to Bend my friends were in full swing with the red, white and blue celebration. I could hardly keep up the crabby-pants routine with this kind of scene before me. A live band, red wine, river in the backyard with boats, surf-boards, and yes, my friend Cota in cut-offs spinning a festive dame in a fancy dance maneuver.

We danced like total hippies in the six o'clock sun. Dangerously close to the ongoing game of horseshoes, we swung and spun, and Stevie Nicks waved our hands in the air, hoping not to catch a stray horseshoe in the head. I then took to dirtying my new teal dress like a toddler, playing in the mud and the rushes, crawling inside spider filled canoes and kayaks and paddling easily upstream as down in the languid Deschutes River.

It got later and darker, and as the fireworks displayed in Bend I got to thinking my most cynical thoughts of the day: Each one of those fireworks costs thousands of dollars to ignite...it's kind of like watching burning money in the air. Boom! Three thousand little one dollar bills igniting for our two second semi-enjoyment. Sheila, my friend I'm visiting, announced: "I'm bored." Boom! Tax dollars igniting in floral bloom. Then, I got to thinking: What else could those tax dollars have been spent on? Boom! A scholarship for little Jimmy's college education! Boom! The future of a would-be doctor, now doomed to work as a gas station attendant! Boom Boom Boom! The final throws of the show, and Boom! Boom! A new public library goes up in sparkling smoke.

Ok, maybe I need another drink, or better yet, some sleep. I'll sign off with one final emotional swing: Here's a pretty scene I saw of a bike in some crazy tall flowers. The end.