Dream: Games at the Wooden House (Weekend Edition)
Saturday, December 24th:
Strange candies shook into my hand from a plastic bottle. Miniature Nestle's Crunch bars mixed with the round shapes, hoping to absorb some of their mystique by association. I held out my hand and offered the candy to the woman nearby.
No sooner did we return to cleaning than I found a square bottle of tinted glass, the sort they use for Bombay Sapphire gin. The plain label read "JB" in heavy capitals; a half-bottle of liquid the color of molasses sloshed inside. I put the bottle back on the shelf, and Sharon and April helped me clean the room.
Board games spread across a hardwood floor deep and rich as un-ground coffee. I picked my way between them, past April and Sharon and the other players to find a spot on the far side. Alyssa has always been comfortable sitting on floors, but I felt a little odd without a rug. The bare wood of the wallsat least as dark as the floorcould have been a fence in a former life. In retrospect, it reminds me of the house my parents rented during grad school; the Greek builder had used nothing but two-by-fours, just like in the Old Country. The warm light that escaped the wall's thirsty grain cast an intimate glow over our gathering. Ingrid chose her pawn and placed it on the board.
A dark-haired girl I didn't recognize discussed something with someone. "My income is in billions," she explained. Her airing of private financial matters in front of us (when she was supposed to be playing) didn't annoy me nearly as much as her casual admission that she was far richer than the rest of us.
The Driver's Ed teacher disappeared in the last week of High School. Willow Rosenberg took his place, handing out a 20-question exam she'd just written. She nervously explained the driving portion to the class. "So, Xander," she said, "you'll pilot the semi down the dry culvert. Both Y-branches allow left turns, Xander. Your goal is to drive the semi cab out the left side of the test area, Xander. You don't need the trailer, but you can't leave the cab. Fill out the driving section with the series of movements and turns you need to get out, Xander."
Something like that, anyhow. She didn't remind us, but I knew we'd have to include things like signaling and checking our mirrors. I felt a little bad for her; she kept calling the class "Xander" because it helped her relax, but I suspected I was the only one that understood.
The "culvert" in the test area was a one-lane highway walled on both sides... a bit like the highway system in Washington D.C., but sunnier. The trailer had no hope of making the sharp left turn required to exit the test area. I considered the wide spot at the first junction, planning out the maneuvers in my head that I'd need to unhook the trailer from the cab. I'd have to align the two just right, then very briefly gun the semi backwards.
Willow passed out the exam. I wasn't worried until I realized she'd written it herself. They were only True/False and short answers, but every one had a devilish twist. I glanced around the class room and considered the first question.
I returned to the Mall with my parents to meet with the Photographer. He suggested we all act normally, so I told my parents we should sit down and chat. Mom wanted some chocolate, so I broke off a choco-oryx and handed it to her.
Back at the wooden house we'd rented, Sharon and April laughed at something Ingrid had just claimed. Michael sorted cards while Alyssa and I planned our next move, and someone else poured drinks. As it turns out, most games become interesting when they become drinking games.
Buffy Summers arrived just in time to help us build a fort. We didn't have any of the furniture or large cushions that traditionally comprise such structures, but we had a nigh-infinite supply of small, flat throw pillows. We formed assembly lines and stacked pillows like bricks, somehow vaulting them into walls and arches without mortar. We were still working at 6:30 in the morning, and we'd only finished one low room and the outlines of a few others. sinister_dr_x arrived, glanced briefly at the shelter our hours of labor had produced, and scoffed.
Another eight people I knew slightly arrived with sinister_dr_x, and we started another couple board games to accommodate them, the fort forgotten. The groups mixed over the next couple hours, then we left for the Mall. sinister_dr_x's group wasn't interested, so we went our separate ways.
Wooden poles framed courts in the Mall's open spaces, a low-effort seasonal embellishment to evoke rambling rustic fairs. Jewelry booths had replaced the usual sales carts, but it was obvious the major stores had merely split their wares across them. The fire-eaters performed admirably, despite being out of place. In front of every cart, a lithe female in leotards the color of Tahitian pearls pranced and twirled while spinning a four-foot conch shell between her fingertips.
Unimpressed by the decor, I stared at a shell-spinner and pontificated. The whole open-court concept had to go; the Mall already has that, so it won't get attention unless it feels different. They should have clogged everything with stripped canvas tents, mounted halogen floods high overhead until their orange light soaked through the rain flies and baked everything into a dry, quiet summer. And at night, they could turn off the halogens and turn on the tiny spots and strings of chili-pepper lights that cling to the poles holding the whole mess together. And drop the floor in all the open spaces by a couple feet... somehow. That'd help. Ooh! And then, instead of those meaningless giant fence posts they dotted around the place, we could build actual bamboo watch towers, holding back night's blue curtain around the bazaar.
