This is where we grew up. Not where we spent the majority of our childhoods, Kimbies and I, but the mostness of them.....Here, in this thirty-two room playhouse.
I remember the very first time we saw it, empty except for the furniture that had been custum made to fit the nooks and crannies....that came with the deal...the giant round satin couches filled with goose down.....We tried them out fannies first, over and over again, laughing as the brocade spit feathers flying....the toy box under the windows, wrapped in a semi circle, empty, except for a few old crayons and the scribblings of children before us.....my beds, set head to foot lining the east wall, wrapped in a meandering wrought iron grapevine.....I took my fingers and traced the walls....New Orleans was there, in all her dark and smokey taboo....hand painted on the walls....
We moved in and rocked the neighborhood. Our parents were beautiful, he, handsome and successful and rarely home, she, whispy and blonde and "different". It was here that Curty learned to crawl, and babble, and ride a bike, that Skinny and Chance were born. It was here that we first learned to believe.....
in happenchance
and fairytales
and to dance to our own music....
it was here that we learned there were a set of tracks that
were laid right side up and wrong side down
and that it was okay to cross
them,
skinny legs flying on spider bikes with banana seats and spokes spiked with poker cards and clothespins.....
here that we learned unconditional love.....
to not be afraid of poltergiests or ghosts or things that goes bump in the night....
to take in strays, because they're not really stray after all,
they're just waiting for you to open the door....
that man could really walk on the moon....
if he wanted to.....
It was here that we were free.....
That we lived our Pippi Longstocking childhoods......
riding bikes down hallways,
depositing each other, clinging,
down the laundrey shoot....one story, two, three into a mountain of dirty clothes.....
swimming in Mom's leftover calgoned bathwater until it was tepid and filthy....
Coloring on walls, higher than we could reach and down halls that led to eternity....
flying in cardboard box race cars down spiral staircases....bumpity bumpity bump until I broke my nose and
a big toe
and somebody had to stop us,
playing bartender with this wine and that and some soda to make it all fizzle,
building forts in the flower beds
and tree houses with mattresses, seventeen strong kids in a line to lift it,
digging tunnels to nowhere
and China
and downtown....
And here in this house,
Kimbies slept with goldfish and hermit crabs
in a pink princess bed with a pink princess phone
and
I slept with ghosts at the end of the hall....
When we caravaned out in the middle of the night,took flightwith empty suitcasesto our next adventurewe didn't know to say the words....
"Thank you, house"......you hippie, gypsy, haunted little house.....
And another door opens....
I don't know when it happened. It's been five months in the making, creeping, crawling, sneaking in.....and then walah!, I go to zip my jeans, (line dried, can't blame it on the heat!) and....ummm....for the first time in 36 years they don't fit! I'm suddenly there, courtesy of mid~life crises, a broken foot, and an obsessive compulsion to collect beer bottle caps. The pudge. The pinch an inch. This will never do! I live in Florida. We run around half naked, even when we're seventy. Flesh is a given. It's hot down here!
Last Sunday I was estatically catatonic. Worn slap silly out from friday night dancin' and camping out with the little ones, playing hippie hoo-hah, and chasing stars. It was wonderful. I was punch drunk, giddy from exhaustion. I fell into bed on Sunday, racing the Sun to be the first to fall, and slept a glorious full 8 hours.
We've waited forever. Marked X's on the calendar. Counted days.
I gave up fussin' and fightin' a long time ago... my last voluntary hoo~hah left me hidin' in the dog house, literally. Thank God I'm skinny. There were cuss words and accusations. One ice cold beer propelling it's liquid soul across the room. Splash! Right on target. "Now, I'm in your face" were the last words I remember dripping from his chin. I ran......
It's in the air. I know I'm holiday hoppin' here, but I mean to. I want to jump from one "feel~good" to the next, and nope, I'm not racing through 'em... I'm racin' to 'em! It's kind of like getting a good seat on the sidewalk for the next parade, you gotta get there early.....
You wanna feel the love? Email your postal and I'll bop a string in the mail to you! Yeah, Cupid Ain't Stupid, she's got blonde hair and wears hand me down jeans....
I pushed the magic button, automatic ignition, and Cla-Plump! Bang! it shifted gears, lurched, and died. Like the lady stranded in the Winn Dixie parking lot, ice cream melting, beer getting warm, I tried it over and over and over again. Then I kicked it. Once for good luck. Swung my good booted foot around and kicked it twice for "try that"! Sometimes, it just takes a good wallop to get everything back in order.
I woke up to sunshine and followed the trail of abandoned combat boots, clothes, helium balloons asleep on the floor, to the kitchen.....to the first New Day of the New Year. Confetti is still fallin' from my hair, joining the cat hair in a midair ballet. It's nice. This promise of tomorrow. I open the windows and smile at the unkempt yard and the free newspapers piled at the edge of the driveway. I clink! my coffeecup to the blue sky and throw a kiss... "Good-bye friend" I whisper to the old year, the tried and tired and true year. I'm not being unfaithful, it's just time to move on...
I was in the third grade
New Years....
Telephone Tag. That's how we do it. No Sirens, bullhorns, weather radios. In the pitch black sky the phone rings, too early in the morning to be a late night "I love~love~love you" call, too late in the night to be an early morning wake up call....
I've watched the mailbox for days. I knew it was coming. Everynight I've emptied the leaning, rusting, box at the end of the driveway, thumbed through bills, and bills, and bills, and "why don't you buy me's?", waiting on this.....
These are the ones. I had to decide between construction boots and the spanish formal or combat boots and the little black dress. The little black dress won. My date, whom by the way I asked out, for New Years Eve, is one of my dearest friends. Charming, conservative, intelligent and 23 years my senior, he'll be wearing impecable taste and a smile.
It started with the coffee pot. $21.95 at Winn Dixie. I don't even like brewed coffee. I like mine strong, one cup at a time in the microwave, or so hot they could-sue-you at McDonalds, but I was there in the check out line....and it was on display....and the freeze dried bag of beans on display next to it, smelled so good....
This is where we grew up. Not where we spent the majority of our childhoods, Kimbies and I, but the mostness of them.....Here, in this thirty-two room playhouse.
I'm drinking Champagne. Left over from a good time a zillion years ago. Recorked and shoved in the back of the fridge. I pulled it out and denied it the opportunity of a memory, popped the cork...a gunshot in the kitchen, a snapping bone in the living room, and it bubbled....
