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.

Lovely time snowcation

My sister and her entourage came up Friday night. What a good time. Sledding, walks, skiing, movies and food. Tiny house loved being full. I enjoyed a three day weekend away from work. Life is good.

Year End

The snow is accumulating.
It looks airbrushed where it covers moved snow.
My front slope below my house and above fifth street resembles a paused rolling boil.
Pathways are beginning to look like a maze.
A hedgerow in white.

Two roof lines meet in a dense and dangerous collision.
The thick mass of ice underneath snow, hovers in space.
As the snow creeps in a slow slide the fresh layers on top meet with the melt from the heat of my house.
Stalactite spikes and tails drip.
The spikes curl and point stiff fingers at me as I stare from behind the window.

The snow and ice seem suspended in time.
A sharp contrast to the rush of end of days at year end.
Each day comes quickly to a close and fades into the background.
Beautiful glare.
I wince as I gaze out the window.
Searching, reading, writing to find where the year has gone.

Merry Christmas

With a tail as big as a kite. No North star to be seen tonight. But the moon has made an appearance.

A blanket in solid white rolls and plunges, it rests heavy over yards and on the green boughs of towering pines. A white Christmas in Roslyn. Snoqualmie Pass reopened today after being closed for two days.

13 Seconds

What can be done in thirteen seconds?

Set the timer  on the microwave... What can you get done in thirteen seconds...

Blow your nose.
Wash a pan.
Unwrap and eat a piece of chocolate.

Eight seconds is required to ride a bull and it seems like a lifetime. Rocketed in the air wearing tight blue Lee's, boots and a cowboy hat. The crowd watches in slow motion as a arm held high in the air balances the man as he rolls and thrusts on top of an angry bucking bull.

Last night we paid sixty dollars to watch Conor McGregor get his long awaited title fight. Thirteen seconds it took him to take it from the twelve year reigning champ Jose Aldo. 

He crouched low on all fours on the white floor of the octagon, stretching. His ass clad in tight shorts in green rocked back and forth in front of the audience. The tattoo that runs down his spine rolls and slithers. The fighters quickly move to the center of the ring. No time for the fancy leg acrobats just solid punches. Fast, hard throws. Conor reels from a clip to the head as his left punch lands in that sweet spot. Jose drops to the mat. Tap. Tap. Two more head shots and the match is called.

McGregor is the winner. We sit stunned and speechless on the couch for brief seconds.

Pasta and Bitches

Been a long week. The aftermath of Black Friday and Cyber Monday. I could hardly stand to work today. I wanted to go to the library book sales and craft fair. I took some time off and did those things because I'm tired of angry nagging bitches.

Last one of the day was the worst. Michelle in Detroit hella pissed over some goddamn lipgloss. Thankful that I did not have Charlotte the crazy pregnant woman threatening for days to kill people.
Sometimes I just want to say 'what in the hell is wrong with you' that you think you need to talk to people in that way over a thing. A thing like lip gloss.

Peeps get all up in arms over their kids being picked on, bullied and such. Well listen to yourself for a change on the phone to customer service. People up in arms over shootings, massacres.
Listen to yourself talk to others. Most people are not nice to other people, we want life to be fair and nice but its not. We are all mean to each other its human nature to be cruel, mean and hurtful. I don't care how nice you are. We are all mean.

Yep...In a bad mood, but like I said left early and went to the book sale. I got some great stuff. A book on the Puget Sound, one on baths. (Remember the last blog.. Merlin in the Roman bath with Amelia).. yeah a cool book on the history of baths in hardback for a dollar. For an idea percolating in my head for yet another book.

I got a Nora Roberts that I haven't read set on Orcas Island and another one I wanted to have for my personal library. Picked up a few gifts for Christmas and then felt a bit better to try and finish the day at work. Nick is making Pasta for dinner. Fettuccine. I needed some comfort food. Bitches will be getting worse in the month to come. 

Hadrians Wall

125 AD Chester’s Fort, Britannia

 

It’s quiet when I leave the bed of my husband. I fear to wake him. Yet he sleeps hard and deep. A soldier cutting stone to build a wall, he is exhausted daily.  The most Northern point of the Roman Empire and commanded to build a wall.  His anger is brittle unlike the gray stone he chisels. His rage would be unequaled if he found that I have forsaken him for a Brittunculi.  A cruel slur for the people of the island we conquered.

