I’m back from my sixth Gilbertsville tour. This year the Newtowne Morris Men came from Boston, to join the Toronto Morris Men as the Binghamton Men’s guests. The tour was the same setup as the past five years, but this year there was one new feature: great weather. Rain overnight, but sunny and warm, but not too warm, during the days.
I did less dancing than usual, owing to some pain and stiffness in my right Achilles. I did make my Bucknell debut, though, with two renditions of “Queen’s Delight”. Heather and Kenny came to watch and join us for lunch Saturday, which was nice.
Saturday evening I came back from the tour, lay down, and fell asleep. At 8:00 pm I awoke to a remarkably loud and prolonged clap of thunder — at least it seemed so to me, but I was coming out of a dream state so who knows. Anyway, I realized I’d slept right through the scheduled start of dinner. I made my way downstairs to the great hall and found everyone seated, working on their salad course; there was one empty seat. I thought how fortunate I was that there was a place for me to sit and that I hadn’t missed the main course. And then another thought came to mind, prompted by walking into that situation: how fortunate I am that there is a Village of Gilbertsville, a Major’s Inn, a Binghamton Men, a Toronto Men, a Newtowne Men, and a Gilbertsville tour where they all come together — and that there is, in a more metaphorical sense, a seat for me at the table. Kevin of the TFMM and I agree we must have done something right in a previous life. It can’t be a reward for this life; we’ll probably come back as cockroaches. (And, as someone else said, we’ll probably approach other cockroaches and say, “Hey, weren’t you on Newtowne?”)