Slacker Highlights

Birth to Vashon

In a long weekend I celebrated Saint Patrick's Day, claimed Christmas gifts and had my birthday. Yvette and my Mom picked me up Thursday and we headed over the mountain pass and dropped to the sea.

Endolyne Joe's. Vashon Island. Bakery Nouveau. Noble Barton. And Boehms were the highlights.

I zip the car left, into the ferry lane and board the ferry with no line. As soon as we board and park, the ferry buzzes and the water churns as we leave the dock. Three of us sit in the car quietly for a long moment. Lift our chins and squint our eyes in thought.

Kerry is not with us.

The phone rings simultaneously as we laugh in panicked hilarity. We have boarded the wrong ferry. The early ferry. There is no way out.

I have toyed with the idea of moving to Vashon. But that quickly dissipates as we drive the main road into the quaint town. The desire scatters as I encounter clutter and Roslyn life stuck on an island.

Good to know.

After breakfast at Snapdragon Bakery we race back to the ferry dock to pick up Kerry. We tour the island, lighthouse and beach. The bike in the tree ravaged by time and punks is much shorter than I imagined. The time we have runs out and we must return to the mainland.

Relevant

Prime on Amazon has all six seasons of Sex in the City. I'm watching it again. Amazing how relevant it still is relationship and fashion wise. I suppose relationships are always relevant. But maybe its the reminder of how to not do things wrong/right that I needed. This last weekend I went to visit my Spanish Princess and came home with two new pairs of shoes and a bag of clothes.

I type now wearing a pair of those shoes. They are black strapped with wedge rope heels. A platform of upper safety.

They make me feel sexy. And tall.

Last night writers group potluck night was at my house. My son and my man were both in attendance and surrounded by woman. It was a good night. Memorial weekend approaches and I have a long weekend off. My Spanish Princess is supposed to be coming to visit but may have to cancel due to a lip disaster.

Fingers crossed. And healed.

I have had a good year of long weekends and small local vacations. Bainbridge Island, Vashon Island and now Vancouver. Life is good. I may be a size larger but have never felt better. Writing is elusive and put off, but life is calling to be lived right now.

Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha beckon. And call.

On the spit.

“Today when you took your last breath it was so hard to continue breathing. My heart hurts so bad.” The words of my former sister-in-law haunt me yesterday and again today. She has lost her best friend to cancer this week. Guilt floods me, even though this trip is badly needed for my soul. I’m so close but don’t want to go to comfort her. I want to be with me and my sister and what I need and we need to catch the ten forty ferry to Bainbridge.

The sky and the water are the same shade of gray. The evergreen hills in the distance are coated a Dover Gray and separate the hues so the horizon is not one solid mass. A light rain has settled over the Puget Sound. The drops patter lightly on the painted wood deck in a random splash. The steps are slick with slime. Tufts of lime moss grow in the corners of the doorway. I touch them with my finger and they spring and bounce with life. White clam shells break up the blue and gray stones tucked between wood chunks. Mother Nature has color coordinated winter on the spit.

Yang Ming painted in large white font in the center of a barge floats by. The barge covered in a patchwork of multicolored metal containers makes its way slowly up the inside passage to Tacoma. A sea gull its feathers a dingy gray, floats near the beach, briefly alongside the barge as it passes in the distance.  Violent waves replace the soft ones ten minutes later. Ginger shortbread its rims coated in crystal bake in the oven. The smell of sweet butter wafts through the house around our conversations. 

“Do you think Mom would baptize my kids on the sly?”

“Did the Catholic Church teach you the rhythm method?”

My sister leans over a table on the far side of the living room working on a puzzle Johnna has brought. A totem pole with eight eyes looms behind her and watches over us all. The vast room is defined by three areas, Library, Media and kitchen. The puzzle; It’s missing some pieces, ‘but what does that matter’ Johnna said earlier. ‘In the end it does not really matter’. I suppose it depends on the type of person you are whether it does or doesn’t. It’s the process of putting together the puzzle. My sister does not agree yet slowly succumbs to the addiction and pull of the riddle. Match the color coated fragments and pattern piece by piece. 

Justine has built a fire and it glows quietly as she reads a magazine on the couch. The living room is sunken and the couch covered in denim lines three edges of the floor. Three bongo drums serve as end tables. The bamboo shades are down now to cover the black night. We wait dinner for Annette. Slide in a movie, ‘Begin Again’ with Kiera Knightly’s wide jaw. I find I stare at her jaw and teeth during a movie they are large and mesmerizing. 

