I'm at a Friends conference all week -- longer, until the 9th -- and although this is on a university campus, I have no access from room or from wireless with my laptop -- dark ages, they have no way to accomodate a guest (a paying guest, at that) although airports, cafes, and hotels and motels can) -- ah, well. So here I stand at a public terminal, because one can blog from anywhere. Sigh -- at least it's pretty here.
There will be people here from all over the world -- I've met someone from India -- and I'm one of the golf cart volunteers for those needing assistance, as we have have a lot of elderly and infirm attendees. Meals are good, rooms are quaint and the mattresses decent.
I'm meeting new people, and it's nice -- you almost can't miss with new Quakers -- but I'm discovering that people will ask me my former first name and, while it's not hard for me to hear the question, it tears something inside me to answer it. This has gone on for some time unabated. As if I were afraid that my former persona right reach out from some dark place and grab me. It's an interesting phenomenon, viewed from a distance, because I've seen this in others, but still, it's frightening when it's you. Don't really know what to do with it.
I also find I'm still intimidated in common restrooms that feature showers. It's not that I don't know how to behave, and I certainly don't have any alarming body parts. But I still have to do a fair bit of shaving, and that can be startling to others. My solution this morning was to head for the shower room at 6 a.m., secure in the high level of snoring that was going on in all the other dorm rooms.
And it was lovely out, afterward. We have, from here, an indescribable view of Mt. Rainier. The local people must be used to it, as they don't seem to look that way much. I just want to look, and look, and look.