Things that make you go...ehhh???

As we were cruising down one of the main roads through town this morning, sipping our coffee and heckling the world in general, we came up behind a car that immediately captured our complete, undivided attention for at least five city blocks.

This giant green landboat was drifting down the street, going just slow enough to annoy us to the point of expounding about it.

"Check it out," my husband says. "The car matches the people inside!" And sure enough. The old grey haired couple inside were perfect companions for this ungainly '76 Mercury Marquis. It's the middle of June, and yet the back window still had the scrape tracks left in the dust from the last time they cleared the windshield of ice... say.... FIVE MONTHS AGO!

But the REAL coupe de grace was what we saw wedged behind their back bumper.

Smashed there, looking really no worse for the wear, between the moss green paint and dull chrome bumper... was some party cake. No, not just a smear. A whole piece of festive chocolate cake, frosting and sprinkles included! On a plate!

What series of events possibly lead up to this?!? Were these white-bread Americans at a good ole'fashion church Pic-a-nic yesterday? Did Henrietta walk around for the better part of the afternoon saying "Where's my cake??!!!"

And how did they not SEE the massive wedge of frosted goodness sitting on the trunk lid when they waddled up to the Mercury to drive home?? And how long did it sit there, baking in the sun, hardening to the point that would make any brick layer proud? Obviously it had some uncanny density to it, or it wouldn't look so peculiarly perfect staring out at us from kittycorner the license plate.

The Green Mercury duo finally slowed down (to a painful, agonizing crawl) in order to turn left into their church parking lot. Totally oblivious to their own Far Side'ishness, their bumpercake, and the world in general.

Hallelujah and pass the punch.



(The above is merely my own personal rendition of a sight that I wish I could've taken a photo of...but will forever chortle about in memory.)

We were walking the path on Blackbird Island yesteday evening, watching the Cottonwood fluff float down off the tree limbs. We stopped on the footbridge, surrounded in a balmy snowstorm of sorts.

So dreamlike. I felt as if the elves of Rivendale should be standing in the high grass by the riverbank. Instead, there was a deer... it's white tail a flash against the green.

It won't be long now before it's warm enough to swim. I hung over the bridge rail and watched the river flow past. Vivid images of swimming in gold-glitter water as the sun filled the high mountain canyon slipped through my mind. A couple more weeks, and I'll be there again.

(*Word to the wise: I use the word "Like" in this blog post far more than any human should. It is because I'm writing about the 80's here. Retro-language, anyone? :) )

Lake Curlew, Washington ... 1984. Another two weeks of summer spent on a family vacation.

I was thirteen years old, camping with mom and dad. I had my rubber raft that I would row out across the lake to the little island that housed turtles and bluejays. I didn't like the way the fallen trees looked under water, all covered with moss,their branches long broken off. I paddled quickly over those, to water that showed nothing but the pebbly bottom of the lake and the occasional fish that would swim by. I spent long hours in the raft, watching the clouds shift.

One night we were sitting by the camp fire, when a man and woman walked by. They came over to say hello... not an unusual thing. The camp ground itself had a communal feel, and my parents were quick to invite the other folks to sit for awhile. It didn't take long for introductions, and soon they were trading stories through the firelight like old friends.

The man leaned over near me after awhile, and gave me a wink. "How old are you?" he asked, giving me a nudge. "Sixteen? Seventeen?"

I was glad the shadows were hiding the instant blush on my cheeks. I looked over at my parents, almost as if it would be wrong for me to tell my age. They stared back at me over the rims of their plastic cups filled with red wine. "Well go on... he's not going to bite."

"Actually.. I'm thirteen," I said, and shrugged. The man gave a laugh, his eyes going wide. "Well!! You sure don't look thirteen. I was just going to say, my sons are over there at our campsite. Greg's sixteen, and Gary's nine. They'd probably like to see another face their age. You should go over and introduce yourself, sweetheart."

WHAT??? Was the man crazy?? Like I was going to walk over into a strange campsite, and just act like I was cool or something, surprising two boys... a sixteen year old no less!