Tradition is fondue and with long forks we dunk bread, potatoes, broccoli, into the hot mess of melted Swiss cheese. Wine glasses glisten around the table. Bogle, Chateau St. Michele and Fourteen Hands bottles sit empty of liquid burgundy. We return to an earlier discussion and another husband is added to the list, making it three men that have never asked their wives for a blowjob. My sister and I are stunned; who knew men like that existed. Later as we watch ‘The age of Adaline’ Johnna states that Ellis would not ask for one either. 

We laugh heartily and I turn my head and say. “You know since you have found a man like that and all three of you have proven that they exist I may trust you on this.”Maybe she should pick my next man. Wouldn’t that be grand to never have a man in your life that says “You could start by sucking my dick. How about a blowjob? What about some road head?”

The next dawn is cast in Prussian. I stand on the porch above the sand and have a cigarette and take photos of the blue jean sunrise. There is a hum that echoes between the island and mainland. I cannot tell if it is land traffic or water. Birds flitter in flight over the water. Logs drift by silently, floating coffins.

A day to shop, write, explore, eat, read and unwind lies before me. So many pleasurable choices like these offered on vacation make me flit from one to another yesterday with no focus or achievements. Today it is clear that is the point. Whimsy. 

Crab shells appear in random locations like hidden Easter eggs. The seagulls are guilty. I spy a leg on a private deck, a claw on a shingled roof, a piece rests on a fence post. The unfortunate crustacean is like the puzzle Johnna brought. Missing links.

Bits of conversation fill the room as I write. 

“Their personality is as shaped as much as it going to be. I cannot warp them any further. But I really enjoy them.”“Don’t you think each doctor has a personality associated with his field.”

High Tea designated this because the height of the table is served as brunch. (That is the definition from knowledge of Tea.) The long rectangle table is filled with platters of treats. Apricot scones, tea sandwiches, cakes, cookies and fruit are just some of the food. Dainty gifts are presented. The sun makes an appearance and the beach has tripled in size with the tide out. I want to take seaweed home for my compost bin. 

Early afternoon we rise from the spit into the heavy shrouded island. Evergreens tower over the road. Spring color is showing in the crème bloom of dogwoods and magnolias. Our first stop is the Bay Feed Store. In town, we park behind where we are going to eat ‘The Streamliner.’ We walk along the busy main street and shop. I purchased a timer that caught my eye, some candy for my boys. There is a Turkish rug store. I don’t go in right away but stare at the beautiful lamps hanging from the ceiling at the entrance. I want one. Every year for my birthday I buy myself something just for me by me, to honor myself. Since muck boots did not work out this might. The lamps are curved like voluptuous women and covered in glass and beads. They twinkle as they stir and turn. 

I step inside the door, the stores shadows are filled with stacks of carpets some as high as my shoulders. It smells of dust and fiber. I catch a glimpse of the owner he is very handsome.  The light from the sun on the street catches his eyes as he reaches to my lamp above his head and I hold my breath with surprise. Yowza. I stir to life. Something hidden inside me is found. Captivated I start to pay attention to him. Akin to the sirens call to fisherman. He pulls me in with those eyes yellow golden brown. Further intrigued I glance quickly down at his left hand. A ring of gold rests on that restricted fourth finger. Well damn. But I have learned I’m not dead to desire, yearning and flirting. Time passes in slow motion. My sister is sent to retrieve me from deep within the store and I leave with the carefully wrapped Aladdin’s lamp. Flustered and full of longing and memories of Mr. Charron. Those light eyed Mediterranean men slay me every time.

Nick has called and I laugh wickedly. How does he know and sense these things. But both interludes; the married Turk and the calling roommate fill me with pleasure, power and confidence. Nick calls again as I make a trek to the car to store my lamp.

Dinner, I choose the pappardelle with braised pork, mascarpone, fresh parsley, mozzarella and alderwood smoked sea salt. It was rich and flavor full. I know that does not do it justice. Chunks of pork and medallions of mozzarella swam in a rich cream sauce that coated the long wide noodles. Two bottles of Claret and our appetizer was the sautéed calamari.  We return to the spit and movies. Stuck on you and The 100 year old man who stepped out a window and disappeared. 

