Good Eats

Mountain Mermaid

Working from home four days a week still leaves the other three days a week at home. Yesterday I wanted to stay in and write, because I wanted to write. Then I thought maybe I should get out and about and write. Nick has mentioned perhaps once or twice that I do spend an inordinate amount of time in my house. This morning in the small amount of time we have together before he heads to work, I informed him I was 'getting out'.

Later after tea and a shower I packed up my laptop in my super cool black leather carrying case,  slipped into my snazzy Franco Sarto boots and walked out the front door into the sun.

Sun. I turned around and went back inside the house and dug my fingers into the copper colored pottery bowl I have laying on my pulpit and grabbed my shades. The fake Dolce & Gabbana I won for free and like so much. Headed down my steps and to the street below. The sides of the streets are still covered in snow from the last snowstorm, but the pavement is bare and wet. As I walk past the Pastime, Misty hollers at me I reply but keep moving to my goal. The first goal is the post office and it is a lackluster day in box 723, two bills I stuff them into my case and Ricardo holds the door for me and we walk down the sidewalk together heading towards the Brick. He informs me he is done working for the day and heading home to take a nap. I inform him I'm going to the library. His heavy accented English I enjoy. He would be damn sexy if he just had front teeth.

Crossing the highway I decide I will pop into the Mountain Mermaid and do a bit of Christmas shopping, perhaps get a sandwich to go. I let myself in the door of the former Foreign Legion Hall and as always I'm amazed by the amount of clutter this place has. (See photo above.) It is organized chaos and I really like it even though I'm not a fan of clutter. I look through the antiques and such finding some promising items then turn to the chalkboard menus. Jen the owner has good food. I check the today's special chalkboard and the special is half a sandwich and soup. The soup choices of the day are 15 Bean and Bacon, Tomato Cream and Pasta Fagioli. I decide to stay for lunch and order Pastrami on whole wheat with the Tomato Cream and one of Jen's yummy cookies. The waitress (Jens Mom Vicki) comes back out after taking my order and informs me that they are out of the Tomato. I hate beans... so the next best choice is the Pasta Fagioli.

Lunch

After my quaint lunch I head down to the library and set up shop under the window below the new lawn I helped install earlier this year. Erin and Shauna the Librarian and her assistant are in and I chat with them occasionally. After an hour or more of solid writing the quiet of the Library is interrupted by the Mayor giving a tour. I pack up and head up the street to see if Tricia owner of the The Crazy Horse Trading Post is open, she is and I finish my Christmas shopping for Tara, buying a tile for her. Next is the wine shop and Cindy and Christi are there we catch up I order some wine and then I head to Markos' and sit down next to Max and Drew and proceed to have two beers. Audrey is bar tending and then soon Tricia and Tom come in. I text Nick letting him know which bar I'm at since he should be in cell range soon and coming to town for his evening cocktail.

I have another beer, and it is now dark. Probably time to head home, I pay my tab and head down the street towards the Brick and Nick texts me asking if I'm still at Markos I call him as I round the corner, glancing in the window of the Brick to see if perhaps he has made it there yet. But can't see inside because the curtains are shut. As I walk past Maggie's Pantry I spy his truck simultaneous to his answering my call. He is at the Brick and I stop and change direction cutting through a snowbank to head to the Brick. He is sitting with Brent and Kathleen. Kathleen of the tile that I bought for my niece. Nick and I share a Prime Rib dinner and he orders me a whiskey press. Scotty the bartenders heavy hand has made it and quite suddenly I find myself soused.

We end the night with the lovely glow of Christmas in my own house for the first time in five years; munching on Nick's gourmet popcorn, cuddled on the couch watching Men in Black 3. A couple of days ago as it dumped snow, Nick and I smoked on the porch he grinned and leaned over to give me a hug and said. "Welcome back to winter in Roslyn."

It's not the size that matters.

It's good to be back. Cheers! And I think of the theme song from Cheers and the spot where it says ... 'where everybody knows your name' trickles through my mind as I have spent the day out and about where I know every-bodies name and they know mine. 

Mechanical difficulties

I want an instant degree in HVAC..
Damn heat pump is on the rampage again. Furious with Central Air and Heating and moving on to a reliable, trust-able source.
Battened down the hatches, just heating living room kitchen area and my office with space heaters. I will be damned if I will fork out anymore money this year to those morons who cannot seem to fix the lemon. Venting yes...

Shaken not stirred

Sometimes the air turns.

What do I mean by this? Well just the other day it was raining and we were wishing for snow. The last two days the air has turned, like it was stirred, mixed and shaken martini style and is now ready to hold, make and deliver snow. It is the second day in a row that the flakes are small, steady and gathering to make a light nesting in the grass. It is this telltale difference in the temperature that is laying the ground work for accumulation. The base coat is being applied.

I'm sitting snug in my cozy house, on my bed with my new quilt and a hot cup of tea supposedly working on the rewrite of 'The Good Life' but goofing off... catching up on Facebook, Blogging and such and yeah also...watching it snow.

Remember this? Now this..........

So as I posted earlier the rough draft is done. This year I'm classified as a winner I finished the book just about three in the afternoon.  No last minute rush and not being short by just a few words.

After uploading and being validated I treated myself to a bottle of Jameson.

Went to town with #61 and bought the bottle. Bought the makings for taco's because #61 likes my taco's better than anyone else who makes them in his life :). Made some homemade tortillas and whooped it up but not really. Or at least not yet. Maybe it will happen. I just know I finished the rough draft. I just know I officially have wrote my third book.

I did end up whooping it up a bit. Nick was proud and made announcements along the way. 

I did it it! The rough draft of 'The Good Life' is finished.... complete... and uploaded. What a ride!

