Whatever

I knew it was going to happen. I knew there would be a day or night when the question would be posed to Nick, "So, what are you doing?" and the answer would be, "Oh, funny story, I was introduced to this person, so and so, and now we're just on his yacht." Silence.

This just happened. I am speckled with rain drops from those clouds I admired last night, the ones with so much heat and heavy bellies, well, they're outwardly angry now and full of thunder. That doesn't change the amount of dog walks I have to take my pack of dogs on though. So, I get wet, which is cool, whatever, as long as it's not constant, but it's such a contrast! He sent me a picture of the full moon over the water and so I know what it looks like and my imagination is pretty vivid. I can really sculpt this scene of a midnight, full moon lit, cackle filled time spent on a yacht on the water in Montenegro! 

This isn't rare. He, not so long ago, texted me from Paris. "Hey! Guess where I am." I don't think I did. I think I just said "where?" and his answer was this -ladies, brace yourself- "I'm with (friend's name) at Kevin Costner's place while he's filming here in Paris. He's hilarious." And then he went on to wish me a good night and such. Silence.

This is all in jest. I'm actually thrilled he's having a great time and an easy transition. He works hard and deserves whatever fun times roll his way. Plus, the yacht belongs to a client, making it a proper thing to do. And, you know me. I find pretty things everywhere. I don't absolutely need a yacht. I can admire a flower for hours. If a creature happens to enter the scene- I'm completely amused. Genuinely.

If Kevin Costner entered the scene I think I'd be genuinely amused… 

Anyway, I did the whole cleaning before the cleaners come bit until wee hours of the morning. I've mentioned that to every friend I've spoken to recently and every single one of them relates to me, even in their tone of voice. Infused with sympathy. It sounds unnecessary, to clean before a cleaning, but to get everything clear and neat so that a deeper cleaning can take place is required! And the deeper cleaning is what we want. I didn't get that so much this time. It was more of a wipe. I got a professional wipe down. But, the two girls were sweet and I liked them, so again, whatever.

The massive suitcases that I'm packing, that were sprawled across the floor like lazy lounging cows, those were fun to pick up off the floor as a pre-clean. My (at least) two suitcases, carry on, purse, China in a sleepy pod, and Selma in a small hut may be a heavy load. Do you think I'll be moving much whenever I land wherever I land for the connection? David Blaine? Mastermind that can magically negate gravity and float objects… Skills requested. One suitcase I've had packed since we made the decision. The next is almost done. But, the thing is, I'm postponing my move until mid August instead of the end of July. I can't pack all my swimsuits and summer pieces until mid August! Insane!! So, I can't be completely prepared. 

Also, my writing- That's a load. I like pen to paper. I like actually writing. Not typing, although I do that too when I need to, like now, but I most prefer putting my hand on a writing device and watching the tip, the point, stroke the page and spill ink into words that make sentences, that form thought, that evoke feeling and render something along the lines of story worthy. I like the rhythm of the words as they come out. It makes a fluid motion and I connect to the words. Then, they sit before me, proof of me, and not in Helvetica. It's soulful, not sterile. It's writing. 

So, somehow I must figure it out. It will work out just fine. I don't need to fret. 

and that, amusingly...

sounds like Rhett. I wonder… 
If Gone With The Wind were written today, would Scarlett, instead of saying, "After all… tomorrow is another day." have looked up and said, "Whatever."

It's highly probable. 
It works. 
"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." 
Oh yeh? "Whatever." She can grumble on the staircase, "Whatever Rhett. Have fun in Charleston. Be safe. You know the rumors about Charleston. Just saying."
He may have come back. This one word could, if inserted, change literary history.
No small thing.
   

Friendship

Yesterday, I spent some time with and talking to friends. They're all so different and in different stages of life as well. Their paths are unique and interesting and I love watching and listening to them as they share the joys of life. That's the easy part of friendship though. The part that requires insight and giving something, like words or thoughts, that might be helpful or relate to an essential growth in their life, that's the part that isn't about ease, but about strength. The strength to take a moment of hardship or heartache and urge it toward a place of ease again. To embrace the moments a friend turns on a faucet that may pour fury or confusion or doubt, and to be the tub that holds the 'water' as it cools into a comfortable temperature, to let them calm down into that transitioned, slightly shifted tone of what was before- this is friendship in balance. When the reflection they see in the mirror isn't clear, the friend wipes the smudge away. The friend props or pushes, holds or harnesses, whichever applies, when it has nothing to do with having a good time. This becomes the friendship full of meaning. When the conversations that are only revealed to the trusted last hours and end in laughter and uplift, a truth is found. The pure connection that time spent together reveals is precious. This is not a virtual idea, but a physical proof of true friendship.

We should see the life in our friends' eyes more. We should feel the air vibrate with their laughter. Or, let their voice resonate in our ears from the other side of the phone line more often. 

Facebook and Instagram and texting, these are useful methods of accomplishing a lot of things, but not true, solid, impenetrable friendship. Friendship is personal in the least. The heart and mind, they want the physical back- basic forms of physical, non-virtual life. Putting substance back into communication on a regular basis. It matters.    

Yesterday, I spent some real, solid time with my friends. Today, I reap the reward of feeling more than before.

Atlanta, tonight

From here, in Atlanta, the sky is amazing. At 9:30, daylight lingers in pieces of the sky. Between voluptuous clouds the shade of eggplant, so beguiled by the vision of the night, lurks a stubborn light. Like the flesh of a peach, a ripe and juicy peach, it stays. Perhaps it too wishes to view. 

The moon is high and bright, the halo surrounding it mimics the rays of the sun. Moonshine. The clouds near the moon are more jagged and they itch to bring an eery slant to this powerful glow. Not to be confused with a cheerful and direct sun, the shrouded moon remains mysterious and capable. The moon knows something. 

The twilight blue subtly merges into a deep indigo and those ever so attentive clouds have a rage about them. They have deep bellies that hang low with a rooted purple. As well, they look to be a delicious bite.

It's an emotional sky that has just put up an enormous fight between a muse of a moonshine and a heroic sunlight.