You'd Better Watch Out

Day 62: In 2015, Santa Claus decided that Mount Rainier National Park was just too far from civilization for him to visit. There was no cell coverage, no internet...how could he check his emails or connect with Mrs. Claus back home at the North Pole? He sent his regrets to our Superintendent along with a formal revocation of his government contract. Park officials were beside themselves. They'd survived sequestration, knowing that it couldn't last forever, but the absence of Santa threatened to undermine the spirit of the season to much greater effect. What could they do?

From among the snow-covered Peltigeras, Cladonias and Lobarias at Longmire, a tiny figure emerged and offered her services. Thus Evernia, Queen of Lichens, found herself appearing as the Christmas Faerie at the annual holiday party, bearing gifts for the children of Park employees. Her magic must have been of the right sort because she was asked to return again this year.

Becaws It's Hallowe'en

Day 18: We're a bit short on cornfields around here, but Happy Hallowe'en from Crow!

Morris Kit

Day 333: The trappings of Morris dance are unusual, to say the least. Dancers wear costumes which reflect specific regions, but nearly all include a hat lavishly decorated with flowers or ribbons and the traditional bell-pads which give the dance its character. The latter are worn on the shins and sound the rhythm loudly during the vigorous dance. Musical instruments used in Morris may include accordion, concertina, recorder, penny whistle and fiddle among others. By knowing how to play an instrument, dancers can trade places with musicians when they get tired.

Years ago, I inherited my mother's concertina. At the time, I didn't feel I could devote myself to learning another instrument, so I passed it along to a friend whose husband took to it readily. Now that I'm becoming involved in Morris, I decided to give it another whirl and bought one as my September Morn present-to-self. It arrived just a couple of days ago, and already I am playing simple one-note tunes and the occasional chord (sometimes accidentally). The bellows are still quite stiff at this point, but a break-in period was to be expected for a new instrument. However, there's one problem I can't resolve: you just can't dance and play at the same time!

The Professor

Day 18: In junior high and high school, my classmates called me "the Professor" and as you might expect from kids who were more interested in beer and parties than in books and science, the nickname was not applied kindly. For the most part, I was oblivious to their scorn, too busy analyzing rocks or reading about space to feel left out of the social scene. My best friend indulged me, and often set herself up for the inevitable answer, "It's leaverite...leave 'er right where it is" by asking me to identify a specimen she had in hand. She also teased me about my studious ways, but even at her most snide, it was obvious that she was encouraging my interest in the world around me. It wasn't until we got into high school that she took me aside and explained gently that I was putting people off (boys, particularly). My response was what you might expect: "So?" She went on to marry an engineer, and I survived two husbands, neither of whom were more than marginally interested in scientific pursuits. Unencumbered, the Professor re-emerged to follow her passions for birds (especially corvids) and wildflowers, and if you question any of her colleagues, you'll be told that she's more than just a little cracked on the subject of lichens. Happy Hallowe'en!

A New Character

Day 25: My regular readers will have seen me in any number of disguises, some of which (Morgan Corbye, for example) have distinct personas. Most are recurring roles, but even so, not all are named. Lest anyone think I have a multiple-personality issue, be assured that almost every character is simply a closer focus on some particular trait of the "whole me"; a macro view, if you will, which only shows one portion of the greater subject. That said, the Beatnik is new, and was born out of desperation when I needed a costume I could wear while planting trees in the soggy soil of a wetland area. Long skirts were obviously out of the question, and I didn't want to spoil any of the items in the Captain's copious wardrobe. I'd gone zombie for last year's event because that was its specific theme. This year, it was open to the imagination.

After an uninspiring visit to Goodwill, I turned back to my own closet for ideas. When the black turtleneck surfaced in my t-shirt drawer, Maynard G. Krebs made a dash across my mind. I had the trousers and beret...what else did I need? Since I couldn't very easily work in non-prescription sunglasses, I dragged out an old pair of specs with a dark frame. A second trip to Goodwill brought the costume almost to perfection with the addition of a black velvet jacket, but during a dress rehearsal, I still felt that something was missing for the stereotype. And then I realized what that one item was.

It just so happened that several years ago, I mooched a handful of bearskin trimmings from a taxidermist to incorporate into a crafts project. I still had quite a bit left, so it was just a matter of selecting a piece which would work as a goatee and trimming it to shape. A combination of mousse and spirit gum worked to conceal the thick hide's edges, and once it was tacked to my chin, it looked like it had grown there. Of all the costuming I've done, this was the first time I'd ever cross-dressed for a part!

The Beat Generation

Day 18: We were hip, baby.
We were cool.
Gimme five and lay down some jazz, daddy-o,
and don't be square.

Those nights in the coffee shop,
making the world over,
Conforming to a standard for nonconformity,
Hip cats, hepcats jivin'
to Patchen and the skins,
On the road to Nowheresville
Behind
Our shades.
We were gone, man.
Gone!

We birthed a new generation,
Paisley-patterned rebel sons and daughters of our blackness.
What goes around comes around, daddy-o,
We got ours.
Oh, yes, we did.

But we were hip, baby,
Hip to the end.
We were cool.
Now lay down some jazz and let me read a line or two because
(Can you dig it?) -
the beat goes on.

Liberated Woman

Day 287: On July 19, 1848, a new garment was introduced at the first Women's Rights Convention in Seneca Falls, New York. Known as the Bloomer Dress, it incorporated a variation of pantaloons designed "to improve women's health." In the days of lavish and numerous petticoats, these pantaloons (open along the center seam save for a few inches in the front) gave a woman the freedom to perform her physiological functions with greater ease, duties which otherwise had been difficult to conduct once she was dressed for the day. Alas, Amelia Bloomer's liberating and revolutionary garment was not a lasting success. It did, however, earn her a place in the history books as the inventor of the pantaloons which still bear her name.

I Think I'll Go As Princess Leia

 Day 17: I think it'd take a lot more makeup than I have in my costuming kit to turn me into Princess Leia. I've always loved getting dressed up, and Hallowe'en gives me a good excuse but for one small issue: I don't get trick-or-treaters here. That said, the occasional get-together or event finds me dragging out the garb. My fishing buddy's great-grandkids love having costumed adults as their chaperones.

Sometimes getting into the act has its drawbacks. On one notable occasion, I'd planned to attend a friend's party as a Vulcan noblewoman, pointy ears and all. Application of the ears was a time-consuming project, painting on latex to join the prosthetic seamlessly with my skin and then blending makeup (both liquid and powder) to match the tone. I'd started early in the morning and finished up around noon, planning to leave home at two o'clock to drive to Seattle. I forgot one thing: I'd put in a call to the county weed control board in regard to tansy ragwort growing on the highway verge. When the agent knocked on my door, I'd forgotten all about the ears. If he did a double-take, I failed to see it, and thus accompanied him out onto the highway to show him several specimens of the weed, oblivious to the sight I presented. A few cars slowed down, but I still didn't make the connection. It was only after the agent had completed his interview and I'd gone back to the house that I realized I was wearing them.

Back to the idea of turning a sow's ear into a silk purse, then...I could never pull off the Princess Leia look. To wear a costume with any degree of success, you have to believe in your role. As I look at this photo, I am thinking, "Morgan Corbye is never gonna make it as a zombie," but of course I can't go as a pirate 'cuz that's my day job.