Spells

I never put my boots on, not once. The army, smaller in numbers, but just as determined arrived in dribbles in my backyard. Time to build the castle. I smiled a little bigger each time I heard a door slam. And watched as these fellows, working 14 in a row, 6 in a row, lumbered out , yawning, but ready to work yet again. Two had to lean back in, reach far into their backseats, and unbuckle the very thing that made them who they are today. That made them go from boys, hell on wheels, to men….standing in the driveway, building a home for a stranger…..

Their daughters. First borns. And four year olds.

So on this Saturday, instead of digging trenches, dragging scraps, fetching nuts, and bolts, and beer…..I got to play….the girls and I. We went to hippie daycare….And I learned that my daughter ( 20 almost 40) is so silly when she mutters “Ma, you’re not eighteen anymore!” (afraid I’m going to slip, fall, get into trouble) because I know now, I’m forever four…..

We water colored and palm painted and ate potato chips with lettuce. We made up cheers to keep the troops going… “Go~Go, Daddy, Daddy, Sis Boom~Boom, Bah, Yeah……!” Jumping in Mick Jagger circles for the tah-dah! We rolled on top of the exercise ball, making giant blue somersaults in the grass….and of course, thunked a head or two on the down slide!

In the heat of the day (Nap time at hippie day care) they piled onto the hammock, balancing in the middle, toe to toe. And this is what I heard….

“You awe a good witch awen’t you?”
“Cowse she is”
“She’s going to spwinkle magic dust on us and we a goin to fall asweep fowevah”
“And a handsome pwince is gonna wide ovah here on his white howse and wake us up”

And so I did, of course…..

Abbra Kadabared them to sleep, with the wave of a right hand filled with golden glitters, left hand rocking the hammock into slumber land…..

Nap time at hippie daycare lasted exactly four minutes, the spell broken by a handsome dad whiling by on his way to the sawhorses …..
Then four flailing legs and four silly arms scrambling later,
Two little princesses tumbled off the magic carpet and onto the cool green grass….. “Yuah tuwn, yuah tuwn” they pleaded, guiding me onto the hammock.

And they whooed me to sleep with sweaty little handfulls of pink and gold glitter, blobbed on and rubbed in like neon beach sand. “In yuah haya” “pwetty wittle pwincess”….

And then they stood back and watched….

“we haff to wait on the pwince”
“what if she sweeps fowevah?”
“well he’ll come an wake huh up with a wovely kiss”

And they waited.
And I waited.
And finally, in cahoots, they ran and fetched the green baby doll and snuggled her up to my neck and “Hooway, hooway, yoah filled wit love now!”

From the deck,
The handsome prince~dad smiled,
“They forgot to come and get me”…….

Little black spell....

She flew into the driveway, aiming for her spot, wreckless, and not at all caring if someone else might be parked there. It belonged to her, of course. That gravely, patchy grassed, dusty piece of drive way. She irrrrrkkkkked the brakes just shy of slamming down the pink park benches, threw open the crinkled driver’s door and screamed…… “I’m home!” I looked out the kitchen window in time to see her fanny and feet only, the rest of her lunged face first into the back seat, her tiny hands flipping Samsonite and garbage bags blindly out behind her! Thunk! Plunk! “Oh, this is just junk!” Make-up bag hurled over her shoulder. “Mom! I’m home” she screams a little louder, with her “Are we losing this damn game?” cheerleading voice. “I’m right here, baby girl, you just clobbered me with a ghetto blaster”…..

We hugged and
lugged
It all up the drive-way.

Home for the summer.

Giant Tupperware tins with leftovers and graduation gifts line my hallway. “Why do you keep hauling this stuff back and forth?” I asked her with my best garage sale smile on. “It’s sentimental, Mom” “…‘kay” I mutter, the one who taught her memories are priceless.

An hour later, she’s unpacking and rearranging her room. Lining little perfume bottles and mascara samples up on the vanity. Choreographing her private world. Shoving “please don’t tell me this is you” pictures into the frame around the mirror. Yet another summer, I’ll have to ban her grandparents from her room.

