Swimmin' up hill.....

I fall in face first. Imagine the blue Kool~aid waves crashing on the blow up shoreline. Slip into my mermaid skin and day dream. Five more days. My hair billows out on the surface, a thousand golden sea snakes swimming in a halo.... I open my eyes wide, wider, and wait. My contacts float off, tiny cavier eggs finally free. I smile for them. Five more days. And then no more counting....

I float in a circle, upside down and backwards, the current finally catching up to me, and then turn around and plow into it! This is how it feels when you take off from the seawall running, running, running and the ocean finally laps you up, whisks you away, slathering you with kisses. I can't wait. To be free......



To sit perched on the edge of the earth, a sandpiper, digging to China....
To dance under the mist machine and the neon light of the moon, 17 again, but wiser....
To hear the sea monsters rumbling, grumbling, tumbling in the night and watch them wallow backwards, foamy tails between their legs, when the Sun comes out ....
To slurp beer can oysters
and spurt salt water to the sky....
To build Peace Castles and scribble sand graffiti with my toes....
To sing in the choir, the next rock~n~roll band, the outside shower....
To paint henna tattoos on the legs of strangers
and the backs of friends....
To play driftwood, floating until I wash up on the shore...
To feel the love.....

I climb up the rickety plastic ladder and laugh. Peace is comin'..... Five more days, baby!

These boots were made for.....Peace

I'm just a hippie. I wear flipflops and combat boots. Converse sneakers without laces. I go barefoot. But I broke my foot. And whether that's a haunting or the butterfly effect, I'll never know. But I know this. Every now and then I fall. Just call me Grace.

So I have a secret weapon. Little stilts that hold me up. Prop me up like the plastic ballerina in the mahogany stained box. A brace. But by damned, I'm gonna hide it. So on Friday when the band went Country, I hauled my hippie buns to the Country and Western Store and fetched home a pair of cowboy boots. I can't wear combat boots every Friday night. And Skinny smiled.

"Scratch 'em on the concrete" she said, not wanting me to slide. "You can wear 'em with anything" she said, knowing that I would. And I did. We danced til dawn and I woke up to them abandoned on the porch. Toes scuffed, and heels already lazy. They did me good.

"We're just goin' for burgers and a beer" he said and I climbed right in. Saturdays are like that. I didn't wear my armor.... And never saw her coming....

She snuggled right in behind me, beside me, a Marilyn Monroe wanna~be, plopped up on the picnic table to my right. I turned. "Who in the hell is snugglin' up to my show?" And there she was. Bullet Bra. Smiling... A toothy sort of "I'm gonna getcha" grin....and then she wriggled with glee. The only woman whose ever threatened to whoop my fanny.

I almost shook.

Payback is hell....

And I've been there

so

I smiled back. Stretched my fingers. Made a fist. And before she ever saw it coming,

I bopped her good.

Two fingers to the sky.

"Peace"

"You shoulda worn your cowboy boots" Skinny whispered in my ear....

Butterflies and Hurricanes......

I twisted and twirled the same strand of blonde hair over and over again, weaving a pretend dreadlok back and forth between my fingers. My eyes were sun heavy, and each time I blinked, I did it slowly and savored the moment, my lashes like lazy palmetto fronds fanning me into summer sleep. I was bored with the conversation.

.

She babbled endlessly. A thousand words strung together like a macaroni necklace.... And she fidgeted. To the right, the left, under the table, across the table....A chihuahua frantic for table scraps....

.

She was making her move. Chasing Prince Charming. I blew smoke rings and watched them hover, transluscent doughnuts disappearing when they framed her face. She didn't notice. She didn't see his blue eyes flit from the right to the left and then settle on the pile of paperplates and pastic silverware stacked in front of him. She didn't see the sun falling into the river or the shadows from the giant Cypress trees turning into Gargoyles on the water. She was too busy bustin' her moves.....

.

The band came on and for just a moment, I thought she was going to leap onto the tabletop, Tom Cruise in high heels..... but she just yanked him, snatched him off his feet and swirled him out onto the floor. I took one last swig of cold beer and watched. Skinny arms flailing, legs up and down, spinning, and still.....she babbled on and on and on......"Me" language, her native tongue...

.

Silly girl.......

You lost him at hello....

The Kiss.....

I tiptoed over the hot coquina, his deck shoes with the laces hanging, one step before me. He climbed in and the little electric motor hummed, the roof folding like a sunset behind him. And he smiled. This wasn't the first time and it damned sure wasn't the last time. We had thousands of highway miles between us. I leaned over, fell into the Mustang, and kissed him hard. Stood on the mirrored parking lot and shot peace signs at the rear view mirror while he gunned it, periwinkle confetti flying....

