mamculuna: (Default)
( Jun. 11th, 2005 10:28 pm)
Summer, at last, at long last. I am so happy.

Sitting on the porch after dark in a tank top. Welcoming a breeze instead of shivering in it. Seeing the summer birds come back, the painted bunting and the hummingbirds.

Floating around lazy curves of the creek watching huge clouds drift the other way in a sky so blue I can't believe it.

And best of all swimming in the ocean. I don't do it until the water gets to about 80F, and the air maybe a few better than that. Even so, the first few times I inch in, with a line of cold around my body where the water's hitting for the first time, but my feet and legs already happy, telling the rest of me to come on in. The little water running over my ankles, the first splashes up to my knees. A breaker foaming around my waist. And finally a big green curve over my head--no more choice, dive in or jump high, but my head goes in. And then I can't make myself come out. I'm riding the waves in, I'm diving under, I'm floating over, and in between lying on the water that holds me like a friend I'm laughing with, laughing so hard I can't stand up.

And wading back through the warm marsh, showering under the trees, drying my hair in the breeze while I rock on the porch.

It seems that all the rest of the year I'm only partly living. This is real.
mamculuna: (Default)
( Aug. 30th, 2004 10:41 am)
Gaston dumped on us yesterday and now Frances is taking aim. I haven't been to the beach since the 4th of July--tenants told us the house was OK except for some minor screen damage, but we are hopeful that we'll get a new roof--the old one's been there since Hugo. Family )

I watched Hidalgo last night--for Viggo and for the horses. Both beautiful, but more than a bit of cultural stereotyping in spite of Omar Sharif. I liked him a lot better in Monsieur Ibrahim, a truly charming but sad movie, with wonderful characters and great photography of Turkey or some look-alike.

I'm trying to decide whether to go to Hero now or wait for my husband to come back down here. I could do both! I think I'll see what happens about the beach--I'll wait unless I'm stuck here, in which case I'll go. But I'd better tell him so he doesn't go up there. He's also not big on fantasy so I didn't go to the most recent Harry Potter yet either--which has really taken restraint. So I can have a great escape this weekend if I don't get to the beach.

Modesty )
mamculuna: (Default)
( May. 24th, 2004 10:36 pm)
Well, so far life without work is all I'd hoped it would be. Waking early to the birds in the branches outside my window and not rushing to get up to go anywhere. Kayaking to the next island and taking time to wander, without needing to get back and go somewhere. Lying in the hammock reading my favorite trash (Elizabeth Peters) and no thoughts of doing anything more than pouring another rum and tonic. Yeah!
It turns out that Sarah Lee Guthrie, daughter of Arlo and granddaughter of Woody, lives in my town. We went to hear her sing tonight at a little cafe. Nothing spectacular--I wasn't ever sure even Arlo made it on his own talent and not his father's name, and this maybe even be more so. But she's a dear, pretty girl, and her husband, a local guy, isn't bad on the guitar.

The thing about it was the night. A warm summer night, even though it's April, sitting outside. The cafe's in an old mill village house, with a small patio. A litte crowd of people who know each other, the street lights shining through the leaves and the warm wind occasionally brushing our hair. A little beer, some hugs and laughter, the guitar and the sweet young voices. Not far away the river tumbles over the rocks, and we can smell the fresh honeysuckle. It seems like the best parts of my life have been nights like this.
mamculuna: (Default)
( Apr. 10th, 2004 10:04 pm)
A morning Yoga class that focused on hip openers, which I can do! I know I need the ones I can't do more, but it's fun to succeed for a change.

My son calls and we have a great long chat about work, movies, houses, and traveling. He's grown to be such a great friend, and it's so nice sitting and talking while I nibble on the toast left from lunch.

A ride in the country, because I can't walk a lot right now, having some kind of foot/ankle tendonitis and want it to heal before I go to Italy for two weeks in June. I had this before when I used to run, years ago, and dropped back to walking. Ugh. But the ride was lovely. Just a few miles north and the wisteria is still fresh and purple, the dogwood and azaleas just opening. We start to visit one of Bill's friends and the new house is so ostentatious and hideous we turn back. Along the road are gentle cottages I'd love to live in, on the lake. At the filling station I see a former student, such a warm, happy person.

Home to a lovely evening. 85 degrees and cooling--my kind of weather. We grill on the deck and sit late into twilight, watching the candles burn down. The trees are full of leaves, the light is late. This is my time, my weather. The candlelight spills throught the spaces in the table, making diamond shapes on our legs and the floor. We talk about the Triplets of Belleville (we loved it), why Bill's friends went for glamor wives and he for me, what we'll do this summer in Chicago, what's wrong with Condoleeza Rice. The bats go in and the stars come out, and still it's warm.


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