Pewter and shades of gray are my vision beyond rain streaked windows this morning. Our weekend is coming to an end. But I have found something that I badly needed; the essence of me that is woman, artistic, creative and sexual. I have laughed and listened. Shared things with woman that made me remember who I was. With the purchase of Aladdin’s lamp and that brief interlude with an attractive man has stirred the juices. The sun makes a brief poke through the clouds and lights a golden path across the pewter to me as I write and stare out the window. It fades briefly and returns again, like a neon sign arrow that flashes it points to me. I think, yes I know I’m paying attention.

White caps appear with rolling waves the horizon disappears. We started this trip with a death and have to end with the same. Molly’s and Roberts son was killed in a car accident and Sarah Hanes mother Blue Bird Betty passed away this long weekend. 

Rest in peace.

What I'm reading in February!

Book Log February 2016

Belle Cora
Phillip Margulies

Told with unflagging wit and verve, Belle Cora brings to life a turbulent era and an untamed America on the cusp of greatness. Its heroine is a woman in conflict with her time, who nevertheless epitomizes it with her fighting spirit, her gift for self-invention, and her determination to chart her own fate. Madame....

The Precious One
Marisa Del Los Santos

Told in alternating voices—Taisy’s strong, unsparing observations and Willow’s naive, heartbreakingly earnest yearnings—The Precious One is an unforgettable novel of family secrets, lost love, and dangerous obsession, a captivating tale with the deep characterization, piercing emotional resonance, and heartfelt insight that are the hallmarks of Marisa de los Santos’s beloved works.

The Road To Little Dribbling; Adventures of an American in Britain.
Bill Bryson

The Flood Girls
Richard Fifield

Welcome to Quinn, Montana, population: 956. A town where nearly all of the volunteer firemen are named Jim, where The Dirty Shame—the only bar in town—refuses to serve mixed drinks (too much work), where the locals hate the newcomers (then again, they hate the locals, too), and where the town softball team has never even come close to having a winning season. Until now.

Two Things.

1. My writers group The Writers Itch meets Mondays at 1:00 PM at Basecamp in Roslyn.

2. We had an assignment for short story science fiction. Mine is titled Lixo Bhaint Incorporated and was well received by my peers. I posted it.. below. While I don't really want to write a novel around it, I do want to write short stories about Couric Petar.

Gross Embarkation

Dust settles. Dust is gross. I began anew my cleanse of house, stuff and clutter. Ridding my life of things I have to much of. Also redecorating with the extra funds from the holidays and peak at Amazon.

I outfitted my living room with new curtains and rods. I have plans to paint the floor and get a new carpet. Redecorating the guest room when the roommate moves out and takes his accumulative stuff and the things I'm giving him. I plan to repaint that room to match the others. A light gray perhaps. I bought a new curtain and rod for that room last night. It has a pile of new linens and a beautiful quilt my Mother made and gave me for Christmas. Waiting to be installed. Took it for a test run last weekend when my sister was here. However roommate does not get to use it on the account of being dirty and its white.

Derek and I took the Saub to Ellensburg and hit Fred Meyer for the rest of the curtains. I also got a new carpet to wood floor trim piece. The last one I removed because Gabby sliced her foot on it. After shopping we went to see 'The Revenant.' Beautiful winter scenery and loads of violence. Filmed in Canada, Montana and Argentina. It was good, but we don't know that we would want to watch it again. It was gross. And damn people were filthy in it. Just plain dirty. The kind of dirty when they washed or fell in the water they were still dirty. I know it was a movie. But you know they lived like that. Dude hollowed out a horse of its guts and climbed in it naked for the heat, in a storm and didn't bathe after. Clothes were still dirty from a bear attack and he rotted and bled in them.... That kind of dirty.

Relieved for yet another movie, that smell is not included.

Side note for my animal lovers friends: (Horse had just perished due to being run off a cliff.)

Bet Leo gets an Oscar for it though.

Slowly the new look in my house is taking over....remember (Danish Design) and the painting of wall and trim). I think I can also breathe better mentally and physically. I still need things. But in order to get new things I'm letting go of the old things. Not that I have much of a problem getting rid of things but its time to get rid of things.

I read an article about dust somewhere. It was gross. Dust mites can ruin your sleep. I vow to be better at dusting. I like a clean, organized line. What happened? Stuff happens. I have a pile of donations that I will donate today. Today I plan to round up all those bags you collect. Purses, bags stashed under the bed. I'm going to whittle them down to what I need. Just like Leo only needing the one set of clothes that he wore the entire movie.