Realizing I was rambling again, I looked around to see whether any of my group were still nearby.
Strange candies shook into my hand from a plastic bottle. Miniature Nestle's Crunch bars mixed with the round shapes, hoping to absorb some of their mystique by association. I held out my hand and offered the candy to the woman nearby.
No sooner did we return to cleaning than I found a square bottle of tinted glass, the sort they use for Bombay Sapphire gin. The plain label read "JB" in heavy capitals; a half-bottle of liquid the color of molasses sloshed inside. I put the bottle back on the shelf, and Sharon and April helped me clean the room.
Board games spread across a hardwood floor deep and rich as un-ground coffee. I picked my way between them, past April and Sharon and the other players to find a spot on the far side. Alyssa has always been comfortable sitting on floors, but I felt a little odd without a rug. The bare wood of the wallsat least as dark as the floorcould have been a fence in a former life. In retrospect, it reminds me of the house my parents rented during grad school; the Greek builder had used nothing but two-by-fours, just like in the Old Country. The warm light that escaped the wall's thirsty grain cast an intimate glow over our gathering. Ingrid chose her pawn and placed it on the board.
A dark-haired girl I didn't recognize discussed something with someone. "My income is in billions," she explained. Her airing of private financial matters in front of us (when she was supposed to be playing) didn't annoy me nearly as much as her casual admission that she was far richer than the rest of us.
The Driver's Ed teacher disappeared in the last week of High School. Willow Rosenberg took his place, handing out a 20-question exam she'd just written. She nervously explained the driving portion to the class. "So, Xander," she said, "you'll pilot the semi down the dry culvert. Both Y-branches allow left turns, Xander. Your goal is to drive the semi cab out the left side of the test area, Xander. You don't need the trailer, but you can't leave the cab. Fill out the driving section with the series of movements and turns you need to get out, Xander."
Something like that, anyhow. She didn't remind us, but I knew we'd have to include things like signaling and checking our mirrors. I felt a little bad for her; she kept calling the class "Xander" because it helped her relax, but I suspected I was the only one that understood.
The "culvert" in the test area was a one-lane highway walled on both sides... a bit like the highway system in Washington D.C., but sunnier. The trailer had no hope of making the sharp left turn required to exit the test area. I considered the wide spot at the first junction, planning out the maneuvers in my head that I'd need to unhook the trailer from the cab. I'd have to align the two just right, then very briefly gun the semi backwards.
Willow passed out the exam. I wasn't worried until I realized she'd written it herself. They were only True/False and short answers, but every one had a devilish twist. I glanced around the class room and considered the first question.
I returned to the Mall with my parents to meet with the Photographer. He suggested we all act normally, so I told my parents we should sit down and chat. Mom wanted some chocolate, so I broke off a choco-oryx and handed it to her.
Back at the wooden house we'd rented, Sharon and April laughed at something Ingrid had just claimed. Michael sorted cards while Alyssa and I planned our next move, and someone else poured drinks. As it turns out, most games become interesting when they become drinking games.
Buffy Summers arrived just in time to help us build a fort. We didn't have any of the furniture or large cushions that traditionally comprise such structures, but we had a nigh-infinite supply of small, flat throw pillows. We formed assembly lines and stacked pillows like bricks, somehow vaulting them into walls and arches without mortar. We were still working at 6:30 in the morning, and we'd only finished one low room and the outlines of a few others. sinister_dr_x arrived, glanced briefly at the shelter our hours of labor had produced, and scoffed.
Another eight people I knew slightly arrived with sinister_dr_x, and we started another couple board games to accommodate them, the fort forgotten. The groups mixed over the next couple hours, then we left for the Mall. sinister_dr_x's group wasn't interested, so we went our separate ways.
Wooden poles framed courts in the Mall's open spaces, a low-effort seasonal embellishment to evoke rambling rustic fairs. Jewelry booths had replaced the usual sales carts, but it was obvious the major stores had merely split their wares across them. The fire-eaters performed admirably, despite being out of place. In front of every cart, a lithe female in leotards the color of Tahitian pearls pranced and twirled while spinning a four-foot conch shell between her fingertips.
Unimpressed by the decor, I stared at a shell-spinner and pontificated. The whole open-court concept had to go; the Mall already has that, so it won't get attention unless it feels different. They should have clogged everything with stripped canvas tents, mounted halogen floods high overhead until their orange light soaked through the rain flies and baked everything into a dry, quiet summer. And at night, they could turn off the halogens and turn on the tiny spots and strings of chili-pepper lights that cling to the poles holding the whole mess together. And drop the floor in all the open spaces by a couple feet... somehow. That'd help. Ooh! And then, instead of those meaningless giant fence posts they dotted around the place, we could build actual bamboo watch towers, holding back night's blue curtain around the bazaar.
Realizing I was rambling again, I looked around to see whether any of my group were still nearby.