An hour and a half later, I stand in the hallway…pacing. Waiting on the ice cream truck. And then she starts. A halter flies out the door and lands at my feet. A pink bra, three socks, a fake diamond ring. Two hot curlers, a pair of size 0 jeans, an Ohio State sweatshirt. A little black dress with the tags on it. Two plastic champagne cups and a bag of aquarium marbles.

“Is that it?” I offer, my toes stretching to lift the pink bra up and drop it in the black garbage bag. “Yeah”
“So you don’t know who this stuff belongs to?” “Nah” “So we don’t need to save it?” “No, Mom, I’ve told you that before. It’s not mine. And I don’t know who it belongs to so I can’t return it”

This is a ritual. The cleansing.

The pitching of the “it accidentally ended up in my room” stuff.

I lift the heavy bag of marbles up and shove them in the hall closet. Skinny just got two new goldfish. Christmas is only seven months away.

I kick the little black dress. Cat hair swirls in a current and latches on for safekeeping . I reach down and pick it up, the tags jingle a little. Size 3.

I hold it up in front of the bathroom mirror. Dust it off. Traipse barefooted into my room and grab a hanger.

I can’t wait for Friday.

No shirt. No shoes. No service needed.

We stopped for Hollywood sunglasses , popped on the highway and flew. The miles unraveled behind us blindly, ribbon dancing to the past.

We left it all. The cats, the dog (Please, Lord, let the neighbors feed the dog!), the bills, the wayward child with a payday wad in his pocket, the refinanced -high financed-home-sweet-home, the dirty dishes, dirty laundry, and dirty little secrets. Left ‘em all.

When the tires crunched on the coquina driveway, salty dust dancing in a lazy tornado around the car, we smiled. Big summery run-away smiles. We listened to the last verse of the song and waited for the sand to settle, a flannel blanket on the car. “This is good. This is so good”. Our doors opened and slammed in tandem.

We parked our little fannies three feet from the unlocked motel room door. The splintery Adirondack chairs were just our size. Like Goldilocks and the three bears, we tried them all on until we found the ones that “fit just right”. Comfy, cozy. The ocean roared and hiccupped salty spittle into the air…GOD, I’M IN LOVE…..

“Whatchoo girls doin’?” the big fellow, crossing the grass and ambling our way, drawled with a slow grin on his face. “Bonding” she whispered over the pink Marguerita. “Well, that’s nice. Real nice” “Whatchoo girls drinkin’? he said with his head tilted and his smile sliding sideways into his double chin. “Sunshine” we chimed. We’re drinking in the sunshine. He laughed with his eyes to the sky and turned on his feet like Fred Astaire…..sauntered back to the Tiki Bar.

“Bartender! We need some room service here! Gotta delivery to make!” “See that blonde hippie chic over there……” And so began the week-end.

Bonding with our new best friends.

The three suburban fifty-something ladies, on a girl’s night out. They giggled and drank foo-foo drinks with little pink umbrellas, stewed meatballs in a crock-pot plugged in through the window, and played hopelessly romantic 70’s songs from a giant boom box. At midnight they were dancing on the sidewalk, in their two-piece (not bikini, thank God, not bikini) swimsuits and cover-ups.

The little league Dads and their tribe of youngin’s. On a Field-Trip of dreams. The kids ran in an endless “You’re gonna crack your head open and knock your teeth out” circle…. around the picnic tables, down the sidewalks, through the bar, into the pool, onto the deck, in your room, my room, their room…laughter trailing behind them like bubbles from a magic wand.

The big fellow and his brother. The chef with his guitar. The absolutely adorable bartender with no hair and tattoos. The brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and the biggest baby I ever saw from Indiana.

The cops. Sauntering by at 2:30 in the morning. “You folks need to go to bed now”….respectfully shining their flashlights at our barefeet and not blinding us with their intrusion. “You got all day tomorrow, Coach".....

The housekeepers, smiling toothlessly and knocking in early morning whisper tones. “Well, if you don’t want no towels or nothing’, do you need ice?” “We gotta get it before the bar opens up again”

We left a good tip.

The tires spun on the too hot, too dry gravel . I adjusted the rear view mirror and gunned into traffic. There was no looking back. Only a lazy tornado spinning in the distance.