Post by Grubb.
It happened late Friday morning at the Southern Vermont Arts Center. There was the leaf-shuffling hike up in the foothills behind the center to give a nineteenth century stir to the blood.
Then we took in the Ashley Bryan collection of puppets at the Arts Center. Artifacts of puppetry were kept in glass cases as if to protect us from an ancient spell.
Then, in another building across the way, there was an exhibit of Vermont landscape artists. There were paintings of old barns, prismatic trees, maple sap gathering, and endless rolling hills. I was partial to the picture of a heavy roller packing down snow to quicken the speed of sleds, but the red barn studies were starting to blend. I needed to get some air.
Out in a small park between the art galleries I came across an obvious sign indicating it was time for me to quit my parallel universe.
Even though I had yet to experience the countless martial arts ballets that seem to make up most of the parallel universes I’ve seen on film, I figured maybe there was an old age exemption from such exertion and I would be well-served if I stepped back through the portal. When it came septuagenarian aches and pains, I wasn’t about to try my luck at nineteenth century medicine.
If I needed confirmation that I was back in the 21st century, the Vermont landscape paintings I saw about the 2011 floods were clear enough evidence.
So much for the lofty musings of a woodland stroll. Wake up, Grandpa, and put your life vest on!