not being a seagull

I was all set to be a seagull, and was accustoming myself to scrounging scraps from the tourists strolling the streets of downtown ! Stonington, fresh off the boat (them, schooners, not me). Alas! or maybe hoorah!, it was not to be.
Us intrepid community members, out numbers now significantly increased by more than 100%, are probably not going to be gulls. We may be birdwatchers. To that end, the six or seven or eight of us spent time in the elementary school gym on Saturday, spotting basketball hoops, bleachers, lights, scoreboards and Mia and Alison. We pointed, sneaked, bent down low and then looked right into the rafters, all the while using binoculars which must be seen to be believed.
We tried moving in canon (that's one and then another), moving as a group, and standing, sitting, looking and emoting.
Someone did a wonderful movement. We all copied it, and then the originator couldn't reproduce it. We counted. We whispered to each other. We had it.

Sunday, we did similar things in the quarry. If you don't know this, let me tell you from experience from dancing in the quarry three previous times: GRANITE IS HARD. And pebbles are slippery. And what looks perfectly level from 30 or 40 feet away is, in fact, indented, slanty,
chipped and otherwise not what you would expect from a dance floor.

We didn't fall. We moved in something like unison. We were very far apart--wait until you see it. Meanwhile, I'm the one with the red hair. Or pink hat. Or not.

All the dancers are finally here. Carol and I, for want of something better to do, drove up to the Bangor Airport to pick up five young nubile flexible talented and beautiful dancers (wait until you see them!), three of whom had been here before. Lest you think they came by plane, allow me to disabuse you of that. They drove up in a rental, and we picked them up, not coming off a plane with hugs and kisses, but getting out of an SUV in the Hertz section of the parking lot. With hugs and kisses. Since three had been in Quarryography, they knew to treat Deer Isle like a foodless wilderness, and had cleverly gone to Hannaford to stock up. I didn't ask on what. Maybe I'll ask them....

It's really going to happen.