Holidays

The holidays are upon us again. November as always brings heavy rains, low fog and the wish of snow. This week it is Thanksgiving and I love my family and I'm thankful too see them soon. This year we are saying a big off is the general direction in which you should fuck to the grind of tiring preparation for the ten minute ritual of eating the great feast.

I'm excited to be part of this ground breaking, breaking of tradition with my sister. We imagine a wet, steeped in low clouds and fog kind of a day. Some sideways blowing wind would be rather exciting as well because when it does this....it is the best time to be at the beach. And yes we have a hike planned to the beach because we will not be slaving away. The soup will simmer, the fine china will stay in the closet and the day should be sweat, stress and fight free.

Nick is heading over the hills and through the woods to his Grandmothers house. I have to work till ten on Wednesday night. But get to enjoy the holiday paid off with my family. As I told Nick the other night "I would rather have my fingernails removed then shop with the masses on Black Friday." So no, I won't be shopping whatsoever... I hope to be writing and working on my book and maybe enjoying a snow storm on the trip back over the mountains.


Our menu: Cioppino, French Bread and traditional desserts.

Ingredients for Cioppino:

• 3 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 large fennel bulb, thinly sliced
• 1 onion, chopped
• 3 large shallots, chopped
• 2 teaspoons salt
• 4 large garlic cloves, finely chopped
• 3/4 teaspoon dried crushed red pepper flakes, plus more to taste
• 1/4 cup tomato paste
• 1 (28-ounce) can diced tomatoes in juice
• 1 1/2 cups dry white wine
• 5 cups fish stock
• 1 bay leaf
• 1 pound manila clams, scrubbed
• 1 pound mussels, scrubbed, debearded
• 1 pound uncooked large shrimp, peeled and deveined
• 1 1/2 pounds assorted firm-fleshed fish fillets such as halibut or salmon, cut into 2-inch chunks

Debbie Downer

I slept well and heavy last night. I wrote with success and abandon today on my NaNoWriMo project. Titled "The Good Life." Work has been easy with plenty of avail and phone problems adding to quite a bit of 'down time'. Life is good so why suddenly.. is the world dreary and I'm tired and down.

Oh yeah.. must be PMS..

residual catching up on sleep... boredom... all of thee above.

So let me write about something happy. I saw my peeps this last weekend. I got to hang with my parents, my sister and her daughters, Vick.. I shopped and I sewed. I drove a hot red camaro...Gosh it was good to be back.
And then I also had a slice of heaven. Check out the large amount of butter this fabulous cake takes.

The best cake I have ever eaten in my life. Hands down.

Jack Daniel's Buttermilk Cake.

• Cake:
• 1 1/2 cups unsalted butter, at room temperature
• 2 1/3 cups sugar
• 3 large egg whites
• 2 tsp. vanilla extract
• 3 cups cake flour
• 3/4 tsp. baking soda
• 3/4 tsp. salt
• 1 1/2 tsp. baking powder
• 1 1/2 cups buttermilk
• 
  
• Buttercream:
• 3 large eggs
• 4 large egg yolks
• 1/2 cup water
• 2 cups sugar
• 3 cups unsalted butter, at room temperature
• 1/2 tsp. salt
• 3 Tbsp. Jack Daniels whiskey

DIRECTIONS

1. To make the cake: Place one baking rack one-third from the bottom of the oven and the second two-thirds from the bottom. Preheat the oven to 350-f degrees. Line three 9-inch cake pans with parchment paper rounds, grease with butter, and dust with flour (or spray with Pam with Flour).
2. Using a mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, beat the butter and sugar in a large bowl on medium speed about 2 minutes, until light and fluffy. Scrape down the sides of the bowl. Add the egg whites and vanilla and beat on medium speed for about 1 minute. Combine the flour, baking soda, salt, and baking powder in a medium bowl. Add about one-third of the flour mixture to the batter and beat on medium speed until incorporated. Add about half of the buttermilk and beat on medium speed until incorporated. Continue adding dry and wet ingredients alternately, scraping the bowl down and beating until incorporated after each addition. End with the dry ingredients. The batter will be thick and glossy.
3. Spoon the batter evenly into the prepared cake pans. Stagger the cake layers on the oven racks so that no layer is directly over another. Set two layers on one rack and the third on the other. Bake for 25 to 35 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the middle of the cakes comes out clean and tops are flat and browned. Monitor the layers carefully for doneness; each one me be done at a different time.
4. Set the cake pans on racks to cool for 10 minutes. Invert the cakes onto the racks and cool completely before frosting. At this point the cakes can be tightly wrapped in a layer of plastic wrap and a layer of aluminum foil and frozen up to 3 weeks.
5. To Make the Buttercream: Using a mixer fitted with a whisk attachment, whip the eggs and yolks in a large bowl on high speed about 5 minutes. In a medium saucepan, combine the water and sugar; simmer until it reaches the soft-ball stage, registering between 234-f degrees and 240-f degrees on a candy thermometer. Immediately transfer the syrup to a large heatproof liquid measuring cup. In a slow, thin stream, add the sugar mixture to the egg mixture, mixing on low speed the entire time. Increase the speed to medium and beat about 7 minutes, until the syrup has cooled (the bowl should be barely warm to the touch). Add the butter, half a stick at a time, beating on medium speed about 20 seconds after each addition. Once all of the butter has been added, beat on medium until the frosting thickens slightly, about 3 minutes. Stir in the salt and whiskey.
6. Place 1 cake layer on a serving plate and spread a thick blanket of frosting on top. Add the second layer and spread thickly with frosting. Add the third layer and cover the top and sides of the cake with an even layer of frosting. Covered, the cake will keep for 2 days at room temperature.
7. Sweet Variations: Instead of whiskey try substituting Grand Marnier or Amaretto. For chocolate-flavored buttercream, substitute 8 oz. of melted bittersweet chocolate for the Jack Daniel's. Make sure to cool the melted chocolate for at least 15 minutes before adding it to the buttercream.

