Dog Days

Well now, here we are. We’ve come  so far from the burdens of winter and arrived smack dab in the middle of summer. Its nice here. Even nicer than I’d expected. Seattleites are so cute these days, walking around in shorts and flippy floppies. They’re holding hands and telling long, loud stories on the bus. They’re flying kites with cameras on ’em at Gas Works Park. They’re pushing small dogs around in strollers. They’re riding the Ducks. Its marvelous.

But it hasn’t been all honey lavender ice cream every day, either. In the tumult there are a great many somber sort of vague smiles. Those smiles are so often my favorite but, sadly, come from a keen sense of loss, pain and fear. Summer teaches us that work can suck, our bones can break and our parents can die. But then we knew that already. So we smile, we hug, we sing. We wander around museums and parks. We have cheap beers and rich conversation. It helps.

Looking onward to the next season, there is hope that things will change and that things stay the very same.


Out to Sea

There’s nothing so soothing as the sea. Except, maybe, cats with glowing eyes. Here lately I’ve found myself walking along the pier and staring out at Puget Sound, thinking all sorts of mixed up thoughts about death and life; the universe and the mind. I think these thoughts, of course, when I’m not trapped under fluorescent lights or piqued on a rug someplace.

These times are mad; either up or down. No in-betweens. The holidays snuck up on me the way mountains do on the road, one minute I was miserable-the next I was having the time of my life at Gas Works Park with friends and friends of friends who I might now call friends of my own. The times sailed on. The morning of this, the new decade saw me in that same light. I was up and about talking about feelings with my Butterfly on the floor of a dirty motel. I never felt so dexterous.

On the morning of January 19th, 2010 Joshua Williams spread out miles wide. He died, yes, but over the following days and ever since the sky’s been brighter. Just enough so I know he’s all around us. Only that realization could stop the pain of knowing the world is without his beautiful laughter. I swear I hear it echoing across the pier.

Butterfly and I signed a lease on a basement apartment just two blocks west of Aurora. It is the most righteous place I’ve known-even moreso than Ill House back in Florida. As it’s called now, the Burrow’s windows sit right at grass level and the garden is already beginning to bloom. It’s right around the corner from Fremont Cafe Vita and even closer to my bus stop where I watch a young lesbian couple make out every morning. At night, when I go out for a smoke, I can smell the house special at the Rialto. We don’t even have couches yet-just a rug in front of the heater on the cold, cold tile floor and it’s still amazing. My neighbors gave me a piano that was made in 1928. I never got their names.

Last night Marketime Matt and I started working on a project. He can play almost any instrument, especially fretted ones, it seems. Me? Well, I can’t stop the words from coming, mostly questions like why do I feel most inspired when I am at a loss? what’s really going on in the universe? and how can I get past the fear of falling to be a better me? Heavy stuff, but I’m jazzed all over to see how it all plays out.

It’s hard to believe we’re a mere five days from my birthday. Matt and Pokie (the little tiger) are throwing me a party at the Batcave. I have a funny feeling we’ll be gone, gone out to sea-if only psychedelically.

Pardon me. I’m off, digging everything happy as can be.