Sunday, April 25, 2010

Sunday Scribblings: Dinner

The Sunday Scribblings prompt this week is dinner.

I didn't think that a bottle of wine could make this any easier. Maybe two.

"A Cabernet Franc form Bordeaux would be great . And we've already decided. We'll start with an order of Mussels Marinara and then an order of your Chicken Sorentino. The same for the lady." Alex barely gave the waiter an opportunity to glance at me. I hated having to eat chicken when we went out.

The waiter collected our menus. Alex looked up at me, his eyes were still dreamy. "Well." He rubbed his palms together as though he couldn't wait to dive in. "Well. This, this is nice." I couldn't help stuttering; I felt feverish from the heat of romantic attempt.

"Two years together, Dev." He made my nickname so masculine. Why couldn't he add the i to the end and call me goddess?

The waiter delivered our bottle. I was almost too flushed to drink.

We sat together and sipped slowly. A small grove of lights decorated the outdoor patio. A Roman fountain splashed out in the center of the courtyard. It reminded me of the Fountain of Moses, of Rome; a place of such dedication and beauty at once and of tragedy and decay at its end.

I starred across the setting. He carried on about our two years together; our 24 months; our 730 days together, it felt so long to me. I was still amazed by the fact that my silence never bothered him; how the stillness agitated my senses, incredibly. How some people slip so easily into the delusion of love while others hunger for sensibility and a way out.

I sipped and then I gulped. I couldn't believe that he wasn't waiting for the dessert opportunity. His words carried him to a desperate gaze. I held it with him. I knew what was coming. He would present a tiny leathered box with a gem at the front, a magical stone would sit underneath a pillow of velvety cloth. My existence would become eternally sealed, a fate of chicken dinners, annual Thanksgiving football, and his family. I had anticipated that this anniversary would end in vow.

I couldn't hold on to a laugh. He asked what was so funny. My head was dizzy enough to tell him the truth. I had already missed this opportunity a few times. I held on to the heat from the Cab and from my excitement.

As I sat across from his smoky fantasy-filled eyes I waited for my moment of freedom. There was nothing to interrupt us but the sensitive voices of dreamy eyed couples and the serene state of Rome surrounding us. I would cry for him tonight.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Earth. Willow and Wings. and all of Her Wonderful Things

Butterflies, the last of the lovely moss, ginger and cinnamon finger nails, smudged palms, the taste of mist lingering in the air.
Swelling buds, wisteria, honeysuckle.
The Sun gods, Tonatuih; Apollo; Freyr, Sol; Lugh; Horus; Surya; sharing their light equally, their whispers so prevalent through darkness.
Pure and clean, everything in green.
Spring and all of Her living things.

When the neighbors invited Aaron to co-op a garden on their property, he eagerly became bio-dynamic. A bed went up first, but the double-dig earth layer sits to the left of this photo, on our friend's property, waiting for corn, tomato, zucchini, watemelon, and bean seeds. In the meantime, on our side of the fence, Aaron decided to set up a mini garden for me! A place for herbs, fairy dwellings, and zinnia seeds.

He came across a huge boulder. He needed a pick axe to remove it. That wasn't his only problem; he didn't realize that a small man was hiding behind him, waiting to start a bar fight.

I was crushed when I thought that we wouldn't be able to compost here. Aaron made it doable.
Can't wait to start filling it!

Lots more for the boys to do!

The boys are spending their Earth Day evening with seedpods and I think these guys will make it into the ground tonight.

They gave me a gift. The bottom layer of a nest that they've been working on. I'll gladly finish it!

Govinda won the fight with dad and dad won the fight with the boulder. Hooray!

A couple of wonderful books for the occasion.

Cedars and dirt, dust and clay. Let's take care of our marble everyday.
May it be the most blessed Earth Day!

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Sunday Scribblings: Wonder

This week, Sunday Scribblings, is curious about wonderment:
What do you wonder? Have you experienced wonder? Is it a feeling? An emotion? A place? Tell us about wonder.

Wayward and Hallow

A seed that wanders
a weed that withers
will it ever be real for me.

To reach existence
a swim through light
all to taste the blight of day.