We enjoy each others company

The 'non relationship' has progressed to a relationship.
We are fools... thinking we can outsmart the system of how relationships progress.

In the last three weeks we have settled into something. While we are still defining it to ourselves locals have started putting more pressure on us to define it to them. Nick has maybe progressed faster than I have... to succumb to their demands for clarity.

He has been asked numerous times in this one evening and as we leave Marko's and stop in to the Eagles for a game of pool and finally for a final nightcap head to the Pasttime. At each stop he has been asked and he mentions it as we make our final approach to the nightcap. I chuckle and say yet once again. "Why do we have to define it?"


The bar is busy and one stool on each corner is available so we separate and he sits at one corner of the bar and another "couple" set between us. They smile and we share small talk for awhile.

     They ask... the question?? "So are you two together?"

     Nick full of piss and whiskey stands suddenly and blatantly and also very loudly announce's across the entire bar, "Yes we are, we are fucking..we like each other. I'm telling everybody right now yes, we are together and yes we are fucking." I promptly choke on my drink and start coughing, laughing, sputtering... all while blushing.

It appears to be settled now.

Now as it progresses it has become a game of sorts. I gave him a response the other day as we walked to town. "You can just tell people that we enjoy each others company." OR "You can tell people that I like your kielbasa better than Glondo's kielbasa.

stay tuned..............

The Eve. The focus. The decision.

Coming soon is Samhain, All Hallows Eve, Halloween. It is in fact tomorrow.

This past weekend sassy red head and I took to the wet black streets as the black swan and a practical magic witch. The Halloween parties were popular events even in the pouring rain.
And man has it poured rain in the last week or more. Halloween is the most popular holiday in Roslyn for the adult crowd. Each bar was filled with tons of people dressed up. The people watching was flavorful.

Nick is at elk camp and nanowrimo is looming in the near future. It begins November 1st. I have been indecisive about which book I will work on. While being indecisive; I still have focused on all of them, thinking deeply about which one is calling the most.

Will it be??
Horse Heaven Hills (The Good life)
Mil ( Tears of God)
Flagstaff (All Roads)
Heather & Stones

It changes all the time but I think that the best plan is to complete the one set in Prosser and the Horse Heaven Hills that run above it. It is already at 26k and I could probably complete it as a whole if I chose that one. But I was having trouble locating the inner eye and passion for it. I have already started Mil and have tons of passion to work on it, but just not quite ready to commit to that one as a whole because I'm looking for a fact, an idea or some odd tidbit to make it all roll. I have brief snippets of ideas for All Roads. Although All Roads is just an idea and has no real plan as of yet so that one is easy to put off. But Mil and Prosser; I have storyboards for and have already done a large amount of research for. As I said indecisive. And then there is Heather & Stones my actual second book that was overlooked last year for nanowrimo to write the third Curador. I almost overlooked it completely when it popped itself in my head and said "Don't forget about me." So I gave it the honor of adding it to the list. Because someday that one will be written.

As I went to bed last night and struggled with sleep and missing Nick I made myself focus on ideas for Prosser. Chapters that needed to be written... places to go in it. This helped because I almost got back up to write with the flood of ideas. Instead I made myself go to sleep. Today I'm focused on getting in the groove of writing daily again. Elk camp has helped with the focus, very few distractions.

The other blogs I read have given me some good advice in preparation for the month long event.

I Started the week with just writing thirty minutes everyday in some format. Loosening up getting ready to produce those pages. And the focus is going to be on...drumroll please. The Good life.

Ditching

Ditching Defined:

An invitation that is made and then revoked only to be told that the other person still went, attended or made an appearance.

Fucking hate being ditched.

Taming the back forty

Back Forty Week 1

Back Forty Week 2

Steps

 

 

 

 

Revealing the Star Pad Week 2

Come over

I have returned from the other side of the mountains. My favorite little sister and I had tickets to see Pitbull at the Puyallup Fair. Pitbull was fun, the time with my sister was good. And contrary to belief Pitbulls voice is his own and man is it sexy.  So is his swagger. Now I'm back home and trying to settle back in with Nick. Every time I leave I find it hard to settle back into what we have going on.  And man how do I explain that?  Time away makes me miss him, plus I talk about him and then when I get back maybe my expectations are higher? So it takes some to settle back into it. Plus it changes all the time.

The light at seven in the morning has changed as well, as it does every year when fall is just around the corner. I'm listening to the news on the radio and the announcer is talking about his assignment over on the coast earlier this year in Washington State and helping this kid out by buying him some neosporin, hand sanitizer and lunch. Sad stories about kids without jobs, maybe drug addicts, and a depressed area from the recession.

Thankful suddenly for what I do have in my life.

I head down to the bar for my first Sunday off. Sunday football is back in my life. As I sit at the bar on a stool next to Doug he asks me if I'm going to the Skype interview. He has been "approached"

as a "character" because he is and has an interview. He is one of the Roslyn crew of full time locals. Some producer is considering Roslyn for a reality show. Others considering going for it. Can you imagine? I can't imagine it, wanting to give up my privacy or being watched like a hawk. I move outside to smoke and a group of us Roslyn woman sit at a table outside in the September sun at the Pastime drinking and reminiscing. Could our lives and rules that we live by, be considered appropriate content for television? Probably not.

I could see the fun in it but in the long run would not want a camera in my private life.

Lights

Mickey Blue Eyes is back. The light in his sky blue eyes is on. What a wonderful thing to look at and see the spark for life again.

