Sketching a Twisty Path on the Globe

Just got back from exercise class.  My lungs loosened up and made me cough a bit.  My stomach muscles feel a little tight, and come to think of it my jaw does too.  It must have been the part when we pretended to be balloons deflating and phlllbbbbbbed our way to the floor.  Or was it the bit when we lay on our backs and pretended to be karate caterpillars all in a line?  Maybe, that was a strenuous one.  Even for a group of adults. 

Several weeks ago I was walking home alone after having dinner with friends, baklava in hand, when samba drums drew me toward a building I’d never inspected before.  It was lit up and people mingled inside among colorful paintings.  Others flooded in the front doors implying the start of a new show soon.  “What’s the show?” I asked a man waiting outside.  “Don’t know.  My daughter bought the tickets. I think it has ukuleles.”  Enough to lure me through the doorway.  “What’s the show?” I ask the woman behind me in line.  “Well, I think it’s a comedy group from Europe.”  OK definitely can’t leave the line now.  By the time I reach the ticket counter it has officially become two folk bands.  True to my informers though, the first did have several ukuleles and had us all chuckling with their stories from a folk festival in Ukistan.  During the break the lady next to me (who snorts loudly when she laughs) says, “You have a great laugh!  You should come to Laughing Yoga!” 

It’s been three weeks of anticipation and in the meantime I collected a couple curious friends.  We arrived in the parking lot and a poster informed us we were actually 30 minutes late.  Determined to laugh (even if succinctly), we followed the multiple signs with arrows:  “Laughter Club this way” and ended out at a glass door through which we could see a group of serious-looking people in a circle.  Despite our tardiness, they invited us in and then laughed at us when we told them our names. 

The “exercises” we did were something like preschool.  Or slumber parties.  Or the goofy kid in class who always got in trouble for it. Except we were ALL the goofy kids:  pretending to shove cream into our mouths, wagging our behinds to “Tsitsy Tsa,” making farting noises.  No.  Really.  And, it worked, I laughed until my face was red and I had to take off my scarf for air.  Maybe it partly worked because your mind really can’t believe that they are doing this, wait, that you are doing this.  It’s an odd collection of people that may never stand in the same room together otherwise.  Some chanting thanks for their colorful lips, others for their firm butt, elbows, knees, blood.  But at the end, we all held hands for our final affirmations: “We are the happiest people in the world.  We are the healthiest people in the world.” 

I doubt I’ll convince anyone else to return with me.  I’m not totally sure I’ll convince myself.  BUT, I am completely sold on the experience of allowing yourself to be blown off track. To let a drumbeat or an old lady give you a suggestion.  If you’re lucky, you just might find ukuleles and belly laughter there.   

Sheep.  It’s probably the first thing that people think of when they picture New Zealand.  Who hasn’t heard:  “New Zealand:  country of 4 million people and 40 million sheep!”  Even though it’s somewhat their claim to fame, I’ve found that most Kiwis are a bit embarrassed by sheep.  In fact, I’d even say that (gasp) they don’t even like them!  When a fellow American asked if I wanted to go to the Running of the Sheep, there was no hesitation.  Sheep-shearing, sheep-mustering–could there be a more classically Kiwi event?  (not to mention the goofy photo opportunities)   But, Kiwi’s mostly replied:  “Sheep are boring.”  “Sheep are dumb.”  If they only knew how mischievous they’d be this year….

The news report from online goes like this:

07:55pm | Te Kuiti’s “running of the sheep” held

Apr 4, 2009

One could have mistaken Te Kuiti for Pamplona for the annual “running of the sheep.”  About 1500 Romney Ewes were let loose down the south Waikato town’s main street. While the event didn’t quite have the drama of Spain’s “running of the bulls” there was nothing to go “baaa humbug” about.  With thousands of ewes and a party atmosphere, Te Kuiti was the place to be.  “It’s a good opportunity for the townspeople and outsiders to see a big mob of sheep,” says Fagan.

Altogether, 14,077 sheep ran the gauntlet at Te Kuiti.

Source: ONE News

Well, this may have been written by a reporter, but I’m certain that the reporter wasn’t in Te Kuiti.  In fact,  probably this article was written the night before. Because, if it had really been written after the event, it would have been titled: 

“The Year the Sheep Rebelled.”

We all lined up along the street—sheep costumes, kids, locals, and tourists alike–united in the anticipation of seeing thousands of sheep on the move.    “I see them!”  I finally shouted.  Far down the street beigy fluff filled the street from one side to the other.  We watched for them to get closer.  Waited.  “I think they’re farther away now.  Wait, now I can’t see them at all!”  Time passed.  No sheep.  Eventually a hum of a 4-wheeler and a small group of about 30 sheep are ushered frantically down the road.  Waiting.   Where are the rest of the sheep?  Again, a cluster of fluff, this time though I can see the chaos:  sheep jumping out the side, turning around in circles, huddling together, none wanting to lead the pack through the channel of sheep-voyeurs. A voice eventually apologizes on the loudspeaker, something like “sorry, but they’ve gotten away.”

“Gotten away”?  Bwaahaaahaa.  What great images THAT brings.  Can you imagine a gang of rebellious sheep, conspiring in their pens for the great Muster Breakaway!  And, when the moment comes—BAAAAAnzai and they are gone.  Scampering across the highway, maybe through the rickety fair rides, hopping into backs of unsuspecting trucks.  Seeking adventure.  Seeking freedom from their stifling stereotypes.  Tired of the strangling neck-holds while being stripped of their wool and dignity.  Sheep looking for a new horizon.

I like this new image of sheep.  I also think that if the reporters would have been more accurate, some Kiwis may have been proud knowing that their dumb mascots have more spunk than first suspected.