Best to be under the pavilion in a rain storm.  This day, the clouds without hardly moving at all, stacked themselves on top of us.  The vibrancy of the colors changed with how the sun hit the stacks.  Then it plop, plopped into wind-driven from one direction, and came back at us from another.  You could really feel how it was tornado-esque if the rotation had been faster and more complete.

  But yeah, I guess so, October 7th, 2023 was for many similar to 9112001.  That morning I was deep into a mix of music, Streisand on Broadway, Bernhardt (sp?), new lyric-less music to see where people were at, creatively.  And also, for myself to wade back into some creative discipline.  It was just a normal day.  Like I'd been housepainting on Sept. 11th.

  Both attacks brought saying goodbye (again) to loved ones.

  And both beg questions about civilians being all caught up in defense and other military activities.

  All along the courses of response there has been a lot of work done that parallels the military field action.  Though in the fanning out from impact zones the ways to conversate get diluted.  Popular-speak is not diplomacy etc.  In that space there can be a lot of activity too.  Everybody trying to be heard and to effect outcome.  As it is, technically, warring has only select decision-makers.

  We were still very young when we found ourselves in a world transition between hot wars and calming down.  On a camping trip we met up as people, just people, some older, some younger.  The internationals taught us a lot of stuff about survival.  We had pitched a borrowed tarp, traded clothing for cups of rice and oil, bartered skill for skill to jumpstart a move forward from forest.  As young people we were also allowed to pick up some first hand experiences with Forest Service and Field Hospital.  Plus we were with opportunities to hone dream-work skills...I got to put high school learned AP-style writing into practice; someone got to sing as if they were traveling the world with the USO; people got to cook for bunches of training millies; all of us maintained campground with, like, real appreciation for the experience.

  Some young people had already met the loves of their lives.  And the real world calling us into career meant we had heavy decisions to make beyond who's cutest?!  Who would make the most money??

  We called him "the muscle".  He would come back to camp later than dinner.  He'd lift the top of the mini BBQ to see if she'd left him something.  A bundle of burrito in aluminum foil so it could be warmed in the campfire.  It was with a profound quiet he would see.  And then he would comment to whoever was around studying, staring at the flames, arguing procedure on fire line ops...Yes, she does.

  Each person had or didn't have care.  But nobody bailed on the our-agers that couldn't give a shit anymore.  Already burnt out by such an aggressive world was something we all had felt personally and when we talked about it as a group.  It was like we'd learned coping skills about this because of life and we shared this knowledge because it's part of survival.

  One night she got back later than late night.  "One meatball?" He said to her.

  "Not like they grow on the trees."

  Someone had lodged a hardwood stick up near the rope centering the tarp as tent.  This replaced the pine stick that had gotten a "broke back" as more and more people were washing and drying work pants.  "I heard, all I heard, was that you are pissed."

  "Moi?"

  "Yeah one of the girls, on a ride between campgrounds, said you, pissy about something."

  "Not at you." He added a piece of a log to the fire.

  "What then?  Work?"

  "Sort of."

  "Ah, the girl trucker?"

  "Ah, you heard more than you've said."

  "I put two and two together.  My question is: Is it because she's a girl?"

  "Not at all.  God made her that way.  But she got the job.  I did not."

  "Oh."

  The push to winterize was quickening even summery mountain people.  Extra work could be had pulling trailers into place.  Insulating the underneaths.  Repairing house and vehicle parts that had crapped out.  Diamond Lisa convinced herself that she could do it.  Not only the bidding, but the actual moving of heavy stuff.  She'd eaten only veggies at a girl dinner because too much fast food.  In fact, she'd had an extra hamburger, untouched, that she was able to make a meatball out of.  She also showed us some kind of secret weapon that helped her apply torque to anything.  That made her grin.