I have been painting like a fiend trying to get some work done for a show in October. Writing and blogging have taken a back burner suddenly for another creative outlet. The other morning I walked to the library to return books, magazine and movies. When I got there I realized I had forgotten the movies. Instead of putting if off for another day, I made myself walk all the way back home on a different path and grab them and then return to the library by yet another path. After selecting new movies I took yet another path home. It's nice that in this small town I can take so many different twists and turns from all the others.

Taking the alley that runs behind my house and taking photo's for future paintings. A few months back I had taken this walk and am now working on a painting from that walk. I take a ton of pictures and let them soak in my head for awhile. Always, Always there is one that sticks out in my head as one that I will paint. I feel that way about the Sunflower picture at the top of the blog. I will paint that one someday. Something about the Christmas lights just gets to me in that left corner.

As I walked down the alley I took pictures and passed the back of my house. It is not a pretty sight from this angle. Overgrown with rosehips and the remnants of a garage that collapsed. Overgrown and dangerous so that I cannot take a shortcut through it to my house. I have to walk the entire alley. When I reach the end; Ellie's apple tree's have tossed lovely apples into the alley I decide I'm going to take some home. I add those to my growing pile of shit I'm carrying now on this jaunt. Making a left and heading back down 5th street proper. My friend Leah is on her porch. I stop in to visit.

She wants the scoop on Nick. Her husband is one of Nicks good buddies. At one point in time I lived right next door. So we go way back before children, her children anyway. She coined the phrase, "twenty minutes pregnant." We talk for some time, but then I must head to work. I gather all my shit and head down the hill to my house.

My favorite little sister called today. I answered from the bathroom soaking wet from the shower. She asked me not to put her on speaker. That is serious... so I said can I call you back in five minutes? And got dressed real quick and called her back.

The news was not pretty, even when you think death is the best option for someone in your life, when it happens it is still traumatic. My nephew by marriage is my sisters foster nephew/son. His Mom died, they found her today. There has to be an investigation because they think she has been deceased for two days and they will need to figure out the cause of death. More than likely it will be diabetic related or a drug overdose. She was not a stellar woman most of the time but before she got back into meth she was a decent mother and I'm sorry for her little boy.

Drug addicts, abuser and users have figured heavily in my life lately. I picked up the inside informant at Sundown today after spending the weekend with him and his Dad, hoping to heal and get him on the right track. I met the guys in his group and they were just like him, hopeful to get their lives back together and after 3 days with them I grew really attached to them.

I learned quite a bit about enabling, not being a co-dependent and it was all in all a very enlightening healing weekend.

"It's a no fault disease." This is what they teach. It is no one persons fault. They may choose to take a drink, a drug but it is in their DNA and the addiction is no ones fault and that its a disease.

noncommital

Giving no clear indication of what this is. I called him that the other day Mr. Noncommital. The pressure from outside sources to name what we have going on is pressuring me... and I waver.

For many reasons I'm happy with the status quo but sometimes I do want to know where it is going or what we are calling this.

Everybody knows. Yes everybody does know. But we don't.

My last boyfriend might have been when I was about the age of eighteen. Then I was married for nearly twenty years. So one thing that is blatantly clear to me... I don't understand the rules.

We sit on the porch steps talking. The new month of September already bringing the changes in the air and hues of color in the day. An intense conversation. About needs and wants. I need to understand the rules of PDA or at least suddenly have the need to show it to each other. I need to be asked to do things in public as a couple and not as two people that are trying to hide it from a small town that just knows. He has never been anything but a boyfriend and is afraid of commitment, or losing his freedom to be the butterfly that he is. A social butterfly and friend to all. He has never been married and does not understand that type of commitment. Those are the needs and we are figuring out how to meet them or not.

I'm not the type of person who is clingy. I have my own life, interests and friends that allow me to be happy with doing my own thing. I'm not the type of person to be checking up on somebody. Sneaking peeks at phones or private matters.

I would love to take you to Thailand.

That sentence spoke volumes. It means he is not secure enough in his world to provide me with the things he thinks I need. But that is not what I need. Sure I would love to go to Thailand but the things I need are simpler than that. I just want to trust that he cares about me and that we do things together as a couple. I don't need a title, but I want to be able to trust that if we keep going they way we are going, that he treats me as the other half of the couple. 

There... I think I figured it out.

Couple:

1

a : two persons married, engaged, or otherwise romantically paired

b : two persons paired together

Raw

Today is a good day considering the amount of turmoil that can happen in a matter of days in ones life. Not sure I'm going to talk about it much in a blog format but in some form the feelings have to come out.

So I will be cryptic and those that know me can read between the lines.

Captain Phil Harris's son Jake Harris of The Deadliest Catch was at Sundown last week. I'm not sure that this is common knowledge but I do have an inside informant. Jake Harris only lasted two days, which is too bad. My inside informant seems to be doing okay. He is still there and that is what matters. But in the way addicts do, they start being brutally honest when coming clean.

Sometimes that honesty can be shocking. How do they get to the places they arrive? The only thing I have ever been addicted to is cigarettes and I'm not sure I always understand; the why, the power, the draw of such powerful drugs. Because in my mind; why would you ever take the risk to have to live a life like that.

This week has been tough in so many ways and raw is the word that fits.

I'm confused deeply about my love life.
I have loved many drug addicts.
Money is tight.
The wondering behind why I seem to pick men who do not want to have a relationship is wearing me out.

I'm restless; worried, writing in many places trying to figure it all out and it is stretching my heart in a million directions. Lying and keeping a secret; telling myself it is not my story to tell, to loved ones. All this is combining into one big combustible fire ball keeping the skin so tightly taut that every thought is raw.