And then my parents said the unthinkable.

"Yeah hon! Go over and say hi. Would be nice for you to have someone else here to do something with..."

Oh god. I thought I was going to throw up. One minute I was having a perfectly fine night of lighting marshmallows on fire and watching them drip onto the burning logs, and the next minute I'm being told to go talk to boys. Boys from the other side of Washington State. Strange male specimens who would probably think I was a complete spaz from the moment I opened my mouth.

I tried to sink into my plastic folding chair. I tried to feign sleepiness. I attempted the most fervent ESP with my mother to somehow rescue me from my plight. Surely she wouldn't want her baby girl joining some hoodlums over on the other side of the camp ground where she couldn't chaperone!! Really, didn't she just want to keep me there, safely enveloped in the smoke of wood and burnt sugar??

Apparently wine drank out of clear plastic cups severely impairs judgement. She just waved her hand in my direction and told me to go be nice and meet the boys. The Becker Boys. Greg and Gary. My supposed new best buddies.

I felt myself stand up. I watched as the glow of the campfire faded, and the darkness drew me down the path. I heard the crunch of gravel as I crossed over the lane to camp spot #11. I saw two figures silhouetted by their own fire.

I really, really wanted to puke. Right there on my white sneakers, and crushed gravel.

I walked into the light of the fire, and was met by two owlish sets of eyes looking up at me. The little guy, Gary - had brown eyes. And when I looked over at Greg, I saw golden blonde hair hanging down over marble blues.

"Hi...um. Your parents... well they're over with my parents... and, well - they told me, um. They said for me to come say hi. I mean, well they said I should come... meet you."

GAHHHHHHHHH! Just faint and be done with it. Just... lose your dinner, turn, and run. Run!!

"Oh, cool. My name's Greg, and this is my little brother Gary," he said, and he actually smiled at me.

"Shut up, buttface!"

I peeked over at Gary, who recoiled in his chair. For a split second, I wondered if he was calling ME buttface, and I must have looked stricken, because Greg smacked his brother on the arm and just grinned in my direction. "He's just a tard. What's your name?"

"Oh... Aimee. Your dad thought I was your age, but I'm only thirteen." There. I blurted it. Just came right out and spilled my guts. I was a lowly thirteen year old who didn't deserve to kiss the shoes of someone who was already in highschool. I would have grovelled if I had known what that word meant.

Greg shook back the blond hair from his eyes and laughed. "Well, have a seat. If my parents are talking to yours, they'll be there awhile. They're like this. They like meeting people. So... I guess it's probably best you are over here... unless you actually like hearing about bass fishing, and boat races."

Hey, was he actually talking to me? I couldn't help but smile. "Naw, I geuss that gets kinda old after awhile..." I said. Yeah - we were talking! They didn't run away screaming! Well, at least Greg didn't. Gary was still curled up in his folding chair as if a giant bloodsucking mosquito had landed by the fire. But that was okay. He was just a nine year old punk. But Greg... well, he was nice. And... take a deep breath Aimee... he was cute.

So I spent a couple of hours that night talking to Greg, with occasional 'buttfaces' thrown in by Gary. We talked about Curlew, and all the other places we'd been camping. I asked if they had gone swimming at the other end of the campground yet. He said they'd only been there since that morning, so no, they hadn't. Somehow, from deep within, I mustered up a tiny ounce of courage to suggest that maybe we could all go swimming the next day.

When I crawled into my tent that night, I couldn't help grinning from ear to ear... because Greg Becker from the other side of Washington State said yes, he'd like to go swimming with me.

....

I look back on the following days with a vague sense of astonishment. It sounds so cliche, and makes me feel old to say they were really innocent times. I remember feeling so self concious in my one piece brown and tan bathing suit. But once we ran into the water and swam to the bouys, everything just melted away into the golden July sunlight.

