17 May 2012

Maybe the world needs more parades. Not that I’ve ever been a devoted fan. The clowns make me nervous, sitting on a hard concrete curb gets my bum sore and dirty, and these days there doesn’t even seem to be much free candy being tossed about. Maybe I don’t make them a habit because I was in one once. I was a teenager and it was the annual Summer Strawberry Festival and I was convinced to bop and boogie and high kick my way down the main street of Vashon on the Island Aerobics float. It was exciting until we actually got out there and people were watching us. Then it became one of those ideas that had sounded good but now that you were in it, grooving around a moving stage to the beat of Brown Eyed Girl, you realized that for high school wallflowers like yourself, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after all.

But at Ballard’s Syttende Mai parade, the people around me seemed genuinely happy to be there, curb-gritted bums and all. The older folk got to dress up in their best Norwegian heritage attire and walk the city streets they’ve known since the days when Ballard had trees, back before those same Norwegians cut them all down to build those two bedroom Cape Cods that sell for money unimaginable back in the day. The young folk got to jump and wriggle and prance in the streets without being told to sit down and behave. And the middle-age folk got to enjoy the great outdoors, out of their offices and cubicles and into the fresh air with their families and dogs in tow. With everyone smiling and greeting their neighbors and waving their Norwegian flags, it made me think that maybe the world could use a few more parades.

Across the country, Gina was enjoying a parade of her own in the form of one person after another lining up to march with her to where she needed to be. During her 24 hour marathon of traveling to Virginia, there was the friendly porter at the Richmond baggage claim who helped her march her 115 pounds of gear to the shuttle service; the shuttle driver with his Gina sign ready to march her the hour’s drive to Williamsburg; the man behind the front desk of the Rodeway Inn, eager to march his first TransAm guest to her available room despite it not yet being check-in time; and the wife of one of the two tour guides, ready and able to march Gina and her bicycle suitcase to the local bike shop for assembly and a little TLC. Yes, a parade of helpful activity.

Now one would think this would make our little Gina tired. But that would be one who doesn’t know her well. “I could get on my bicycle and head out tomorrow!” These are her excited words after the parade has ended, her luggage exploded and repacked, her belly full of syrup and eggs after brunch at the local Pancake House. Who needs a nap when you’re amped up on little sleep and lots of sugar?  No doubt this boundless energy will serve her well when the actual riding begins a few days from now.