Full circle; I have mentioned that before in other blogs. To return to Roslyn has my life coming full circle. Everything I ran from is happening again. The point this time I think is that by running it allowed me to be able to deal with it this time. I spend so much time with Nick and the memories this time invokes have been relentless and I'm dealing with them one by one. Followed by another drug addiction so close to my heart that I have to stand and fight this time, instead of walking away. But it has also opened many wounds, fears and worries. 

I was restless last night and lonely. Nick must have sensed it in some way because he was tired from work and that long weekend of endless baseball games but stopped in to visit and then came back by after I was done working, much later in the evening and still rallied to walk to Marko's with me to play an intense game of ping pong. He is a good friend and I might be falling in love with him and that worries me constantly. Because I want to... but I want it to be mutual.

Love is its own drug. Sneaky, addictive and terrifying.

Sparks

18 Candles

Research and looking for a spark.
A spark of interest taking me further than the last one.

The last one was Friday morning after watching Contraband. I liked that movie. You did not have to worry about who the bad guy was, because they were all bad. It took place in New Orleans and was about smuggling. But that gave me a little spark about bad versus good. Plus the location for gun running had possibilities.

Levels of bad.

Leading to 'write what you know'. I know Seattle and looking for a spark of interest about running guns and prohibition to tie it all together.

I finished my painting. Man did I struggle with this one. The spark has gone out of me for it and I struggled to get the bottom right corner right. Basically just wanted out of that painting. While my friend Ginger and I were smoking on the front porch of the Gallery I was telling her my ideas behind Mil ( Honey) that were filtering through and that I was sorting out. Another painter and writer Gerald came and sat down beside us and mentioned that his wife Charlene had wrote her thesis on prohibition in the Upper County.  She kindly let me borrow it.

Getting and gathering all the feelings behind the story. As always the ideas behind the beginning before I write are fascinating.. ( to me anyway) because of how much they will change and grow when I start to write it. 

Smoke signals

Monday I stepped out on the porch for my 3:00 break; I glanced to the left of my porch out of habit. The first glance did not quite register and then I looked again. A thundercloud. It sunk in I looked again. Wow that is one big thundercloud. But I paused for a moment and cocked my head, thinking...soaking the thoughts. How could we have a thundercloud with no clouds? We have had no clouds for days. A chill crosses the skin of my upper arms and that sinking feeling in your stomach mixed with that feeling I can best describe as your blood gets steamed under your skin making you break out in a sweat.

Eric my neighbor comes out on his porch that sits alongside mine and he glances left out of habit too. Looks over at me, "It that a thundercloud?"
"I was just wondering the same thing" I reply, "It kind of looks like a fire."
"I think it is a fire too. Scary.'
"Yeah."

At six I headed down to the park to watch Nick's baseball game as I walked a float plane made a pass over my head. Heading to the lake. It looks like a float plane but it can fill up with water. I don't know what they call those. But it has started making passes over us to Lake Cle Elum. I reached the park and watched the game and as I walked home I ran into Nate my renter at the shortcut to home. We talked about the fire and he said Tammy and Scott lost their house. Again with the chills up my arms. Later in the evening it was reconfirmed that they had not lost their house and it is the house in the picture above.


Tuesday morning I drove to Cle Elum and you could see the fire as it burned Lookout mountain. I took the back way up the Tanuem and took pictures along the way. After I left much of it burned as the winds gusted and stirred up deep trouble.  The week was long with the following two days hot and hotter, no wind and yet a small breeze that changed direction causing chills for the third time this week to run across my arms. Blowing the smoke up the valley to us. It sets heavy and sultry in the air. We are hoarse and raspy after three days of inhaling heavy smoke. The kids schools and playgrounds are colored with the domes of hundreds of fire fighters tents. 984 as of this Saturday, fireman helping us to get this contained.

Last night in the dark I walked down the street to meet Nick at the 'Y' to head to the Brick for awhile to listen to 'Down North' a friend of Nicks from High School, girlfriend was playing in the band. As I made my way down the hill. Two Fire trucks pulled to the house I walked in front of and some firefighters got out looking exhausted. Startled I said "Hi," and then stopped and said "Thank you, Thank you."

"Your welcome."
 

That is so gay, dude.

Friday morning pretty bright and pretty early a sassy red head showed up on my doorstep for her Aunt Shanie weekend. We painted, we walked, we met people and we had a dinner party.That was Friday. Saturday we walked to the Fischer's and got fresh eggs and went to the park again. With big plans to go fishing in the afternoon.

I invited Nick for our ritual Friday dinner and then also invited my friends Shannon and Mario. With Miss O in residence it would be a full house. I planned my menu: Sirloin burgers with fresh Havarti on Cle Elum Bakery buns, Kielbasa with Morels and Basmati Rice. Fresh salad from the garden and from the vines at the 'pumpkin house' picked raspberries and strawberries to eat with the Almond Gateau Breton.

The night before Nick was over and as we stood in the dark on the front porch. I told him that Mario and Shannon were gay and coming for dinner. He started laughing and telling me a story that had me laughing into the dark summer night. Earlier in the day he had been telling his friends that he had a 'Cleopatra bath' and that they needed to feel his skin it was so smooth and soft.
        They looked at him and said "what are you gay now?"
        He said "does that make me gay?"
        "Yes dude that is gay, especially if you are asking us to feel and smell your skin."
        "I dont think I'm gay. Does it make me gay?" As he says this to me he pushes back from the porch and glances down at his package covered by his pants. "I'm pretty sure I wasn't gay last night." Then with a twinkle in his green eyes, he says "It really worked though my skin is so smooth and soft." Chuckling he glances over at me. "But they told me, It's gay dude."

Laughing hard, "I say, "I can't really believe you are going around admitting to taking a bath like that in this town. I'm kind of hoping you mentioned that I was in the bath with you. Makes it not seem so gay."
 
