A crappy flight with no working lavatory. A birthday party in suburban Jersey with several rambunctious children. A late cab after three hours of sleep. An empty flight with no screaming children. Driving two hours in the pouring rain with one slightly grouchy baby. No one to greet us...again.
And then we found the liquor store. And Captain's Tattoo Black. And the angels burst into chorus.
Ahhhh, yes...this was the beginning of the beginning. Wine, women and song for three glorious days in the Maine woods. The first rainy night brought frozen pizza, chips and salsa, a rousing game of Trivial Pursuit (Genus 3) and screams of "Cheater, cheater, peter eater!" (That would be Alessandra.) We went through all the wine and liquor in the first night...not the first time, not the last. But bliss...we were together again.
Next day cleared right on up for us...many thanks to those drunk meteorologists who predicted rain for the entire trip. We were pleasantly surprised to see they were wrong. The sun convinced us to venture out into the city...Walterboro this time for more wine, a jaunt up Main Street and some of the BEST f***ing guacamole on the planet. Linda insisted we get three tubs....Al and I rolled our eyes at each other and swore we'd never eat that much. But the bread was heavenly and F*** me if we didn't eat one entire tub in the PARKING LOT. Lesson learned...Linda knows her guac. A stop at the liquor store on the way home for me (raspberry vodka this time, Linda is sharing) and we were set for the evening.
Beauty greeted us in the form of an early-rising full moon just over the lake...absolutely stunning. While Al was down with GJ for a bit, Linda and I took a (very short) canoe ride under the most beautiful sky I'd seen in a while. We drifted for a while but went back as Al was catching her second wind...and her desperate need for the perfect fire...which she was immediatly distracted from by the beautiful baby girl. When I went out to poke the fire and add newspaper, Linda took credit for the fire's health by insisting it was the dry wood pieces from the garage she found that made it roar. Whatever! Thunder stealer.
Apparently there were conversations had that I do not remember, and shamefully were reminded of later the next day...yikes. Why is it always me? Oh yeah....I drink liquor...straight from the bottle. Sometimes. You know, not always. Anyhoo...
Next day...another gorgeous day...Alessandra (the least of the night's drunkards) cooks up an unparallelled breakfast feast to calm our bilious stomachs. Linda and Al head out for Rockland for some shopping. I remain, quite contentedly and quietly for a bit, sitting by the water with my thoughts. There can be no more perfect moment. I cherish the time in the place of my cosmic sisters and wish them to hurry home...and when they do we all take a nice power walk at the perfect dusky evening moment...past the singing dogs that fill up the lake cavern with their music, music, music later in the evening. After the PERFECT burritos (courtesy of Linda and her iron skillet) we retire to the floating dock under yet another perfect moonlit sky...and add to the music of the singing dogs with our rousing (non-)campfire renditions of whatever songs pop into our heads. My old friend the Southern Cross appears in the sky and I am thankful to see it and share it with my girls. Many hours later (or so it seems) the chill is too much and inside we go to a few rounds of some timed charades game (I forget the name) with our beer and wine until the wee hours.
The discussions...the dreams...the plans...the respect...the understanding...the acceptance. I have no more words...I don't need them...they know.
Three hours of sleep. Linda, my gregarious cosmic sister, sleeps through seeing us off (though I hug her and tell her I love her anyway). Two hours of driving with a not-at-all grouchy baby. A barely-made-it there gush through airport security. A packed plane with some lame explanation. A two-hour layover in Newark, in which I watch my radiant cosmic sister and her mini-me walk away (though I hug her and tell her I love her anyway).
And then there was one. On a packed plane with a screaming baby. With a smile (well, smirk anyway) on my face and a song in my heart. And a desperate need for September to come again.
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6 comments:
Ahhh, thank you Marty! I promise to put on my rendition soon. You have a way with words. However, I must correct a few...
It was PESTO (spinach no less, Borealis Breads Baby), not guacamole, do you know me not at all?????
And the canoe ride, although we were following the rule of never wake a sleeping baby in leaving Al, was NOT short. We finished a giant commuter mug of vodka and sp. water, chased down two ducks, took several turns marvelling over the moonlit beauty of the other, and pretty much diagnosed our lives during it.
You probably don't remember it because you are EVIL!!! It really was only the lack of a permanent marker that kept me from writing that on your forehead the next morning. Marty before liquor? Never sicker!
P.S. if you are reading this Sterling, no response to texts and calls of three drunk women who love you for two nights? And your excuse was that you were in a hotel????
Are you sure you're not married?
Um...I do in fact remember our canoe ride...now that you've reminded me!!! I remember the marvelling over the moonlit beauty of the other and it really did last for longer than I made it sound...the ducks!!! I remember you looking out going..."Shit...what the f is that in the water???"
"Turtle...?"" I think was my reply. Until they swam up to us, that is...
I am not evil...I am inspiring. And that's my final word. And Sterling...if you are reading this...no amount of email grovelling on your part will do the trick this time...you were errant beyond belief...and I think a trip on your part is in order. No need to thank me.
I'm going to go with evil. Except when you're not. Then, you're rather kissable.
Marty's neurons are crispy.
Kissably Evil?
Crisply Kissably Evil.
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