Saturday, November 08, 2003
Of all the things I could have said last night, I said, "How refreshing. To find someone on a different clock." From her perspective I guess, the same could have been said of me.
We met by chance at ten. Two strangers bathing beneath a floodlight of near full moon. No wind. Which is why around us we could hear the local high school football game from two miles away. Boom, boom, boom, boom, bu-bu-bu-bu ba-Boom. The alto cheers swirled around us as well. "It's so light out," said the pretty woman about my age. "I thought it would be a good time." With a shovel that came up to her shoulder, she was digging out the last of the shriveled summer flowers from a town-owned traffic island meant to slow cars down before they merge onto the causeway crossing the harbor. "Yes," I said. There were many questions I wanted to ask her but my dog pulled and we were gone. To the moonlit soaked beach. Not a soul on it. As usual.
The acoustics played tricks and sometimes it sounded as if the cheerleaders were cheering from somewhere out on the silvery glass surface of the ocean. And then the ocean became a vast kettle drum beating the local team to victory. The drum is my favorite instrument for its ability to reach down inside and yank me inside-out of inhibition every time. A couple of glasses of wine with friends beforehand helps too of course. I glanced around to make absolutely sure I was alone and then began to dance as I walked on the rocks. The crunch of my footsteps added rhythmic accompaniment as my dog chased the flat waves rolling up on shore to tease her. Boom, boom, boom, boom, bu-bu-bu-bu BA-BOOM.
My weekend sleep is deep and good and this morning I rise slowly to consciousness to find myself in a limb-jutting helter-skelter Picasso pose. I am met by a mass of tousled blond curls in the hallway underneath which is a face both pillow-creased and puffy. The remnant of daughter's black eye nods good morning. That image is a hell of a lot better than my forty-something reflection in the bathroom mirror. The morning puffiness on daughter gives her a little girl look. On me it only accentuates the two vertical lines (which out of nowhere have suddenly appeared between my brows), and the crinkles around my eyes. It will take a few cups of coffee and the application of Estee Lauder light-reflecting-anti-oxidant-wrinkle-reducing-cream to bring my face back to a smoother visage. My short hair sticks up in gravity-defying geometric shapes which sometimes make me look punky and other times just make me look like a dork -- particularly if all of the geometric shapes are favoring just one side of my head.
The internet is painfully slow this morning and the computer moody. Which was to be expected with hubby a.k.a. IT Boy gone for two weeks. He now stays in a beautiful apartment in London when called to work across the pond. I have not seen it yet. Had I had half a brain I would have bought a $150 Expedia ticket this weekend and hopped on a plane for a visit. I forgot, namely, that Tuesday is Veteran's Day -- which makes Monday a perfect day to call in sick because of it. Instead I am looking out my office window at home to the naked dogwood tree in the garden. The biggest crow I have ever seen is tightrope walking along the uppermost branches in his efforts to get the last few berries the squirrels have missed. The thin elastic branches are bending under his weight and I wonder if he is having fun bouncing up and down.
I would like to stay home all day and read but there is water in the trunk of the daughter's car again. I suspect the rear window is the culprit. Daughter isn't too happy that her morning will be spent waiting at an auto glass place (as if that's where I want to spend my Saturday morning... ). She wants all of the perks that adulthood brings but is still dragging her feet on the responsibility those perks bring with it. It is a good morning though because she sees the master in action. I put on my auburn brown suede jacket that matches the color of my eyes, unfurl my silken and now caffeinated tongue, and we are off. "Hello Mr. X. I don't know if you remember me -- I was in about two years ago when our rear window got smashed. We've been noticing a lot of water in the trunk and.... [the story is masterfully and patiently woven: using just the right tension, I warp the colored threads into the finished tapestry]....." I look over once to daughter. "See what you can do?"
An hour later the car is fixed. No charge. As I watch the daughter get into the car, a gust of wind rustles her sunlit curls. It occurs to me that the owner and the mechanics may have just been so enchanted by the tousled golden princess who stood next to me in the shop that they forgot to charge us....