Through serenity and womb
to pick Mother's bloom
I must eat through flesh and doom.

Gulping down the bloodless moon; in search of home
the scent that sails about the sun
how many more times around?

For every moment of woe and wonder
with every wakeful eye
a third shall fail and die.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

Sunday Scribblings: Deadline

This week's Sunday Scribblings prompt is deadline.


Blue Oyster Cult
You said you'd be here at a quarter to five
I didn't know if you were dead or alive
How long you think that I can sharpen my knife
I've got better things to do with my life

It's almost the deadline
Don't miss the deadline, darling
When all your bad dreams will come true

Don't miss the deadline
It's almost the deadline, darling
I wouldn't want it to happen to you

Phil screamed at him, and he hung up the phone
I wonder if he ever felt more alone
He never finished his coffee that night
The photo they showed David was a terrible sight

He missed the deadline
He passed the deadline, darling
And I believe that somehow he knew

He crossed the deadline
He passed the deadline, darling
There wasn't a thing anybody could do

Listen my darling, now, don't play with fire
You find a way to balance faith and desire

It's almost the deadline
Don't miss the deadline darling
Consequences are easily misconstrued

Don't miss the deadline
It's almost the deadline, darling
I couldn't live if it happened to you

Sunday, April 4, 2010

Sunday Scribblings: Mentor

This weeks Sunday Scribblings prompt:

Have you had a mentor in your life? Would you like one? For what? Have you been one? How? Everyone could use a little more help in their lives, can you see where you could be a mentor now?

I met a rasta man nine years ago. I spent three hours with him. My husband told me where to find him. He runs a shop in Sacramento. It is open for business twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I found him.

I asked him to turn my natty hair into dreaded hair. Three hours later, he did so. I walked out with my temples slightly throbbing and with a sense of dizziness. My hair was sticking up in all directions; it was such a wild do. I felt like pinhead. I loved it. I thanked and praised him.

He gave me so much more.

Jay didn't say too much to me. I sat, a bit nervous, in his barber chair and felt every strand of separation. He carved small squares into my scalp, pulled and twisted. The aroma was pungent. Slightly sappy, salty, pure. I never asked what he was using. I imagined awapuhi, hemp seed, olive, beeswax. Trees.

I was alone in the shop with him the entire time. He wondered what I had been wondering. I told him travel. There were no babies then. Aaron and I were recently contemplating some sort of flight. A place that we hadn't seen before, maybe it didn't exist, but we held onto an idea for a simple life, villages and islands and a quaint home with lots of land. I told Brother Jay about our anticipation for discovering a passage. A voyage. He said that I had fears. He was right. He told me not to dwell on an exact route; he told me to "go". He never gave me a sense of where, but he spoke of his time in Vietnam, of his property on an island, of his wife, freedom, Africa. He mentioned Fiji. I was beside myself, how did he know?

He said that there was no need to search for a passageway, that I was already on the journey. He told me to keep going. He was working on creating intensely tight locks. I felt dazzled. He never stopped to show me a reflection in a mirror. He worked slowly. He spoke with confidence. With ease. He said that if I kept going I would get there.

He gave me so much more.

I didn't walk away from Brother Jay with a plan. I slipped away from his shop with a lighter head and a shear sense of contentment. Confidence. I whispered to myself, "I'm already there."

Aaron had a visit with Jay the day prior. I never asked my husband what they spoke of.

The following week we were 'let go' at our jobs (we worked for the same company then). They never used the word "fired". They, simply, regarded our hair as "unprofessional". There was no use arguing, so we walked away together. This was our first month in our new apartment together. I was pregnant two months later. We were poor. A bit scared. I thought about Jay. I visited his shop a couple of times, during those days, just to look at beads. He didn't say much to me, he just looked at me. He bore the most telling gaze. And I knew, that the journey had already begun. That we were ready for our flight. That the squares had paved an undeniable path. That we would go.

His wakeful eyes, his thinning hair, his endless locks. His clever sense, witty and sound. The man with the yellow van and the discount prices is a guru.

He helped us to slip from the cracks and allowed us to let go. I wonder if he knew that we would never come back.