Loving

You are currently browsing the archive for the Loving category.

Remember me telling you that we bought tickets to Radiohead?

Well, goll-ee, if it didn’t seem like ages ago and impossibly far in the future. But the date arrived, and we drove to Seattle for an overnight adventure to see one of the greatest bands of all time. You can disagree with me if you like, but I shall cover my ears while uttering, “La la la la…”

We’re just north of Boeing Field here, in Georgetown, a cool little enclave that is home to the tasty Calamity Jane’s restaurant, top photo, and across the street from the old stock house building. At said restaurant, you can get a side of Cheetos! Toss my every intention of eating somewhat healthy out the window during lunch because, damn it, I’m gonna have a delicious grilled ham and cheese with a side of these. I’m gonna smile and laugh and enjoy it, too.

Then I’m gonna walk it off, while taking scores of pictures, of course, because that is what I do.

The hat and boot, which is actually part of a pair, though not a matched one, are ginormous!

We’re in Fremont now, enjoying sunny skies before the show. The huge vent was blowing ever so powerfully, and I took it all in, becoming a light pole swallower in the process. I’m sure stranger things have happened.

Man, do I love bridges. This is the Fremont.

My favorite work of art. Wearing aviator glasses. Gulp.

The George Washington/Aurora Bridge that is infamous for other reasons, as well. Call it what you like.

“The TV baby shot me.”

Hello tall buildings!

A very fine view.

At the show, we sat next to another couple our age, the woman and I bonding over the weight of it without uttering the words. We saw it in each other’s eyes.

Afterward, and before my giddiness wore off, we sat on the hotel patio, enjoying the light and the cool evening air. Of course, we discussed everything Radiohead.

Like how the lights and general atmosphere were the best we’d ever seen, but the bass sometimes drowned everything out and made our bones rattle. How Thom and I are the same kind of dancers, and how his voice is just as good live. How tall Ed is. How we loved watching Jonny playing the lemon shaker and the piano with his guitar lying in his lap. He can play anything, even in pain. And how I cried when they played “How to Disappear Completely.” I was just so damn happy to be there, with my best friend in the world, watching and listening.

The next morning we went to the market.

Being a Tuesday, there was hardly anyone about, which was kind of nice.

Maren, we saw your hum-bao guy after we bought our piroshky. A smoked salmon, a beef, and the cardamom-cinnamon twist. Bread-y, dough-y heaven.

On our way home again. This could be an album cover.

“Glasses and Seatbelts.”

Sunshine AND bridges!

A link to more Radiohead goodness. You never know when you’re gonna need a fix, unless you’re me, of course. That would be daily.

Everything in its right place, indeed.

 

 

Tags:

Not Young

 

Sometimes I cannot help but feel the heaviness of impermanence. Like I’m carrying a bowling ball, but if I dare set it down, even for a moment, to rest my arms and soul, that I will lose something precious. Irretrievable. It takes all my courage to go on, to breath it in, let it go, and move forward.

The cats, at seventeen and thirteen, are not young. Paris has cloudy eyes and has now started to limp a little when she walks. Milo’s had an occasional gimp for several years. They are going to die. So are you, me, and everyone we know. One fine day. Just let the cats go before I do, for I fear their ways will not get them far in the company of others. They are ours. We are theirs. We understand each other.

A friend of mine has breast cancer. Such heavy words. Another friend had it last year. My neck has a muscle knotted so damn tightly that sometimes I think will snap at the slightest movement. Signs of transiency and frailty. My body, despite all it can do, is not young. My hair is turning grey. I wear bifocals. My cheeks and knees are sagging. It’s only going to keep going. I hope for a long time. I hope at least until my novel is published, kissed those lips again, looked into those eyes, hugged that beautiful soul, seen the summer blue of the sky. But we never really know, do we? What will our last moment be? Happy, I hope, near to grace and all that is fine.

Embrace the everlasting that vanishes with the tide. Watch Paris sit on my lap like a granny and Milo step lightly, helping me put sheets on the bed. Read this sentence and feel gratitude, for this breath, for rainbows in the evening sky (arriba!), for friends near and far, for love, for this moment that is all we have.

Meow…

 

 

Tags:

Us

Lucky

My friend Maren was in town the week before last, and we spent Valentine’s together. A day worthy of shiny red shoes, eating scrumptious banh-mi with cock sauce, sipping steaming and belly warming beverages, dancing, making cookies, and, of course, talking up a storm. How lucky I am to have her in my life. Lucky we can be of different generations, yet cut from the same cloth:getting jazzed, funky, and silly; laughing at our foibles; sharing secrets and dreams; and loving wholeheartedly, that best of all.

« Older entries § Newer entries »