Landing

Here's Brent conjuring the very last of the absinthe, which we absconded with out of Oregon, and even with copious sharing had the decency to stretch until the home stretch. It looks as if he's having success with the gods of self-destructive poets and tireless adventurers. This was our final ritual after returning home from the western slopes. What a trip. Like, literally.

This morning, I took the boys out for a long walk. Beautiful, crisp fall morning (as "they" say and say and say ad nauseum but it's still true) and everyone was excited to take the upper prairie-down-through-the-forest-to-forest-path route. Jack had, clearly, been eating corn from the recent harvest, exhibited in his frequent, stinky trail deposits. At least they are not being left in the house. Half way down the trail, the dudes got amped and looking towards the lower prairie, I saw an eight point buck high tailing it through the grasses at full speed. They dogs took off; Rocky and Romeo came back in short order but Mighty Jack was not seen for awhile. He should be president. He never gives up or is influenced by lobbyists. We flushed out a few turkeys from the clearing and I stopped to watch a red tail hawk circling once we got to the river. He was screeching and tearing up the clear blue sky. Damn. I never get sick of that. It was then I realized I was happy to be home.

Returning home, I finished up email after putting yet another load of laundry into the washer and then, the oven timer went off. What? I went to turn it off -- and affixed to it was a blue Post-It note that said "I love you!" The Dude abides. After that entertaining moment, I made a grocery list, cleaned up the dishes, put other things away and set off for town. First I went to the local car wash and vacuumed out the three-week pile of this and that in the car. Had a teary-eyed moment when the salt flats and the dunes just wouldn't let themselves be removed from the floor mats. I feel summoned. Truth be told, I'd love to live out there somewhere. Always have.... never did. Life is complicated sometimes.

So, I have to hold forth on Maureen Donohue... most of you know (or at least remember) her from the nuptials. Irish, loud, worker bee fashionista who is also a stud -- Xcountry skier, hiker, all around athlete (buff & fabulous) who is ALSO a dog lover. She stayed at the house and took care of the hairy toddlers.... FOR THREE WEEKS... working in the city all the while. She also has a dog, who mixed well with the pack, along with her boyfriend Declan (an Irishman who deserves her, from what I can tell even though I've not yet met him), various and assorted pals who came and went during her retainment/vacation here. When we came back she had left this glorious birthday arrangement on the dining room table.

Let me break it down for you since it was difficult to photograph. Three hand made party hats complete w/ baubles she dutifully found in the basement (scrounger that she is), five gorgeous blood red roses plunked in lovely Italian pottery, some crazy Native Americanesque beaded trivet and, the most glorious gift, a GIANT "smoke bomb" mushroom with a bird nest/berry/feather "hat". I'm sure the mushroom is the one I spied on the forest trail prior to departure which was, at the time, white and growing. I'll have to ask her. She even dragged down Kitty's almost life sized Barbie doll to complete the look. Other presents were left to be found, like a sweet little potholder in the drawer next to the oven, a deck of Bush playing cards, and this.... on the master bedroom mirror....

There it is. She said it... I'm 50. And this is what it looks like... and today, walking along the windswept prairie, I got all amped up about the weather-beaten face and body I aspire to. It's all about being where you are and the person you've become after everything and before everything that will come.

Shout out for Mo. Thanks upon thanks, Maureen, and if there is anything here that I find that is actually not intended for me, please let me know. I'll happily return swiftly to you.... you Goddess. And I think the Irish need to go out drinking soon, right?

Having said all that, here's a final statement about intentions. I can't say that this would be one of mine, but after some people walk the planet for awhile, they become focused on certain things.... In case you can't read the article, this gentle man (yes, space intended), Douglas Tabler, freaked out about live lobsters being sold at the local Co-Op (which doesn't bode well for the Co-Op vibe) when "he and his partner saw them huddled in the corner of the tank feeling that the lobsters were afraid". So, he bought up the ones in the case and mailed them to his brother in Boston for release. His brother is the Humboldt Baykeeper Director so I suppose he has all kinds of rights in that regard. The lobsters cost $80 and the shipping was $140. He says he'll continue until the sales stop. What's a Co-Op to do? That's intention for you.

Peace Out....