We started off with our golf cart parade on a dark and gloomy and sticky humid morning -- rain predicted but it never really happened. We were in the murky air that usually stays around the Gulf of Mexico. In the week before, many different neighbors had managed to tie-dye enough T-shirts for everyone, so we were a brightly attired group at 9:30 AM. The parade was its usual ridiculous event, with noisemakers and streamers and small children riding on the "floats" and the tiny audience taking its job seriously by standing on the side of the greenway and cheering and waving, then running ahead so it could meet us again as we toodled up the sidewalk. Baby Shaia, in the arms of many different supporters, greeted us with her wide-eyed stare. We all try to get her smiling attention but she is mostly a sober observer for now.
Then we took a group picture, while our shirts were still clean. Then it was time for field games. Participants ranged in age from two to 82, and the games were appropriate for all. The two best ones were untangling the human knot (lots of stepping over arms and twisting through passageways) and passing objects down a line without using hands.
Then we all headed inside for a big brunch, prepared by some of our hard-working neighbors. The quiche was late because the head cook had been a serious parade audience member and couldn't leave his job to get to the kitchen, but there was plenty of food before the quiches came out of the oven. The Common House was filled with all of us on a Sunday morning, a very rare occasion.
(I took a break then to go watch over the CSA so Carrie could get some lunch and stop working for a brief time.)
The afternoon was a quick series of "classes" where people could learn skills or practice skills. There was a yoga class downstairs while others sat around stitching a big quilt that Anna has created for us all -- it's a map of Blueberry Hill with small details that show our history together. Then I led a pumpkin pie making workshop while Anna taught a waltz class.
Then it was time for our first full rehearsal for our first concert of the never-before Blueberry Hill Festival singers. Kenyon was our leader and he had provided us with links and music and all sorts of homework that only a few good people did. (You can guess that I wasn't one of those good people.) There was a small but mighty soprano group, a large and less mighty alto section, some tenors with skills and a bass section that had potential. Is that how all choirs are? In 90 minutes of hard work, we learned three songs. Two were hard and one was known to most of us. With another 90 minutes, we probably could have been ready for a performance. Kenyon was great -- there is nothing he loves more than making music with people, even after he has just run a ten mile race in that hot soupy weather.
The performance went pretty well, and it made me feel like this group (of 17 singers with a range of experience but all nice voices) should persist, and learn those songs better. The African one would really be worth knowing. It was too hard to learn in such a short amount of time, but the effect was still good. The words were impossible and the rhythms were hard but the group managed to make a joyful noise (Ndandi Hleli, look up the Cornell Glee Club version: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ya1Swv-O_cE).
Dinner was a giant potluck. We were supposed to make something that had a story that we could tell. The dining room was packed as full as it ever is, the food was wonderful as potlucks often are.
By the end of the day, we were tired and happy. It only took a few minutes to clean up the Common House and we all walked home. Eleven hours of community bonding was plenty.
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