Notes from Maine - 2023/02/12

I’ve been stretching a lot lately. I’m trying to shake loose the rust that’s forming in my joints as I creep towards old age. Often when I stretch, an image from fifty years ago floats back to me. My sister and I took a tumbling class when we were little kids. She’s sixteen months older than me, so we were frequently lumped together into one unit so we could be foisted off into this program or that. I have a vague memory of a dim room with tumbling mats and girls who could do roundoffs and one-armed cartwheels. When the time came for our performance, I still couldn’t do a backwards somersault, so I had to jump up and run back to get into position for the next move.

So I was on the back deck this morning, throwing the frisbee for Albert, and every time I bent over to work on a hamstring I remembered tumbling class. Ever since that class, I’ve been pretty flexible. The two things always seemed connected—tumbling and flexibility. But the class couldn’t have been that long. I can’t still be feeling the results fifty years later.

The frisbee went over the fence and down into the gulch. I saw Albert appear at the fence a minute later with the frisbee in his mouth, so I know he found it. Still, he disappeared on other Albert business. About a year ago, we lost one of the frisbees down there. This wasn’t like last week, when we “lost” three of the frisbees in the snow. Those appeared again when the temps warmed up and a little snow melted.

It’s pretty much spring here now. From last weekend to this one, we had a 70° swing in temperature (40° C). Next week, we’ll probably be halfway to boiling. I’m still hopeful that we’ll find the frisbee we lost a year ago. Last summer, a bunch of us went looking. Over the fence, around the blackberries, down the little hill next to the maple tree, across the little creek, and into the marsh we trekked. The purple loosestrife was eyeball high and we tromped paths into it while Albert bounded with a fat tongue hanging from the side of his mouth. We didn’t find it. Sometimes when it rains, the little creek widens to practically cover the whole marsh. I fear that the frisbee washed away.

In the middle of summer, I’ll take off my boots and socks and slosh up through the creek, letting my feet settle into the mud with each stride. I’ve found several frisbees that way. I used to think that the creek was frisbee magnetic. Then I saw Albert “bury” one of his frisbees in the water to see if he could find it again. He doesn’t do that in winter though. I think the yellow one from last year is still there somewhere. It’s findable.

Inevitably, when I think about tumbling, I think about robots. I have no idea where the tumbling class took place (if you listen really hard, you can hear my sister yelling it right now), but I think it was close to the amphitheater where we went to that thing one time? She’s 600 miles away, but I think I just heard my sister yell, “Lubber Run!” Anyway, we went to a show at the amphitheater one time and there was a robot walking around. The guy was wearing a tight black suit and I think he had face paint on. Nothing would make him break character as he moved like a robot through the crowd. Seriously—nothing made him break. Kids put grapes in his jacket pocket and then slapped the fabric, crushing the grapes and he still moved like a robot, unperturbed. I’m not saying that I did that, but kids definitely did that.

Walking or dancing like a robot is such a specific thing, but what’s it based on? It’s based on an imagined automaton, right? So when did robot dancing start? At the National Museum of American History there’s a clockwork monk from the 16th century. You wind it up and it moves around and prays. Were those people “clockwork monk” performing at festivals?

In 1975, the Jackson 5 were on Cher’s variety show. They performed “Dancing Machine” with some pretty good robot moves. If you took away the musical instruments and the hair, the six performers on stage weighed a combined total of 84 pounds. Watching those skeletons move around on YouTube, I began to wonder if maybe food was invented partway through the 70s. The first Häagen-Dazs location opened in 1976. Maybe that explains it.

Albert brought back his frisbee and I finished up my morning stretches. Finn helps me a lot while I’m stretching. When I’m doubled over with my eyes closed, he sneaks up and puts his nose against my nose. Very helpful.