|
We
lingered over dinner for a long time. He continued to hold up both ends
of the conversation; I remember thinking, "I could listen to this guy
forever."
[Little did I know.] We'd made no after-dinner plans -- we'd agreed ahead of time that the whole weekend would be a flying-by-the-seat-of-our-pants sort of thing, making it up as we went along -- and now he suggested that we drive across the Bay Bridge to San Francisco and do a little night-time sightseeing. I was teetering dangerously on the edge of exhaustion by that point, but I said "OK." This was why I was here, after all ... to see the sights. Something in my voice must have given me away, though. Or maybe it was the sight of me laying my little head down on the table and slipping into a COMA before we'd even gotten to the fortune cookies. I think he realized that I was running dangerously low on system resources. "How about if
we do the sightseeing tomorrow?" he said. "Right now we can just go back to my
place and Which is precisely what we did. We sat on his sofa and listened to records until 2 a.m. ... Roky Erickson, I remember, and Neil Young, and Jonathan Richman. We talked. We laughed. We talked and laughed some more. We listened to more records. Robyn Hitchcock sang something called "I've Got A Message For You." And then ... all of a sudden we weren't listening to records anymore. |
"Having
a wonderful time," I morosely wrote. "Wish
I were there." I knew that in a day or two I
would be standing at my mailbox in front of the Tree House -- probably
in the rain, after a long day at The Knife Factory -- holding this
postcard in my hand and wishing I were back in California. With
David. here's where i'll ask
a *relevant* question: amazingly
profound thought of the day:
excerpts from an e-mail to my pal Mizz, one year ago: "Hey
Mizzle.
I am leaving now for the airport ... and for whatever awaits me on the
other end of the flight.
We've got a list of stuff to do a mile and a half long ... including
bookstores and beaches and restaurants and rental videos and anything
else that sounds like fun at the moment. My expectations are very low -
on purpose. I'm sure you understand. At the very least I plan to come
home with some groovy photos for the website.
I'll check my mail from time to time over the weekend, so anything you
write to me will no doubt be read by EVERYONE in the room ... if you
catch my drift.
Talk to you soon. What are YOU doing this weekend? "
I
sat on David's living room floor, the morning I was due to fly back to
Oregon, and scribbled myself a postcard.
self-important
blurb #1 will go HERE: happy anniversary,
baby.
self-important
blurb #2:
ironically, we've spent this entire day -- our first
*anniversary* -- apart from each other. david has
been off doing family stuff, and i've been here alone in the castle,
tweaking the résumé and listening to music
[i still say i would rather be blind] and re-living that first night
together in my head. but i still feel every bit as CONNECTED to him,
even when he's not here, as i do when he's standing right behind me,
watching me type. i feel like he is right beside me, everywhere i go. i
feel surrounded by his love ... and his record collection. i am -- as
he would modestly say -- "one lucky woman."
special *howdy*
to: my pal chriss,
who poignantly asks: " ... does someone have too much time on
their hands when they check footnotes and see 27198 so log on twice
more to get it to turn over? are these the same people who watch the
odometer turn over zeros? just hypothetical questions you understand." [and
to answer your question ... people who tinker with my hit counter are usually
the same people who call me *mom*, *honey* or *Terri Lynn.* so you're
in good company, at least. welcome to the family.]
where will i be a year from tonight?
writing
another icky-poo journal entry about *anniversaries*