And we laughed....

The last kiss. And we didn't even know it.

Happy anniversary, baby........

"Happy, Happy Week-end" said the Hippie to the sky...

"Hey, I've got an idea! Let's pretend we're at the beach......."

And so we did. Twenty four hours of "feel the love, save the seawall"....All in make~believe.

The little round river grew and grew and grew until it was bottomless and the waves tumbled madly, splashing us, dunking us, pulling us out to sea.....

Blue dolphins circled, an up and down parade of laughter, and we joined them, riding without saddles until we were dizzy, and I was the first one off, falling face first to kiss the ocean. Eyes wide open, the water was champagne, bubbly and delicious and I was tipsy by the time I came up for air, mermaid tail swishing......this way, that way, this way to Treasure Island....

To the Tiki Bar....

To the Sunset.....

To a week at the beach....

At midnight we played SeaCinderella, barefooted and silly....swirling and twirling, paisley shadows under the moon.....

The handsome Prince with the beer moustache laughing, drinking from glass slippers....thirsty for more....

It's Sunday now. And it's quiet. All that's left behind is a blue vinyl pool and sun on my nose....

The long hot hippie summer.....

Plunk! It's almost daybreak and I toss the disco light into the lazy round river. The colors "pink on one", "green on three", "blue on two" play imaginary twister on the vinyl bottom. I'm sure the neighbors won't mind if I crank a little Rollin' Stones to greet the day.
.

It's pool party week-end..... Three Saturdays and three Sundays left before we run away to the beach. Three week-ends to fill with countdowns and count~me~in's and "don't count the beers". I reach over and nudge the yellow duck over the river's edge. Free, she floats away immediately, happy to be at home again....Tomorrow she'll be the gala host of the party.....toting watermelon slices and Michelobs.... Today, she'll just float.... a vinyl mermaid
basking in the sun....
.

It's summertime again.... towels are draped over the deck, damp from the evening dew, lazy and stretched, waiting to be kissed dry by the Friday sun. Georgia runs in crazy round-de-rounds, circle eights around the pool and the Make believe Ming Tree. I clink my coffee cup and smile....
.

Fridays are for dancin'.....
.

And summer's are for love.....

When Pixies Party.....

Sometimes, Sunday's are perfect. The sun rises and smiles, hovers low in the sky, a wild helium balloon in swirls of pink and red....The oak trees dance, dripping in silver jewels, whistling in the wind. Yup, sometimes Sunday's are perfect.

This one was.....

And so we danced at the river.....

Ballet, Bellies, and Disco in the Kitchen. We belted out Ray, crooned to Janis, and swooned to Johnny Cash. We clinked! Tinked! and tattle~telled! We traipsed barefoot through the crunchy, "Oh My god, is that poisen ivey?" underbrush and went exploring. We barbequed ribs and ribs and ribs and ribs, and feasted on tons of southern love.

We cinched the circle in a little tighter....

Feel the love.....

Happy "It's not my Birthday" birthday Kimbies, Don, and Dale!

The Butterfly Bar....

I'm the welcome wagon. The Go~Go girl. The cheerleader. I laugh, sway, twirl, spin...and never miss a beat. A face. A voice. Oh, I might trip sometimes, go splat on the floor, but I never miss a beat.....

And so I noticed them right away. Seven and a half weeks ago. Elbows on the bar. Boy's night out. And I watched them. They leaned in and tipped Roxanne. She smiled. And that's a good sign. From my side of the bar I knew they weren't being obnoctious, weren't spilling silly pick~me~up lines at the beautiful soul filling shot glasses and popping corks. Miss Macey settled down next to them, stirred her steaming coffee cup, luring the good stuff up from the bottom. She gave them her "One eyebrow up, one down" cursory "I'm watchin' everything you do, boys" glance. And she watched them well. Listened. Smiled. Smiled with them. And then I knew it was O.K. to make my move.

O.K. to walk over and meet my two new best friends.

They laughed at my peddler's bag of bottle caps and bought the next round. We've been no~touch dancing ever since. We've been to the ocean and the river and barbequed at 2:00 in the morning. We spent Saturday night at Kimbies, clanging cymbals, canastas and spoons. We've serenaded the sky, raspy voices and guitar strings wooing the stars....We've traded secrets, and dime store dreams, and happy ever afters. We've played follow the leader, catch me if you can, and "let's dance like Joe Cocker".....

And now we're an army. Of angels.

"Let's hear it for the boys......."

