What a ripoff!

Oh yeah, the whole drive up, the 'rents are yappin' about how great it'll be to see everyone, and how much fun they're planning to have, blah, blah, blah. And I was well-napped and quite content by the time we left the Mass Pike. It didn't dawn on me that I was to be left with a babysitter, when the real party was in my namesake/homeland, Carlisle. Granted, spending time with my soulsister Valerie (a real groovin' gal) was nice, but this year's trip in to Carlisle was not a night to miss. So I will fictionalize my review to include myself in the action.

Carlisle '98
A Rock-In
Time

by Lily Carlisle Hamilton

I greeted everyone by their Klingon name. Most met my eyes shyly, recognizing my acute sense of observation. I could tell that some were in the midst of some rare and opulent journey, their heads out a mental window lapping at the air.

I wandered around, taking in the scene. The day was decorated in contrasts of bright light and shadow, and clouds meddled occasionally to stir the sky. Under those tall pine trees the amiable ambience drifted towards perfection. My cheeks began to redden from smiling so much.

Like characters in a movie sequel we were all dodging the same deja-vu: Here we were again, face to face, at another vital family reunion, a high holiday.

The totem rock offerings were splendid, and certainly colorful. Those I tasted were slightly salty. Many were amazing examples of dedication and inspiration. Each one of them was brought by tender hands, from somewhere distant, to rest now in vanishing Carlisle. Heart donations.

As the light drew out and the band finished setting up by the redwood stage, all measures were taken to assure that the party commenced. Anticipation rose to repeated crecendi as the the music wove its silvery spell. From my perch above the speaker stack, I watched many adults acting like I would, if I only could, spinning around on one foot with my eyes closed, or painting a canvas of dance with a streamer wand, or giving a big hug to the next best friend I bump into.

The music was particularly inspired and enjoyable. The band members no doubt felt at full ease with the audience, and it showed. Extended jams that were roomy and plush, in flavors of blue, red, plaid and paisley, with wooden light, and brass smoke, all thrown into our paths through rhythm and nerve to keep us moving frantically, hypnotically.

As I sensibly ate only grapes and crackers with a short snort of the old moloko, I feel my powers of deduction were unfaltering. But during the many high points of the evening I did notice a halo of electricity, blue and ozone clear, in the shadows and wakes of the congregants, that just had to be more than bug spray. You can never tell.

As I resisted the pull of the beckoning crib, I cried once, not for a snack or even a diaper change, but for the scene to freeze and stay that way, so that when I wake up tomorrow, I can have it all come back again.

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