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Thanksliving 2017
Saturday, November 18 2017
Every year a little before Thanksgiving, the Woodstock Farm Animal Sanctuary hosts a fundraising gala called "Thanksliving." In the past, back when the sanctuary was in Willow, Gretchen would often work Thanksliving as a volunteer. Now the sanctuary is on Rondout Creek just west of Mohonk, "Animal" has been dropped from its name, and its two founders (our friends Jenny and Doug) squeezed out by the board. Gretchen had hoped to volunteer this year, but when she'd made inquiries had found that instead she and I had been given seats at a table for free. This would be the first time she'd be attending Thanksliving as anything other than a volunteer. It all got underway in the early afternoon today, and long after our Saturday morning coffee routine, we drove over.
There was a cold rain falling, yet we saw a number of creepy-looking pedestrians walking down various roads (Hurley Mountain Road, Cottekill, Lucas, and one other) along the way. That might sound like a normal thing, but it's so not-normal that I joked upon seeing the first one that it was my brother (who actually does take long walks through remote rural landscapes to get to and from Staunton). There were three more after that.
Gretchen is something of a celebrity in the local animal rights scene, so getting from our car into the warmth and roofedness of the venue took more time than it should have. There were hugs (for her) and handshakes (for me) and lots of banter to be exchanged while standing completely sober in the cold rain. Most people had heard of Gretchen's recent illness and couldn't stop commenting on how good she looked. Our society likes it when its women are thin, and Gretchen is now about as thin as she's ever been.
[REDACTED]
The venue was a large indoor space equipped with what must be an industrial kitchen. It was crowded with people, a not-insubstantial number of whom wanted to hug Gretchen on our way to check in and get our drinks. But at least we were finally out of the rain. [REDACTED] We'd been assigned to table 14 with a group of elderly strangers, a couple of whom said they'd driven all the way up from Philadelphia. On a related note, the food had all been planned and prepared by folks from Miss Rachel's Pantry, a retro-mod vegan bakery in Philadelphia where we'd had brunch once or twice. We'd been concerned that the food might all be a bit too sweet, though it didn't end up that way. The main problem (for those coming late, after the bulk of the mushroom pastries had been eaten) was that the quantities were a bit small. I'd brought my Sontava habañero hot sauce, so I could give even the blandest of vegan comfort food some zing.
Not long into the meal, the auctionesque fundraising began. The person doing this was a charismatic newsperson woman from New York City, and after making a brief pitch about the animals, she asked if anyone had $5000 to give. Remarkably, two or three people in the crowd did. And then when that round was exhausted, there was a $2500 round. And then a $1000 round. At the $500 round, Gretchen asked for my approval and I gave it because, what the hell, we're doing okay and Gretchen's medical expenses have mostly been disappeared by my insurance. The sanctuary managed to raise about $60,000 this way.
There was also a raffle and a silent auction. We'd put in a bid for a chunky watch made almost entirely from wood and it looked like we were going to win it, but then the watch proved too small for my massive Neanderthal wrists, so we aborted our $130 bid.
By the end of the gala, I was starting to feel social enough to ask where the after-party was, but the only one Gretchen knew about was in Palenville. So we drove home in the dark and spitting rain. It felt like 11:00pm but it was only a little after 5:00.
Back at the house, Neville was complaining again about his legs, forcing me to carry him outside so he could piss and maybe poop. This was the first time Gretchen had ever seen him do the thing where he walks just on his front paws, because evidently it hurt too much to put any weight on either of his feet.
Flipping around through the many files I'd downloaded via Bittorrent, Gretchen was trying to find us something to watch, and we eventually landed on the fifth season of Orange is the New Black, which we'd heard is not so great. We watched the first episode, which was taking place in the course of a prison riot, the origins of which we'd mostly forgotten in the year and a third since we'd seen season four. For most of this episode, a siren honked repeatedly at one-second intervals, and it wasn't the most pleasant experience in the world. But they ended on such a cliffhanger that we watched some of episode two as well, though that didn't resolve any of the cliffhanger mystery.
Later I hung out with Neville on the couch, drinking a beer and watching the Predator Chronicles (various Chris Hansen predator busts intercut with video tricks and commentary by a YouTube comedian named Mista GG) on my Chromebook. Mista GG is a lot funnier and snappier than the other guy producing Chris Hansen meta-content, a guy named Andrew Birkett who drones on, pausing the video frequently to point things out while adding surprisingly little.
For linking purposes this article's URL is:
http://asecular.com/blog.php?171118 feedback
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