The Dancing Windsock

Inspirational song: Relax (Frankie Goes to Hollywood)

The man went to see his other woman today. Now, before anyone gets mad, let me explain that I did make the appointment for him to spend an hour and a half with her. We froze his account at the spa when he left last spring, and he definitely needed a trip back to see his favorite masseuse. We had to wait a few days for her schedule to open up, and for him to adjust slightly to being back in his home time zone. As it was, after a session with her, he was barely able to stay awake this evening, having slept the whole way home in the car, and he was sound asleep in bed by eight o'clock. I don't mind so much. He has been working hard for an awful long time, and he needed the break.

I had tried to schedule massages for us both at the same time, but we couldn't get our therapists' schedules to line up. So I had to wait around for my evening session. Not going to lie, to kill time I went shopping. I tore my favorite jeans yesterday, and I took the chance to replace them. But when I got back to the spa, while chatting with the desk crew, a little magic happened. I found that my therapist was there, with nothing going on, and we moved my appointment sooner, and added an extra fifteen minutes to it. That extra time was just enough to work out the deeper knots I have been struggling with, including a huge pop in my middle toe that completely changed my life. The longer the night wears on, the more I wonder whether something in the toe had been dislocated all this time, and he put it back into place. I can put pressure on the ball of my foot for the first time in months, and it doesn't bother me. I found myself wanting to walk around after my session, and I walked down the strip mall, amazed at how balanced and loose I felt. I might as well be standing on the edge of a used car lot, dancing and waving over a jet of air, like the biggest, doofiest windsock of them all. That's all right. When I am this relaxed, I don't mind looking like a doofus.

What's It All About?

Inspirational song: Alfie (Dionne Warwick)

Several people have volunteered the information to me lately that they have been reading this blog. It feels like a little lottery win every time. I have been working so hard to develop the discipline to write every day, and I have mined my soul for a way to express my vignettes in a way that is compelling to read. I suppose if I were a pure artist, I wouldn't need outsiders to validate my creations. But I am a fallible, vulnerable human being instead, and knowing that anyone is interested in my art makes it easier to keep going. I don't have it in me to be selfish, to do all of this just for myself. I was born to share, for good or for bad, and I want more than anything to continue to bring to you all something worth your time.

I've met some new people, and invariably they ask what I do. Answering leads to the inevitable question, What is your blog about? I hate that question. Do I explain where it started, with my hopes and dreams of a garden paradise and endless energy and stamina to maintain it? Do I draw in the fears and dread and emotional upheaval of that time last spring, when the man was preparing to go to work far away, and I was feeling like a hostage in my volunteer obligations and I needed an outlet to organize my thoughts and exorcise my demons, to find my way back to mental health and emotional strength? What about my daily pictures and stories that were thinly veiled love letters to the man who wasn't here to share my day to day experiences anymore? And of course, my anecdotes from deep in my history are ways to preserve my own memories, typing them into a safety deposit box for security against the risks of an aging mind that may lay in my future, and a gift to my children. Or do I just admit my deepest fears, that I have devolved into a crazy cat lady trying to stay relevant only because the internet is made of cats?

Tonight, on the way home from failing to see a movie (Moviefone lied to me, and we were 30 minutes late), the man asked me what my long term plans were. We won't be living here forever, and he wondered whether I intend to get a paying job again anytime soon. I answered truthfully, that I have discovered what I want to be doing forever. I want to write. I would love to find a way to make writing pay, but I want to keep doing this even if I never earn a dime at it. I might hold a grudge against Adsense for a while longer, but I will move on and keep looking for other avenues to make this feel like a real profession. In a perfect world, I would collaborate with my man, making books with his stunning photographs and my words. He told me he wants to roam, to load us all into an RV of his own making, and be wild for upwards of a year. He has an unparalleled way with photos, and I have a long-held conviction that his work should be published. I am honing my craft, preparing for the day when he and I could produce travel books showcasing his eye and my words. I just hope that by the time we are free to roam, print media will still be alive. If not, I have to figure out a way to make a living with all these zeros and ones. Other people do it. I'll eventually stumble on the right method.

And for the record: It's about whatever I want it to be about.

