Sunday, July 26, 2009

Three for the price of One

A note from the mountain.

Rains have energized the afternoons with lightening and thunder. left the air moist and cool for sleeping; I am happy to be home again in Norte America.

No scales to check the progress of my diet, no television to warn me of the terror around the globe, no street lights to drown out the multitude of stars; just the humming of my Aussie bloke as he fixes the lock on the back outhouse door, makes new screens for our bedroom windows, and repairs the hinges on the front door.

I actually cooked our dinner two nights running. I never cook. Pasta plus pesto was delicious; lots of veges, a glass of cabernet for me and a sip of Baileys for the down under fella.

We have a wedding celebration coming up soon – over on wedding rock with about thirty friends – and even that looks like a comfortable assemblage as the Portal Store will cater.

Life is good; just thot I’d share with you all just how good the simple pleasures can be.

Yawns from across the room, time to slip beneath the covers.

Night all!


Just discovered:

I live like a ventriloquist’s dummy in a closed tight suitcase – darkness surrounds my ideas that are mangled by the emotional heat of my fears –

There I lie twisted and tweaked into odd shapes waiting for the OTHER to release me from the confines, to take me out, to put me on and express in his words just how the world really works.



Words - I trust them if only I can locate the correct ones – those that reach inside, deep into the psyche to translate a misunderstanding into a new communion between me and the other, between me and the Australian.

The search can be excruciating because with age comes a loss of immediate access to one’s entire vocabulary – and as well an expansion of the variety inherent in that vocabulary.

Words destroy miserably when uttered unintentionally – without thoughtfulness.

But sometimes, still, words heal - often when intuition and honesty (and memory) prevail.