Near the door I take off my fine gold filigreed betrothal ring and place it in a bowl. It states my name and a plea to God, a small prayer that Amelia may live. I slip on my sandals. The leather is cool and smooth upon my feet as I walk away from our house. The house sits outside Hadrian’s Wall not within. In a village below the gates and fort, it is filled with artisans, a butcher and soldiers.

There is a guard on the wall above me but I slip past him unnoticed in the dark shadows. I walk to the bathhouse. A thing of beauty to make us Romans fill at home and warm after leaving the Mediterranean weather. Inside the high stone ceilings and walls are painted white and embellished with art. In this room painted dolphins with cherubs upon their backs soar above me. Alcoves are built within the walls with windows to look out at the lush green land, saturated with rain.

The moon shines through the skylights illuminating my way. I slip my sandals off and pull my dark blue nightdress over my head. My long hair cascades with the movement and tickles my back as it swings across it. The floors are heated. My unclad feet inhale the floors warmth as I cross the room. I step down into the tub recessed in the floor. The water so warm, embraces me and my toes sting with the heat.

He waits for me in the water. The arms of a Pict heavily tattooed in woad darkened to indigo surround me. His hands brush my hips and my stomach. Ahhhh I moan as he cups my breasts with his dark hands. He is magic my Merlin. His hands and tongue are enchanted.

“Leave with me.” He whispers in my ear and I shiver as his tongue travels down delicately from below the back of my ear to the pulse at the base of my neck.

“Yes. Yes. Yes.” I reply in a desperate whisper.

Through the forest below the towering fifteen foot wall they chase us. Merlin grips my hand tightly as we run. One sandal catches in the soft clay near a sacred Oak. A pull, a hard tug and the leather band between my toes snaps.  I nearly fall with the freedom and the pull of his hand. The shoe must stay behind I have no time. I pull the other off my foot and carry it in my free hand as we race west to outrun the wall.

Need I say more.. its that time again.

Nanowrimo..

Please stand by...

reflections on life and death

The sunrise in the east reflects in the west this morning. Briefly the pink hues show in the gray clouds out my western faced window. I stop writing to admire the one cotton candy pink cloud and take a picture of it. To the east a brilliant sunrise in turgid bright pink.

Death has come to Fifth street and Roslyn this past week. The neighbor behind me vocal for so many years has passed away. Leaving the backyard quiet. Karyn fed the crows, they have moved on to the trees in front of my house. High in the pines they caw. No longer do I hear the scritch scratch of the claws on my metal roof.

Her obituary reads like this.

"Karyn Ware entered into the next realm of her existence on October 3, 2015. Born in Everett on August 26, 1937 she claims a varied and interesting time on this earth. She often stated "I've done everything in this life I've ever wanted to do and more than a few things that I probably shouldn't have done, and I embrace the next phase of my existence."

So full of life like she was. The things that were not said was that she researched the cemeteries and provided the City of Roslyn with a resource of its history. She loved her dog. She loved feeding the crows. She took a photo every single day of my renovation project while I worked so that I had a beautiful essay of the changes.

At her request there will be no services. However in keeping the wonderful words of a friend recently passed, she wished only that her friends do a kindness for someone else as well as for the animal critters who look to us humans for care.

Wildlife

A single black crow caws in the morning sun. He sits high on a wire overlooking the yellow leaves of an apple tree. Rusted pine needles poke from the branches of its tree. Two fawns play on the hillside across the street from my house. Butting heads and dancing precariously above an abandoned foundation. The white fur on their rumps flashes in the lingering fog.

The lone crow is out of sync with nature this week. The deer, skunks and raccoon's have all been paired up wandering fifth street. Paired I say because I watched the raccoon in the street as he kept a watchful eye on me. He used my yard to cut through and he stares hard, watchful and protective while his wife sneaks past and joins him on the street. They kiss and cuddle, wander off. Another evening two skunks cavorted together underneath a truck.

Those pesky bugs of fall get stuck in my hair and I have been swatting flies like a mad woman. Nick made a new compost bin for the garden. All the creatures love the bin. They stir and bury the treasures benefiting us both. We have been cleaning the yard preparing for winter. I'm weary of work and some Indian holiday bringing tons of overtime. I keep saying, "I won't regret the paycheck."

This time of the year is my favorite because I get to wear warm cozy clothes, socks and boots. Hunker down on early long nights with soup, bread and a movie. And football. Yes fall brings football and more wildlife.

