TheBanyanTree: Cold Moon

[Carolyn Johnson]

Hmmmm........
I can't peg my date of entry, but it was when the computers were
arriving at our library. I worked in Technical Services and that's where
the PC's were first used at Acadia. Don't know how I first connected
with BT...after work in the Library. I do remember the Spoon's transition,
too! :)  Quite a history, eh?
~ Cj ~

-----Original Message----- 
From: Kitty Park
Sent: Saturday, January 30, 2016 9:09 AM
To: A comfortable place to meet other people and exchange your own 
*original*writings.
Subject: Re: TheBanyanTree: Cold Moon

What a chronicle of our history!  I wasn't here during the demise of the
Spoon's predecessor and only came to this family during Spoon's transition
to The Banyan Tree. Was that the late 90's?  (CRS -- that was 25 years ago
and I wasn't young then, so forgive me if I err with dates!)

When I found Spoon, I was working my way through the diagnosis and
treatment of my husband for cancer.  I wrote to organize my thoughts.  To
record my perception of our experience.  At least that's what I recall.

This writers' group has certainly evolved through the years.  I contribute
less often than 20 years ago and I miss reading the posts of folks who no
longer seem to be here.  But many of the stories they told remain with me.

Thank you, Dale, for bringing back memories.  You've started my day with a
smile, recalling what was and, in the same moment, continues to be.

Kitty
<mzzkitty at gmail.com>kcp-parkplace.blogspot.com
<http://parkplaceohio.com>


On Sat, Jan 30, 2016 at 1:15 AM, Dale Parish <dale.m.parish at gmail.com>
wrote:

> The other night, I was looking for a file I remembered from long ago, back
> when floppies were floppies, and stumbled across a collection of old files
> from a time when nerds ate around a campfire.  It brought back a lot of 
> old
> memories.  There was a bard who told a tale of enemy tribes who had each
> been so terrified of their tribe members perceptions of sharing an onion 
> on
> the top of a sand dune that both tribes fled in opposite directions. 
> There
> had been a take-no-prisoners astrologer who made annual island 
> pilgrimages,
> and who shared biking adventures and emotional ventures into space with
> ease, and whose open demise evolved into a global affair with blue 
> feathers
> and ashes.  There was the Scot who told a tale of two kinsmen desperate 
> for
> haggis while fighting for the crown in Africa.  Another Brit had me 
> howling
> about a skiing vacation taken on a collection of spare parts flying in
> loose formation.  A spider wove tales of vampires and love affairs.
>
> But someone pissed on the campfire, and to get away from the stench, a
> large number of nerds migrated to a café, where a wonderful bartender
> served us up fine drinks and shared recipes and camaraderie.  We shared an
> adventure in an old faded gold colored Volvo station wagon, crossing the 
> US
> top to bottom and right to left, even vaulting to ancient ruins where the
> solstice is still celebrated after millennium.  A train hopper shared with
> us his adventures riding the rails and drew us into some fascinating
> stories.  We all grieved at the loss of our glass harmonica player, and
> later our bartender.  The glass harmonica player’s daughter has since
> graduated college, according to her uncle.  A bookkeeper—the only word in
> the English language with three consecutive double letters—stewed with us
> over the problems with her love, and the long journey she had with him.
> Even published a book about it.  There were gatherings—a Mile High, a
> Keystone farm fling, Sunshine sharing, Lonestar Hill Country Heaven and
> more.  We even adopted some pink flamingos, and traced their flight from
> Texas to Oregon.  But without the proprietor and bartender, the wonderful
> café closed down—all that remains now is the menu.
>
> The new home became a tree.  Not a tree from which one can make much
> lumber, but a tree whose interconnected roots and trunks form more of a
> colony than a trunk.  The screen writer drifted back in.  Our technical
> author funster kept stiring various pots on various branches, keeping us
> ever amused, often pulling Aussie wool over the eyes of the readers.  One
> of our engineers wrote a doomsday book that was thought provoking reading.
> And the urinal bit swapper lost some of her accent and tried to keep us
> honest.  Or some of us.
>
> Been an interesting ride.  I’ve enjoyed it for a couple of decades and
> then some.  I think I’ve lost some of my spark, but want to regain some of
> it.  Pending retirement has me thinking optimistically that I’ll have more
> time for some of the things I’ve been missing because of chronological
> competition.
>
> Hope so.
>
> Hugs,
> Dale
> --
> Dale M. Parish
> 628 Parish RD
> Orange TX 77632
>
>