Prix Fixe

Inspirational song: Locomotive Breath (Jethro Tull)

I've bragged about living so close to one of the top tourist destinations in the country before. It is never so wonderful as during restaurant week. This is a great place to live if you are more interested in the quality of what you put in your body over the quantity. The top restaurants in town assemble prix fixe menus, of two, three, or four spectacular courses. Last year, I was part of a quartet of Bonfire friends at Husk, which deserves its recent ranking as the best new restaurant in the entire country. I believe the way I described it, particularly the main course, was like having great group sex in public. Tonight, we went to another restaurant run by the same head chef. It was out of this world. From a complex, powerful cocktail to open my meal, through three perfectly prepared courses, to coffee and sweets to end our night, it was another amazing, memorable meal. 

The restaurant was built as a tavern in the late colonial period. It was a gorgeous, two storey brick structure that played host to George Washington when he toured the country back in 1791, and the upstairs had an elegant assembly room with several homages to the man. I wish I had taken my camera with me up there. I don't know how I'm going to manage it, but I want to find an excuse to rent out that assembly room for an event.

Even the location of this place was picturesque and charming. The entrance was down a tiny cobblestone alley. It felt like its own special world, removed from the rest of the modern life we left when we parked. We might as well have tapped out a spell to access Diagon Alley, for all that it was otherworldly and magical. I'm going to keep an eye on my fireplace. Surely the flue network can get me back to that restaurant. Nothing so mundane as a telephone reservation will do.

Gatherings

Inspirational song: Royals (Lorde)

What a day of extremes. I woke up to a panic, with the man telling me he had let the Pride out for a stroll in the Park, and he was genuinely surprised that the kitten wasn't present and accounted for. In the ensuing desperate hour long search of the house, Park, and neighborhood, I cried out in despair, if she had ever had an experience of running loose in the Park, he would too have known. There would be whole blog posts devoted to it. There would have been a huge color photo spread immortalizing the moment. She had no idea how to comport herself out there, and he let her out and turned his back on her. And on top of that, while I looked for her, that scary man beast made horrible noises, raking leaves off of the cobblestone walk and firing up the lawn mower to suck up leaves from the grass. I was lost without her. The house was painfully quiet. The other cats watched me, wondering why I was crying. I sat on the deck, and said, I have to assume that one of those birds (large birds of prey circling all morning) got her. I stared in silence. And then... I heard a faint voice. Mom? Is it safe yet? The tiniest meow from somewhere. Cars kept driving by, the wind kept rustling the leaves, and I could barely hear the sound. I answered anyway. I told her to come see me. I walked to the edge of the deck, and leaned over and looked. I could see the Minions staring under the deck. Eventually I saw a little black nose poke out. I was so relieved I was just numb. I tried to let her roam a little more, so that she has some idea how to handle this in the future. But what I wanted to do was hold my little queen bee and never let go again.

I had to shake off the panic and get myself in a party mood. Today was the wedding around which we planned the man's vacation. It was way out in the country, at a place that looked like a big red barn-cum-reception hall. It took me a little too long to regain my composure after my Ewok crisis, and I didn't get out of the house until 40 minutes before the ceremony, and it turned out it took 45 to get there. We missed the processional. Everyone was standing, as the event was kicking off, and we snuck in to a back table. The ceremony was in the banquet hall, and in a 2014 wedding, three-quarters of the guests were holding up cell phones, recording and taking pictures. I felt no shame rustling around, getting settled, while everyone else was shifting and moving too. The ceremony was sweet, the bride and groom adorably happy, and there were a dozen or more of my dear friends there to celebrate the glorious event, along with extended family I have enjoyed meeting.

The party has carried over to Bonfire. It's the first one my man has attended in person (not on Skype) since April. If I spend any more time working on the blog, I risk having my phone confiscated. Party on, my friends. I'm coming back now.

Of the Nine Fingers

Inspirational song: I See Fire (Ed Sheeran)

Today is the adjustment day. I didn't mind so much that he woke at three or so this morning. I expected that. But I did mind that our house is set up so that when he went downstairs so that his coughing didn't wake me, he accomplished nothing. It just echoed and kept me up the whole time. Ah, well. I'd rather have a little noise for a little while, to make it seem real that he is finally here for a couple weeks. The silence was boring.