Go Hawks!

Slivovitch

Festering fruit permeates the air. The sweet stench of rot wafts through streets and narrow unpaved alleys in my small mountain town. Juicy purple plums not chosen have dropped to the ground. They stick to the bottom of my shoes as I walk up the alley. They are slick too, like my neighbors grandson snot covered upper lip. I catch myself with a jolt as I skid on the skins and my lower back twinges like it was zapped with a minor volt of electricity as my shoe slides across the flesh. The juices ooze and hornets feast.

The local Croatians from the old mining families make Slivovitch. I watch from my porch as another car stops on fifth street. Just past the old Mayor's house. A woman holding a white plastic bag gets out of the car and starts picking plums from the copse of plum trees on the empty lot between the Mayors and Popavich's house. Popavich is outside in his yard behind her in his mustard running shorts, tanned, lean and healthy these days. He pulls weeds instead of smoking crack now.  

I have tasted the plum essence in the dark amber shadows of the Sodylicious. A slow sip out of a glass tumbler as my breasts rest against the wood trim of the counter. I think I liked it, but can't quite place the taste now. The basement bar and restaurant upstairs have been closed and for sale for years. Joseph Ojurovich owner of the bar is now deceased. I wonder if his son Stephen makes the Silvovitch from a secret family recipe.

Secret family recipe. Reminds me of the great scene in Black Mass. James Bulger begs the secret to the steaks from the FBI agent. I cannot do the scene justice by explaining it here. Go see the movie. Johnny Depp is mesmerizing as James "Whitey" Bulger.

Danish Design

The interior paint of my house has always been rich color.
Wheat in the living room, sugar cookie in the hall and my bedroom with butter yellow and crimson. The office and bathroom in blues. Trim is natural wood. I have floor to ceiling wood bookshelves in dark brown.

Last summer I changed the living room color to more of an arctic ice blue. The floor to a deep cranberry. Set against the colors in the rest of the house... I felt like I was in an Easter Egg. You remember the sugar eggs, opened at the end and inside was a frosting created scene. I felt like I was stuck in one of those. The rest of the house badly needs to be painted. The colors I listed above were the original colors from 2005.

"After returning from Denmark I decided, I want a Danish Design color scheme". My sister sits on my couch and glances around my living room. Vibrant in color.

"Are you going to paint the trim?"

Speechless I look at all my natural wood, unpainted trim. In order to go Danish light and airy, I would have to paint all my trim. And doors. Fuck. What a project.

I started two weeks ago, with my bedroom and wow. What a difference. I choose thin ice for the walls and a delicate white for the trim. The thin ice can look gray, lavender or blue in the light. It brings out the accent colors from my bed coverings that were hidden before. I'm also going through clutter.

But as I enter my living room which is in stages of trim conversion. Now I need to paint the floor again and change the curtains. I want to get a new shower curtain in the bathroom, new rugs. This is getting expensive. But man its beautiful to look at and so calming.

Mountbatten Castle

Ben Bulbin is hidden by fairy smoke, it writhes and flows from over the tops of their cauldrons. Mountbatten Castle stares into the dense gray vapors, brooding. The green velvet fields flow behind the castle like a cloak.

I'm working on yet another edit. This morning it's Tears of God and it starts near this Castle. I love this photo and the magic in it.

I slept good when I was sleeping. When I was awake I was kept up by resentful, betrayed thoughts. Betrayed is a good description of what I'm feeling today about my employer Amazon. Five years and our love affair is over. I applied last night at the juicy apple.

A good morning to write about treachery, assassination and revenge. Don't you think?

Immersion

Lazy. I dwell in the comfort of warm sheets and my bedroom. Sleeping, reading and now writing. The lamp next to my bed is my only light. The heavy green curtains are drawn against a dismal August Saturday morning.

Rain. Long in coming has arrived but it is barren. A false sense of moisture. Because it is.

I'm reading 'Olive Kitteridge.' Dark and yet humorous and frightening in the way of it's truth. The truth of life, marriage and old age. What do you do? You live and find the happy humorous moments and try to forget how dark the world really is.

I'm struggling with indecision, restlessness and being true to myself. Really? I'm lazy and can't find desire to make things happen or change. I don't really care either. The best course of action.... stay warm, make a cup of tea and crawl back into bed with a book, laptop and some chocolate.