He had me laughing so hard I had tears in my eyes and I'm not really doing the story justice but since he was late to dinner Friday I told Shannon and Mario the story. They laughed and asked does he not want to meet us? Is that why he is late, Oh no, I said he will be here and when he got there, they really liked him. Guy Shannon can be hard to impress and even said at one point. "He is so not your type and I like him." We drank an outrageously expensive bottle of whiskey that is the best I have ever tasted, laughed and talked in the hot night.

Mario and Shannon also brought me four bottles of Wicked a carbonated Vodka drink from the British Isles. Tastes like a blue raspberry popsickle and it has been years since I have had it. Just as good in the U.S. as in Dublin. Maybe ironic the last time I had it was in Ireland with Shannon and my Irish man (whom he did not like.)

We took Miss O up to Cooper Lake to fish and canoe. She had never fished before and was not fond of canoeing. But that charming smile and kindness of Nicks won her over and she had a blast. We rowed to the end of the lake to where the Cooper River feeds into the lake and it was so shallow and refreshing in the hot summer sun that we had to get out and play on the island.

After fishing we headed back to town and stopped by the lake for the sunset. Miss O and I made a sand castle and then headed home to a movie in bed. The wrong one fell asleep, she woke me to say my phone was ringing.

Negotiation Tactics

Slacking on writing, but not really because I'm in that mode of thinking and planning and forming ideas for a new book. Letting ideas soak. Gathering tidbits of information waiting for the moment is clicks completely. It is coming I can feel it. The other morning I woke up and knew the answer to the layout and flow of the book something I had been dwelling on for a while. I woke up and made a cup of tea and woke Nick up as he was sleeping on the couch covered in a light moss green blanket and told him about it.

This is not a new book it is one I have been thinking about since high school. I find the IRA incredibly intriguing and the women in it even more so. Even more intriguing I'm building a woman who has been raised by a leader of the IRA. She knows how to shoot, kill and make bombs. Another fact even in high school she has been that powerful in my mind... back then I did hours of research about the mental state of a woman and how that type of woman could be capable of killing. How she would be formed in childhood. I don't want her to be a cold blooded killer, a psychopath she has to be capable of loving as well. The woman in the IRA have found this balance. Soldiers.

Even more intriguing is the response from the men in my life with regards to this type of woman. Two responses after putting it out there.. sexy.

A quote I found about women killing in acts of war and then happened to be about the IRA..

"For example, of the women in the provincial Irish Republican Army group that I talked to, not one was coerced; they were enthusiastic about their roles."

Also I'm currently reading Sinn Fein; A hundred turbulent years by Brian Feeney. It is tough read. I have to look up words...
eg: Fissiparous & Internecine

As I sat in my cast iron tub soaking in hot water infused by milk and oil, working out work stress and part of a storyline idea on a cold summer night facing my friend Nick at the other end of the tub; talking to him about a very delicate subject matter, or talking it out with him for the story line I realized I needed to have a delicate discussion with him of my own. To ask if we needed to renegotiate our friendship.

No matter how tough a human thinks they are, they are still susceptible to feelings and caring about somebody. No matter how simple you keep it. Time builds trust, and trust and time build feelings. I'm not sure I ever want to live with this guy. I'm not sure what he wants suddenly. But I like him and care about him and need to know if it is changing at all and if so I have to prepare mentally for it.

So we discussed it later in the bedroom and found a comfortable place for us and what we both need and suddenly I'm free of worries and filled with ideas for life, writing and fun. Practicing: he has me practicing a relationship. I have let him into my life, he has met and knows my boys. Occasionally he spends the night. But he is not the one. But we do have something to teach one another and maybe he is the answer to figuring out the storyline as I practice and conquer my fears of being coldhearted and figure out a character. 

Fissiparous is a tendency to divide into groups or factions and internecine is to be mutually destructive. All things the Irish are guilty of for many different reasons. However two Irish descendents can negotiate a friendly pact of sex and friendship while setting naked in the tub facing each other. Maybe the Irish should have forced the English into the tub with them years ago.

Perhaps if England would have exposed their skin, penises and breasts a little more often... they would not not have had the need to control and conquer the world in such a brutal fashion. Trying to squash out independence, language and customs. The Scottish, Irish on and on....

Although they have softened much in this century. I will give them that. On a closing note; a quote by Danny Morrison, Sinn Fein 1981.

"Who here really believe we can win a war through the ballot box? But will anyone here object if, with a ballot paper in one hand and an Armalite in the other, we take power in Ireland?"

That quote gives me chills. Because she will place that idea in the IRA's head that violence can't always be the answer, but a slow infiltration of politics would be wiser and far reaching.

Guests

Rails to Ales

I have had many guests in the last couple of days and starting to pick up more and more activities as time progresses.  (See above Rails to Ales) Also might need to change my hours back to the other time schedule I used to use....because instead of 11-7, I have been heading to bed at 12, 1 and 2 then sleeping till 8, 9, 10 and it is messing with my schedule.

I let the man back into my life. The tolling bell can occasionally become quite endearing.

I also have been talking to a potential date. Life has become rather busy at the moment and I'm slacking on the writing of my blog. Also the book has been setting in my mind. Resting restlessly... not yet ready to tackle it again. Waiting still; for some editing and deliberating on it all. Trusting myself to know when the time is right.

The storms have finally passed and suddenly, finally we are settling into some serious summer weather.

And no sooner than I say that... and a thunderstorm rolls in over the foothills.

Sturdy stalks

It is strange how sometimes things sneak up on you. Something stalked me the other day and I found it in my lap this morning. I have been dwelling on it deeply. As always; it is a man that has me thinking this hard. Maybe it is the confluence of all of them. The whole full circle thing. Beginning again in Roslyn where it all ended 4 years ago. It was the end of a marriage that led to this single hood and further experience with men again.The men coming in from all the different locations in my life to meet at where the rivers begin to flow. Where I am now as well. 