Athena is still glaring daggers at that man who invaded her space. He keeps picking her up, and trying to convince her that he isn't going to do anything mean to her. She's not buying it. She will get used to him eventually. But when he goes away again, I doubt it will help him make his case.

Writing needs to be short and sweet. I don't want to share much more of my time. We went out in public only long enough to start catching up on the big movies we were holding off on seeing together. We had a date with a dragon today, and soon it will be Walter Mitty for my man with the plan.

Reunited

Inspirational song: Faithfully (Journey)

Apparently there were a lot of delays at Dulles International Airport today. The man landed early this morning, and was supposed to have a four to five hour layover before he could catch a connection down here. Fortuitously, the early flight this way was an hour late leaving Washington, so he was able to sweet talk his way onto it. (I told you he was a Jedi.) He was due here at 2:00 this afternoon originally, but he managed to get down here by around 10:30 this morning. Huzzah! His luggage didn't make it on the early flight, though. We drove back to the airport half an hour after his original arrival time, and the plane had not even left Washington yet. They phoned us at nearly 7:00 to say his bag finally made it. If he had not managed to catch the earlier flight, he would have been almost five hours late. My head would have exploded having to wait that much longer, and he would have been miserable being stuck in yet another airport all day.

The man is home! The man is home! We are all celebrating. All of us who knew him previously, that is. The dogs danced with joy when he came home, and the Pride has followed him around the house, trying to catch up on all the daddy loving that they've missed. Athena, however, is not so sure about this... this... MAN. Why is there a MAN in the house? She has hidden under chairs, squirmed when he picked her up, and come up to me to list her grievances in eloquent detail. She had been so friendly and personable with all my guests before, with everyone who came to the house. And then it occurred to me, I have only ever invited women over here. The only men who have ever picked her up were the shelter techs who tossed her in that awful lime dip. I think she's afraid he is going to cover her in toxic sludge and shove her back in a plastic cage. Maybe in a few days, she will trust that all he wants to do is give her a little affection, and maybe a few cat treats.

Now, if you will pardon me, I need to get reacquainted with my man. I get him all to myself for today, and maybe a little of tomorrow. We have engagements this weekend, so I will need to share. But not yet.

Defensive Stand

Inspirational song: Lawyers, Guns, and Money (Warren Zevon)

The stress is making me crazy. Last night demonstrated that in vivid detail. I was at my family's cabin, by myself, waiting for my mother or brother to come. I looked out the window, and saw a man collecting recyclable cans and bottles from the grounds around it, on the road that led past the cabin to where other residences exist only in my imagination. His presence made me nervous. Then he was inside the cabin, telling me that he was going to take things from us, until eventually he and his associates (who started appearing) were going to take the house and the land too. He seemed to give me an ultimatum, that the theft was going to happen tomorrow. So I had time to try to contact people, to beg for numbers on my side to fight them. I scrambled to find people who were answering phones and texts, reaching a few. I remember literally asking my mother for lawyers, guns, and money. I told the assembled miscreants, in the earthiest Anglo-Saxon terms, that I would gladly shoot to kill them if they came to wrestle my land from me. Their leader, who was a thinner, golden-blonde version of Judi Dench, mocked my show of strength. She ridiculed my conviction that ten years ago, the theft and vandalism we suffered was perpetrated by someone I went to school with, when in fact it was them, and I just didn't know it. Things started to be missing from inside the cabin. I noticed that the mantle and hearth had been removed, and there were only scars on the wall visible. My reinforcements started to arrive, and the gang started to retreat.

I woke up, sweltering in my spot under the heat vent, feeling like my liver was filled with lava. I realized that I had woken once or twice but had fallen right back into that nightmare. I got up and walked around a little, and finally the bad dream fell away. I guess the lesson learned is not to have spicy snacks and watch Person of Interest late at night, when I'm already on edge. At least I had no problem getting to an 8:15 appointment on time today.

The man is halfway through his longest flight now, or almost halfway there. Once he lands, we still have another layover before he is home. I am not amused with how poorly this trip was laid out, and he is even less so. I hope he is even vaguely awake by the time he gets here. I imagine he's going to be a mess for the first day or two. Or three. But tired and cranky or not, I'll be glad to have him for as long as I can get him. Soon, my pretties. Soon.