Are split into tines,
So I must go willy-nilly
Separated from my friend.
—Basho, The Records of a Travel-Worn Satchel
Andrew drives home. Tristan finds Bocce ball court in Arcata.
Andrew, driving Tristan's truck back alone, winding down highway 101 through the redwoods, speaking into the digital recorder:
“In bocce one, by however the group decides, somebody first throws the pallino and thus has an advantage by feeling exactly where the guide ball has gone; and whoever gets closest gets to choose the next spot and gets to throw the pallino and start things over again. In our trip each one of us had a guiding goal, deciding what we were aiming for at different points. First off, Andrew Anderson had to be at work at a certain point in Arcata when it was the three-person trip. So that was kind of the first pallino thrown; and each of us had our own sort goals to achieve around that guiding point; but of course Andrew ruled the round—it was his in that the logic was his, and that we were going towards his need; and we were just along to play the game and try be as clever as we could in the midst of it. In the midst of that, though, we’d had various stopping points, each person getting to sort of choose the trajectory of the microcosmic palino, maybe by driving, or just in one moment having more sway in the decision making. But of course, as in the compromise of conversation and discussion, somebody’s idea gets the closest. Which really creates this image of the west coast being a gigantic bocce ball court, if that’s not too—or you could look so California is just a bent court, a little askew, Oregon short and wide…or you could look at each little section, each little segment of highway that we covered, south to north, north to south as being one frame.”
Last night I had a dream that I went to play bocce at the local Monterey public courts. The enthusiasm and anticipation I felt is difficult to put into words; and consequently the frustration, confusion and sadness that arose when I realized I was by myself is hard to describe. Humiliation entered the fray when the players on the adjacent court noticed my arrival. I did not even know what to do. Practice? Assign half the balls to myself and the other half also to myself and see who came out victorious?
I had no word from friends. Did that mean I was never to meet someone and I had always come to play by myself? Or had they simply forgotten to cancel our appointment? Do people have cell phones in dreams? I did not check my messages.
I rolled some balls to the other end of the court and found my perceptions shifted to another sphere of my psyche.
“In bocce one, by however the group decides, somebody first throws the pallino and thus has an advantage by feeling exactly where the guide ball has gone; and whoever gets closest gets to choose the next spot and gets to throw the pallino and start things over again. In our trip each one of us had a guiding goal, deciding what we were aiming for at different points. First off, Andrew Anderson had to be at work at a certain point in Arcata when it was the three-person trip. So that was kind of the first pallino thrown; and each of us had our own sort goals to achieve around that guiding point; but of course Andrew ruled the round—it was his in that the logic was his, and that we were going towards his need; and we were just along to play the game and try be as clever as we could in the midst of it. In the midst of that, though, we’d had various stopping points, each person getting to sort of choose the trajectory of the microcosmic palino, maybe by driving, or just in one moment having more sway in the decision making. But of course, as in the compromise of conversation and discussion, somebody’s idea gets the closest. Which really creates this image of the west coast being a gigantic bocce ball court, if that’s not too—or you could look so California is just a bent court, a little askew, Oregon short and wide…or you could look at each little section, each little segment of highway that we covered, south to north, north to south as being one frame.”
Last night I had a dream that I went to play bocce at the local Monterey public courts. The enthusiasm and anticipation I felt is difficult to put into words; and consequently the frustration, confusion and sadness that arose when I realized I was by myself is hard to describe. Humiliation entered the fray when the players on the adjacent court noticed my arrival. I did not even know what to do. Practice? Assign half the balls to myself and the other half also to myself and see who came out victorious?
I had no word from friends. Did that mean I was never to meet someone and I had always come to play by myself? Or had they simply forgotten to cancel our appointment? Do people have cell phones in dreams? I did not check my messages.
I rolled some balls to the other end of the court and found my perceptions shifted to another sphere of my psyche.
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