![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
The Merry Month of May
May. 1st, 2026 07:04 pmA couple days ago, I happened to see an "event" announcement on fb for the Berkeley Morris performance at dawn on May 1st, and I thought, what they heck, why not? I've only ever made it to their dawn performances a couple times back in...oh, let's just say quite a while ago, when I had a friend it the troupe.
Knowing that I've failed at this resolution before, I planned for success: laid out warm clothing the evening before, set up the coffee maker (yeah, I know, I only drink decaf now, but it's a ritual), and set my alarm for 4:30am. Yes, you read that correctly. The event was scheduled to start at 5:20 and the map app said it would take me half an hour to get to Inspiration Point in Tilden Park, so that seemed like the optimal waking time.
This did not take into account that there would be dense fog on the winding back-roads up the east side of the hills. It also didn't take into account that my directions app had an entirely different idea about where "Inspiration Point" was located. (I think there are two places by that name in the general area?) So I drove back and forth on one stretch of Grizzly Peak Road three times before I figured out the problem and finally was able to work out the right directions. (It didn't help that I've only ever driven to Inspiration Point from the Berkeley side of the hills before.
But I arrived at least a quarter hour before the dawn, so ritual was satisfied. I got to see half a dozen dances, participated in the singing of May Day carols, and danced in the massive Sellenger's Round circle.
When I was a little kid, in my family, May Day meant crafting little baskets made of woven paper, then filling them with flowers and leaving them on neighbors' doorsteps. I have no idea where that custom came from. I don't think it was a general thing that people did, just something my mom taught us.
After driving back home, I decided that I wanted to continue to drastically break routine for the day (and celebrate the one year anniversary of my retirement), and driving through the hills had inspired me to take a drive up to the summit of Mount Diablo and spend some time looking out over the vistas and generally just hanging out in scenic nature for several hours. I gazed admiringly (but not at all enviously) at the bicyclists who made the same trek. That is way beyond any bicycling ambitions I might have. I'm not big on hills.
And now, here it is a little after 7pm and my body is reminding me that I got up at four-fucking-thirty this morning and I should go to bed already.
Knowing that I've failed at this resolution before, I planned for success: laid out warm clothing the evening before, set up the coffee maker (yeah, I know, I only drink decaf now, but it's a ritual), and set my alarm for 4:30am. Yes, you read that correctly. The event was scheduled to start at 5:20 and the map app said it would take me half an hour to get to Inspiration Point in Tilden Park, so that seemed like the optimal waking time.
This did not take into account that there would be dense fog on the winding back-roads up the east side of the hills. It also didn't take into account that my directions app had an entirely different idea about where "Inspiration Point" was located. (I think there are two places by that name in the general area?) So I drove back and forth on one stretch of Grizzly Peak Road three times before I figured out the problem and finally was able to work out the right directions. (It didn't help that I've only ever driven to Inspiration Point from the Berkeley side of the hills before.
But I arrived at least a quarter hour before the dawn, so ritual was satisfied. I got to see half a dozen dances, participated in the singing of May Day carols, and danced in the massive Sellenger's Round circle.
When I was a little kid, in my family, May Day meant crafting little baskets made of woven paper, then filling them with flowers and leaving them on neighbors' doorsteps. I have no idea where that custom came from. I don't think it was a general thing that people did, just something my mom taught us.
After driving back home, I decided that I wanted to continue to drastically break routine for the day (and celebrate the one year anniversary of my retirement), and driving through the hills had inspired me to take a drive up to the summit of Mount Diablo and spend some time looking out over the vistas and generally just hanging out in scenic nature for several hours. I gazed admiringly (but not at all enviously) at the bicyclists who made the same trek. That is way beyond any bicycling ambitions I might have. I'm not big on hills.
And now, here it is a little after 7pm and my body is reminding me that I got up at four-fucking-thirty this morning and I should go to bed already.