I have been running them through my head, clear back to high school. Not going to mention numbers because its not about that but more so about influence and why you do the things you do. Each one I went back in time to each one and thought of some moment with them. A moment that sticks out like a movie, where you remember the details. Some are sharper than others.

It comes down to trying to figure out kissing. Why I do and why I don't. That line in the movie 'Pretty Woman' ran through my head the other day the one where she tells him  'I don't kiss on the lips.'

Because it would imply caring or trust and he was after all just a John. But when it came to my mind why I was not spending time making out and avoiding kissing I had to ask myself ...why? Is their a deeper meaning? But it actually comes down to the same theory as Pretty Woman. To build trust first and then kiss. But sometimes it is about attraction too or lack of it.

A bell tolls and brings a death warrant

For whom the bell tolls. I like that word 'tolls' and the meaning that a tolling bell is for death, a funeral and I like this....

John Donne (1572-1631), Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions, Meditation XVII: Nunc Lento Sonitu Dicunt, Morieris:

"Perchance he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill, as that he knows not it tolls for him; and perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me, and see my state, may have caused it to toll for me, and I know not that.

 No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee."

So whom do I speak you may ask? I speak for many things in essence but for one person the bell is tolling. I'm pissed today. Still a remnant from yesterday lingering. There is nothing more offensive to me than some young asswipe that thinks he can tell me how to live my life while he is being a hypocrite.

You have the audacity to come into my house while I'm working and tell me we need to have a talk. Not only do you knock and then enter without asking, you help yourself to my beer and cigarettes. Presumptuous. Rude. And homey don't play that way. 

We are friends that are fucking. Plain and simple. I was lectured on keeping my mouth shut to not say anything about whom I'm fucking. While I put up with stinky feet... the drinking of my beer... constant invitations to watch baseball games...woke in the middle of the night by a continuous drunk...uninvited drop-ins. And conversations that were all about him and bad mouthing somebody I care about.  Like an insidious little worm (Insidious..another great word).

I was not really enjoying myself but he was useful. But no not really. Actually he was more irritating than anything. 

But the final couple of straws..

I had a touch of the flu and then heaped the beer flu on top of it. Yesterday was not pretty. 

He is dropped off by a friend for this little 'a talk' and then when I don't put up with it and he backs down. He grabs another beer and sat his ass down in my office while I'm working, with his cock attitude and wants a blowjob? 

Your head almost became removed... fuck the tolling bell, there will be no funeral.

After the art of fielding

I'm writing again. Could not figure out what was causing the block or lack of desire to work on any writing projects.

Finally figured it out.

I had moved my writing desk out of my office/studio/writing room thinking I did not want work to mix with my creativity. So I moved a writing desk to my bedroom and it was set up so pretty but seemed cluttered. Or the room seemed cluttered with it in it because it is a small bedroom. I just couldn't sit down and write there for long and there was no view. I was always avoiding it and in my office instead.

So yesterday I looked at my office and thought man I miss writing in this room with the view of the street and treeline above the cemetery. The shadows of the blue walls relax me and feel so cool in the summer heat. I Glanced down at the large pile of pine that is my new wood floors and thought that pile of wood is fucking with my creativity.

"Yep," I said out loud to the room "it is definitely fucking with my creativity!" 

Went back down the hall to my bedroom that is painted a happy yellow and glanced at this space at the end of my bed and thought If I moved the wood there to the end of the bed it would be out of the way. Plus I would look at it every time I came in my bedroom and want perhaps to get off my ass and install it.

I started to move all this wood and it is not light or small, down the hall and tucked it in this new space. Now the writing desk was even more cluttered in this small room. So this morning I moved my writing desk back into my office and BOOM like a crack of thunder it was all back. Creativity... desire... and the urge. I thought it might feel cluttered in the office with two desks and my drafting table but each work space has its own purpose for creativity and where my writing desk sits now I have an even better view then I had before and BOOM... like I have already stated the creativity is back and I opened my writing and meandering file and started in on it all again.

I have been having a little affair filled with good fun clean sex. Last night I took some UPT from work to go and watch his baseball game. He is the coach for the Bricks team and after the game we headed to the Brick to enjoy pitchers of beer and baseball chit chat. Then later headed to my house and as we leaned against the porch our arms touching as they rested on the base of the porch. We looked out into the dark night as we smoked and talked some more. I mentioned that I had moved all this wood to my bedroom. He started laughing and shaking his head and said, "why did you do that?"

"Because it was fucking with my creativity."  

He laughed into the night and glanced over at me his green eyes twinkling in the low lights coming from the house. The music of the stereo coming through the copper screen of the summer door. "It was fucking with your creativity?"

"Yep." I replied.

He chuckled again and said "That's actually pretty funny." And said it softly again into the night, "fucking with your creativity," as he shook his head smiling.

But as I write with glee this morning of this epiphany. I have to laugh because it worked. Plus the sex is good. The man can do wonders with his hands, fingers and mouth.

Damn its good to be back to my life.. like I love to live it. The sabbatical lasted 6 days...lmfao...

Rolling Storms

Sunday as I worked and typed in x-chat with a co-worker she mentioned that her lights were flickering and the wind was howling. I stopped to pause for a second...didn't she just live down the hill in Ellensburg?

I typed back 'aren't you in Eburg'?
'Yep', she replies.
'And it's windy with lightning'?
'Yep'.
'Wow I'm just up the hill in Roslyn what's up'...hmmm.

As I logged off the work computer and turned out the light I made my way to my porch. No wind. In the distance though I could see flashing. Rapid flashing. Yep definitely a lightning storm in the works.