And the butterfly effect......

When I was wild....

I sprained my wrist once. Bad. Bent it every which way but backwards. Running. Laughing. Racing down railroad tracks giggling. It hurt. But, it was just as funny in the morning.

I tripped, almost splat, skipping over the river rocks in a disco dress at sunset, racing to meet him in the driveway. Surprise him. And he laughed. Because he knew I was gawky. Clumsy. Accident prone. And he thought it was sexy as hell. Silly love.

I've been careful lately. Watching where I walk. Wearing Converse sneakers without laces. Sitting like a lady. Playing fair. Floating.

Now I'm ready to dance again.....

Image courtesy of the www, Tweeten Fibre Co

All nighters

One phone call and Kimbies and I were camped out on the curb flagging the Barbie Doll car into the finish line. Snap! Snap! The papparazi at work! The first sound she made was a groan, a deep gutteral, "how on earth did these people end up to be my family?" groan.....

Eleven hours later, he's here.....Baby Boy Landon. Fair haired and perfect. I touch his cheeks and melt. Scroll my fingers through his irredescent hair....pink, yellow, orange, white....the color of the sunrise yawning....and fall in love all over again.

Blue Vinyl Sea.....

It was $218.00 three summers ago. Chey and I lugged it, rolled it over end to end, pushed it, shoved it. We lifted it onto the truckbed by the grace of strangers and once back at the little pink house, we started the ritual in reverse....lug, roll, push, shove. The vinyl dream was home.

As we grow old, we recant our childhoods in memories....time stamped by little houses and crooked sidewalks, by schools and the color of bicycles. In my new life, the rubber date stamp is a blow~up pool.... The first to arrive was just eight feet wide and a foot and a half deep. My grandbabies and I spent 7 days and 7 nights camped on the deck, rolling in the mammoth make believe waves.....dripping grape popsicles down our chins....and sun~ining our hair. We made boats from bars of Ivory soap and bathed in the pool, shampooed in the pool, and then ran in circles splashing.....kicking up foamy waves. They learned to hold their breath and let go of their noses. To float belly up without their bottoms sinking. Stone went home a week later, a "surfer dude" and Kyle, a bikini clad blonde bombshell. They had snorkel mask tans and swimmer's ear. We had the summer of love......



I finished off the last of the lazy months plopped up on the blow up ring, water dancing belly button high, reading favorite books with crumpled pages, dreaming......



And the next summer, Chey and I hauled home the Mother of all blow~up pools.



The lazy river.
The blue lagoon.
The vinyl sea.



Two summers kissed by dreams come true.....


Sleeping toe to toe....
Treasure diving.....
"Party in the middle of the pool!"....
Candlelight waves....
"Just how many people can fit in a blow up pool?"
Juicey bottle water wars.....
The marathon float.....Daytona 500 and two coolers of beer....
The courtship of the neighbors.....
Bottled margaritas.....
A real live pool boy....
Accidental Love.....
Hippie hammocks......
A bouquet of tiki torches....
A broken foot
and
Rollin' Stones on the stereo......



There was always gonna be another. From the moment, the blue lady sighed, curtsied to the sky and took her last breath, spilling 3800 gallons of blessed water cascading, there's was always gonna be another. I said it. Meant it. Believed.

But there wasn't. $218.00 grew. And this year, it would be a million dollar dream. The dusty space between my back door and Little House became the laundrey field..... tattered white clothesline swinging over last summer's shoreline. Towels and T-shirts, sails from shipwrecked stories of another time.

And then, the butterfly effect....

A giant blue box on my porch.

Tonight, she's three inches deep and rising. The grandlady of all blow up pools. And suddenly, I'm a millionaire.

"Let's hear it for the boys...."

Hittin' the snooze....

The sheets are orange. 1970's orange. Burnt and frayed sunflowers. 300 count. Crinkled from being dried in the Saturday sun. Clean. I flop in crumpled, legs and arms landing in a random stack of comfy~cozy pick~up sticks. Pop the alarm. I'm out for the night. Exhausted.

He leans in. Voice husky and smokey, protecting his words with hand cusped, as if they might fly away in the noise, and whispers , near. I scooch in. Listen better. Stare at my knees. Nod in agreement. In cahoots. Never look into his eyes. Burn a hole in the leg of my jeans. He leans in closer and is suddenly quiet. Done. I look up, catching his eyes in a butterfly net. And he kisses me.

I wake up startled. His face just as surprised, freeze~framed in a dream. I crunk the sheets one more time, the pillows....and drift away again. It's a six hour night. I'm determined to sleep through it....

And he leans in again...