We met by chance at ten. Two strangers bathing beneath a floodlight of near full moon. No wind. Which is why around us we could hear the local high school football game from two miles away. Boom, boom, boom, boom, bu-bu-bu-bu ba-Boom. The alto cheers swirled around us as well. "It's so light out," said the pretty woman about my age. "I thought it would be a good time." With a shovel that came up to her shoulder, she was digging out the last of the shriveled summer flowers from a town-owned traffic island meant to slow cars down before they merge onto the causeway crossing the harbor. "Yes," I said. There were many questions I wanted to ask her but my dog pulled and we were gone. To the moonlit soaked beach. Not a soul on it. As usual.
The acoustics played tricks and sometimes it sounded as if the cheerleaders were cheering from somewhere out on the silvery glass surface of the ocean. And then the ocean became a vast kettle drum beating the local team to victory. The drum is my favorite instrument for its ability to reach down inside and yank me inside-out of inhibition every time. A couple of glasses of wine with friends beforehand helps too of course. I glanced around to make absolutely sure I was alone and then began to dance as I walked on the rocks. The crunch of my footsteps added rhythmic accompaniment as my dog chased the flat waves rolling up on shore to tease her. Boom, boom, boom, boom, bu-bu-bu-bu BA-BOOM.
My weekend sleep is deep and good and this morning I rise slowly to consciousness to find myself in a limb-jutting helter-skelter Picasso pose. I am met by a mass of tousled blond curls in the hallway underneath which is a face both pillow-creased and puffy. The remnant of daughter's black eye nods good morning. That image is a hell of a lot better than my forty-something reflection in the bathroom mirror. The morning puffiness on daughter gives her a little girl look. On me it only accentuates the two vertical lines (which out of nowhere have suddenly appeared between my brows), and the crinkles around my eyes. It will take a few cups of coffee and the application of Estee Lauder light-reflecting-anti-oxidant-wrinkle-reducing-cream to bring my face back to a smoother visage. My short hair sticks up in gravity-defying geometric shapes which sometimes make me look punky and other times just make me look like a dork -- particularly if all of the geometric shapes are favoring just one side of my head.
The internet is painfully slow this morning and the computer moody. Which was to be expected with hubby a.k.a. IT Boy gone for two weeks. He now stays in a beautiful apartment in London when called to work across the pond. I have not seen it yet. Had I had half a brain I would have bought a $150 Expedia ticket this weekend and hopped on a plane for a visit. I forgot, namely, that Tuesday is Veteran's Day -- which makes Monday a perfect day to call in sick because of it. Instead I am looking out my office window at home to the naked dogwood tree in the garden. The biggest crow I have ever seen is tightrope walking along the uppermost branches in his efforts to get the last few berries the squirrels have missed. The thin elastic branches are bending under his weight and I wonder if he is having fun bouncing up and down.
I would like to stay home all day and read but there is water in the trunk of the daughter's car again. I suspect the rear window is the culprit. Daughter isn't too happy that her morning will be spent waiting at an auto glass place (as if that's where I want to spend my Saturday morning... ). She wants all of the perks that adulthood brings but is still dragging her feet on the responsibility those perks bring with it. It is a good morning though because she sees the master in action. I put on my auburn brown suede jacket that matches the color of my eyes, unfurl my silken and now caffeinated tongue, and we are off. "Hello Mr. X. I don't know if you remember me -- I was in about two years ago when our rear window got smashed. We've been noticing a lot of water in the trunk and.... [the story is masterfully and patiently woven: using just the right tension, I warp the colored threads into the finished tapestry]....." I look over once to daughter. "See what you can do?"
An hour later the car is fixed. No charge. As I watch the daughter get into the car, a gust of wind rustles her sunlit curls. It occurs to me that the owner and the mechanics may have just been so enchanted by the tousled golden princess who stood next to me in the shop that they forgot to charge us....
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