I made a promised phone call for a beer date at the bar. He was at home or at the neighbors anyway and asked if we could stay in and have a beer. 'There is a good storm on outside', I replied. So he walked down the hill in the hot summer night and we moved the wooden bench on my porch to face the East and watched long into the night as it surrounded us yet never got really close. The dense heat filled clouds suctioned themselves to the high ridges that surround us and moved across the state to wake my sister later in the night in Burien.

The wind slowly picked up and some rain fell and we moved to the west end of the porch as the storm made it's way over the Pass. Mixing with and cooling the hot air that had sat in the valley. Sapping any moisture at all left in the ground from our incessant spring rain.

The edge of the bittersweet loop.

Longing, desire and assailed by memories. Bittersweet. Yes that word describes my return after three weeks away from Marigold Loop. I slept upstairs above the garage where it all began three years ago. Since then we have lost the shuffling old man and the skittish dog. The return prompted by a family reunion and a house filled with kids not my own.

My sister picked me up from my house in Roslyn. My boys; adults and busy with their lives but popping into hang with Mom when they need her, so I left reluctantly in my mind to have to go back to a place I just left a little while ago. A place filled with hope, yet also of things I cannot have.

I met with my peeps and that was sweet too. The tripod is changing. Life is changing all around us and I decided that maybe it was for the best that I had to face and own up too this, assault on the senses. I'm ready to go home to that sweet mountain air; that I can now face up to in its own way, for its haunting memories mixed with all the new ones.

Vette and I watched Machine Gun Preacher last night. It was violent, sad and heartbreaking but showed a side of the world that we hide from. I have hollered the words 'be nice' a couple of times this weekend to my sister and then at her kids. I like people to be nice and kind to each other. Why do we have to be mean and hate?

Make love not war. That is a good line. I have always been accused of being a hippie and maybe they are right. But what is wrong with being nice and kind? There is definitely nothing wrong with making love and not war. Perhaps if more people were to make themselves happy with the pleasure of sex there would be less war, less useless violence and pent up rage. Even thoughts of sex have the power to melt me into a pliable kind giving person.

Bittersweet. Breaking down that word makes it not quite such a beautiful word...bitter. I never want to be an old women filled with lines of bitterness on my face. I want my lines to be as comma's around the eyes and mouth, showing laughter, happiness and a life filled with good times, great sex and even better moments.

Looking glass

I'm sore. Aching ass sore. There is not one inch of me that is not sore. My fingernails ache from pulling weeds and I have wounds from the weed whackers violent flings of debris. Everyday I add to my list of things to do and get done. The best part about yard work is that it only costs in pain.

I look forward to just going to work to set around. The days are long it is the part of June where every evening at the end of the day gets longer. It is twilight that is endless. Until the solstice.

I always seem to think that Fall is my favorite season. And it is, but sometimes late spring is nice too. The lake is high and the edges are filled with the art of flotsam. I love to go out there and hunt for sticks. I plan to make a trellis from them and then to also make a bean teepee.

 
Rummaging through natures free hand outs. The limbs of trees that have flowed through melting snow. They arrive soft and polished at the lake shore. Makes me almost miss having a dog that loves to chase the perfect stick and at this time of the year there are thousands of perfects sticks.

I have had some good conversations this week, Nate my old renter dropped a saw on his thigh and limped by and stopped to chat. Today I talked to the Mayor of Roslyn. Once upon a time he stole my dog 'C.O.' may she RIP she died last winter. Another dog he stole 'Harley' was with him as he watered my neighbors rhubarb. The yard looks a little better everyday. I'm thinking my ass and arms will be looking well toned by the end of the summer.

Honey dew

#61 graduates

Almost finished with my second week of working from home. Last week I was not so sure I would want to keep my same schedule of 1-10, it meant a lot of time in my house. This week I'm loving it. I have a vast amount of time to work on my 'To Do List.'

This week I have stained my lean to that covers my furnace and garbage can receptacle. I stained the steps and I started on the wood that lines the base of my house. Then I also started building a rock wall. I coated my island and going to start a garden. It's refreshing to come in the house and sit around working for eight hours. By ten I'm beat and taking a soak in the tub then head to bed and up doing it again the next morning.

I love it that I can go hunt for rocks.
I love it that I can walk to go get my mail.
I love the silence.

Number 61 graduated by the skin of his teeth. Both my kids are adults. Life is good.

Well equipped

I have been officially equipped and deployed.
I start working from home tomorrow. Wow!
I wonder how it will change my life? And by this I mean maybe my creative flow?

For the last year couple of years I have been at my parents and writing in different formats, suddenly I find I have my own space again and stuff as well. Will I seize up, dry up or embrace and release. What will happen when my work is in my home? I have been focusing on ways to make myself not lose certain routines and schedules, but to also create different ones for myself.. I don't want work from home to suck the creativity out of my life.

I have started painting again and that gets me out of the house and will continue to get me out of the house; to hang, work and create with fellow artists and they inspire me.
I at one time planned to have my writing desk as my office desk. But this morning thought suddenly no.... I need to move it to my bedroom so that it is separate from my work life. So that writing is still a retreat from the real and painful world.

I plan to walk more. I can walk to get my mail and be in the heart of the City in minutes. I can walk to the bar and have a beer. I can walk just a small bit and be in the heart of the mountains and forest. I have a built in network of friends. It will be good, so good.

Parts

Okay, what could make me part with that beloved painting? Beloved Mickey Blue Eyes. It is not often one of my children are so enamored of a painting that they want it as well. So with much sadness and yet pride that he likes it so much, it is his. He even posted it on Facebook.

My peeps came to visit for the holiday weekend. Much fun. Many bruises.