Deja Vue. In dreamland.

And again.

The alarm screams at me. Blasts fuzzy half music, half talk radio gib gab across the room and I stretch, lean, teeter off the bed to bop it. Good morning, real world.....

I'd rather be dreaming....

Barefoot in the Backyard....

We met in the kitchen. Half moon eyes. Hungry. " Coffee please".

The slumber party winding to a gentle close. Sunday morning nudgin' us back into real time. A pretend week at the beach, sunrise to sunset, 7 days and 7 nights. A make~believe marathon. In just under 24 hours. "Yeah, baby, we had a good time...."

"Boy~O, Boy~O, Boy~O!"

I'm fidgeting. Thinking of maybe biting my nails again. Kicking up cathair. I did 3 tummy crunches and then hung the clothes up on the night~time line. Turned on the babbly blah~blah~blah~babbly TV.....and smoked another cigarette. Checked the mail. Thumbed through it all and pitched it into the overflowing garbage can. Grabbed a black bag and went out on the deck, chopped the night blooming jasmine back into a crewcut.... and drenched the neighborhood in white perfume. Checked my emails. Checked the phone for voice mail, text messages. Checked to make sure I get bars in the living room, the kitchen. Checked to make sure the charger was working. And now I'm fidgeting. Again.

Hours to go. Maybe days. "Anytime" he said. "Rest up" he told her. I watch the clock.

Waiting on Baby Boy Love. Four weeks early and "anytime" he said....

You can't make me.....

We caravaned. Met up in the Valet parking lot, squishing in between the "reserved-for VIPs"....and flip flopped up the deck to The Crab House. Oh, Man, what a beautiful day for Peace Out, coconut shrimp, french dip, and ice cold beer in a bucket. Me and three of my new best friends. I know, I know, I know, you've heard it before.....

But there we were. Instant friends. Old friends. With very short pasts. And a lotta catchin' up to do. 99 beers on the wall later, we had laughed ourselves silly, solved world hunger and been on a peace march. We had confessed, professed, dared, bribed, danced,harmonized throughHello Dolly in our best Joe Cocker voices, and scooched in closer for the punch line...

"But what if"?

"What if you won, fell into, stumbled on a gazillion dollars?"

Skipping the lengthy four-fold conversation we had about charity, clarity, responsibility and all that hoo~hah ....what it all boiled down to was this...

"But isn't it all relative? Wouldn't a blue lagoon with cascading fountains and towering palms be the same to you as a millionaire as your little vinyl pool was to you last summer?"

"Ummmm. No."

I chewed on a piece of celery. Dipped it and swirled it in bleu cheese. Chewed again.

Behind their Foster Grants I could sense their eyes rollin'......

"Lemme tell you about my little blue pool......"














When we caravaned out of the parking lot,
sunkissed and dreamy,
beerbattered and fed,
there were four make-believe millionaires dreaming about blow up pools.....

and smiling......

No touching

I wasn't going to go. Friday's are for dancing and Saturdays are for wild oats. But, they called. I made every excuse, but a fitting one, and then jumped in the shower and threw on a pair of jeans. If you skip Friday, they come lookin' for you on Saturday....


The Saturday faces are different. Piranhas and barracudas. Nothing like the manatees, tattooed and grey, comfortable in the warm blue waters of Friday nights...I wasn't at home, but I wasn't far from it....


In the murky, jerky waters.... I tipped my Michelob to the mirror and the faces lined up watching me watching them..... the elbows on the counter, stray dollar bills in "I fold" concession, laugh lines and frown lines sagging like a Salvadore Dali painting. And I ached for them. These strangers on the other side of the bar.


The band played everything except Rolling Stones and I sat out the set. Fidgeted. Smoked. Told stories.Twirled my love beads. Friday's are for hippies. This wasn't feelin' like a Friday.

"Do you wanna dance?" he said, inching closer, breathing canned beer on me, three lines into the slow song. "No touching" I whispered and he vanished, poof! and he was gone....until the next one. "No touching" I whispered and he laughed, took a hand from the crowd and disappeared.

"Now?" my friend asked, nodding to the dance floor, questoning, comfortable, but not sure, and I threw my head back and said "yes, but no touching".....

"I don't know how" faded into the lyrics, the music, the rhythm, the rhyme, the move me, the this way, the that way, the "I've never done this before"....and I "mmmmmmmm,hhhmmmmmed" him as we danced eyes closed, around the couples, between them, into the music.....close, but never touching. Driftwood in the waves

"She won't let you touch her?" beer~breath bellowed over the band, into our peace. I never opened my eyes. Moving. Swirling. Psychelic circles, paisley foot steps. "No, she wont let me" Lucas whispered, barely aware he was talking. "Then take her back where she came from!", BB belched from his four square podium, arms draped around his mortified prize, feet shuffling, rough red cheeks touching hers.....chest puffed out like a plaster rooster on a kitchen wall....

We gave him two fingers and kept dancing.....


Into 1976 at The Saloon. Into Christian's living room, fluorescent light's glowing, mermaid goldish growing in a bathub. Into yesterday. Tomorrow. Down the dirt road to Peace Creek. Through a midnight sand dune. Over a rickity tickity wooden bridge. We just kept dancing, no touching....just feeling. The music.

The guy with the canned breath and canned lines stopped, mid mindless step, and watched.

And then he surrendered.


"Peace......"
was the last thing I heard him mutter as he left the floor.....

Counting....

I opened my back door on Sunday and could feel it. Smell it. Almost hear it over the weed-eater next door and the sirens. The beach.

We're counting days. Week-ends. Pennies. Nightmares. And then....

We're going!

Seven days and seven nights blurred together, smudged together, tethered together.....measured only by sunrises and sunsets.

And I ache for the peace.

The constant humming of the tilted window unit shuddering, puffing artic asthmatic breaths. Dripping onto the sidewalk, rusty little puddles I can splash my feet in....one good rinse before I plow into bed at midnight or morning.

The crisp white sheets, sandpapered with coquina and periwinkles, and cozy~comfy, sprayed with sea salt....littered with wet swim suits and towels....and beer bottle rings.

The three o'clock huddle, the housekeepers hunkered down, hiding behind my door, clinking beers and sneaking in ice.

The first sunrise. Kimbies in her long nightie, waiting at the seawall.... The second sunrise, Kimbies in her long nightie and five of our new best friends waiting at the seawall....

The Brotherhoods of Death. Another year older. Wiser. And still aching for their friend, their brother, embracing us on the seawall. Dipping, diving, dancing....Remembering...

The starfish with three legs. Still moving. A ballerina with only one shoe. "It aint over til the fat lady sings" we tell her, and whisk her back to sea....

Pots and pans and dishpan drains filled with shells. Treasures for the keeping.

Feral cats strutting in the moonshine, plucking crablegs from the garbage and bellowing 'Hallelujah"....

The sound of Skinny's car crunching gravel in the make-shift parking lot. 400 miles and 3500 smart cars dollars later.....

The yellow butterfly of San Marina.....

You dirty rat....

We were talking. Like sisters do. About silly things like why they call blondes blonde , about Mexican food tasting better in dives, googling the meaning of the word “occlude” and bantering the definitions.. Verizon to Verizon. It’s free, so we kept yacking. Wandered past the “did you know?”s to the “remember when”s and settled on the story of meeting soul mates from behind a shower curtain. I’m not gonna tell you the story because neither he nor he was a soul mate, but it happened nonetheless. It wasn’t until we got around to the “palmetto bug and rats” reminiscing that I started to get the heebie jeebies. Started to feel that familiar “something’s crawling up my leg” phobia.

Skinny is spooked by roaches. With wings. And rightfully so. She was only six when they invaded her space, laced up her legs like fishnet stockings and started giving her nightmares.

I’m haunted by Ben.

David Bowie was spinning for the last go round, the whisk~me~away, the nighty~night, and I prayed I would fall asleep before the needle hit the spot where it stuck forever, carving grooves into Diamond Dogs with it’s diamond tip. I piled into bed, crumpled under the hand-me-down quilts from Mamaw’s house and rolled on my side. My face fell into the down pillow like yesterday, like everyday before this one, and I snuggled in. Buttons pawed at my shoulder. Scratched for her space. I groaned and made room. “Jesus, could somebody cut her nails” I thought….as I hmmmmpppphhhhed and readjusted for her comfort. She pawed again.

Clawed actually.

I turned in the dark to give her the “settle down or sleep somewhere else” eyes and she glared at me…..beady eyes balanced between a pointy nose ….brillo pad hair glowing in the dark. I flung the covers off, flailing, leaping…..and it hit the wall.

Smack!

Yelping!

F'n Rat! In my bed!
On my body!
Breathing my breath!

For three weeks, I hauled Mamaws quilt and my first down pillow into the Jack and Jill bathroom and slept in the tub. Convinced I could hear him scurrying across the green and pink tile, crawling up the porcelain. See him in the full length mirror before he rounded the corner. Convinced I would know ....before he got to me.

For thirty five years I’ve known better.

You never see ‘em coming….