We swam, and laughed. We sat on the ropes between the bouys, partially submerged in the water, and talked about school. Greg said I didn't seem like I was thirteen... but this time, I didn't feel creeped out. It made me feel good, as if what I had to say wasn't like a stupid kid (buttface!) but like I was fun to talk to. Like maybe I was as fun as a highschool girl. Like, ohmygawd. A sixteen-year-old guy thought I was cool.

We walked on the trails. We sat out on the boat dock. We avoided Gary. We sat by the fire as the parents filled the evenings with laughter and Gallo wine in the big green bottles. I took a picture of him in his blue and red nylon windbreaker. He took a picture of me in my faded pink sweatshirt. I had never spent so much time alone with a boy in all my life... and it was more fun than I had ever contemplated.

So...THIS is what all the fuss is about!!, I thought to myself.

And then the day came that it was time to pull out the tent stakes, and head home.

It was early... because mom and dad always liked to hit the road early. I walked over to the Becker's campsite, and was met by their mom. She was all smiles, and gave me a big hug. "Go on over to their tent sweety, they're still asleep... but they'll want you to say goodbye to you."

Well, I wasn't so sure about Gary, but... Buttface might.

I awkwardly tried to knock on the side of their green canvas tent. It just 'whooshed' a little, and shook like there was a slight breeze. I cleared my throat and tried to sound cool. "Hey, Greg... it's Aimee."

I heard a rustle, and a couple of groans, and then the zipper being pulled on the tent. Greg emerged, blonde hair sticking out in ways that aren't achieved unless you go to bed with wet hair.

I looked at my feet when I said goodbye. He said it was fun, and that maybe we'd meet up next summer. His mom chimed in and said she'd exchanged addresses with my parents. I wanted to ask him to write me, but didn't. I just stuffed my hands in my pockets and smiled up at him - and realized that he was smiling back just as big.

When he reached out and hugged me, I thought (not for the first time during that week and a half!) that I was going to faint.

"So...okay then. Well, see you around."

"Yeah, take care...."

And off I went, back into my small town life. I watched out the window of the camper as we drove up out of the campground, and to the main road. I could see the green canvas tent, and Greg standing beside it... watching us go. I could see his mom and dad building their morning campfire. And then we turned right at the stop sign at the top of the hill.

After that, I couldn't see anything at all.

There was no kiss. We didn't hold hands. But I can still remember that hug, and feel the warmth of that smile. And every once in awhile when I see Greg's picture in my old photo album, standing there in his blue and red windbreaker... I have to wonder if I'm smiling out from the pages of his album, dressed in faded pink.

You are listening to Kathy's Song - originally written and performed by Simon and Garfunkle, but beautifully performed by Eva Cassidy on this version.

The lyrics~*~

I hear the drizzle of the rain
Like a memory it falls
Soft and warm continuing
Tapping on my roof and walls.
And from the shelter of my mind
Through the window of my eyes
I gaze beyond the rain-drenched streets
To England where my heart lies.

My mind's distracted and diffused
My thoughts are many miles away
They lie with you when you're asleep
And kiss you when you start your day.

And as a song I was writing is left undone
I don't know why I spend my time
Writing songs I can't believe
With words that tear and strain to rhyme.

And so you see I have come to doubt
All that I once held as true
I stand alone without beliefs
The only truth I know is you.

And as I watch the drops of rain
Weave their weary paths and die
I know that I am like the rain
There but for the grace of you go I.

I finally felt the wind escort Summer in tonight.

I just realized it a moment ago. The windows are all drawn open, and the curtains are blowing lightly about. I felt the lightness of the air shift just slightly from the heat of the day, and carry with it the scent of grass cooling beneath the stars.

Summer has begun.

It makes me want to sleep outside. Not in a tent, mind you. Just a tarp, an air mattress, my sleeping bag and me. I've spent so many countless nights doing that very thing in the dry heat of the valley summer... I can't imagine letting the season slip by without it.

From an early age, I was enchanted by sleeping outside. I would watch my brother sprawl out on the old brown sleeping bag, staring up into the sky. Eventually, I was allowed to join him out there in the front yard... and I didn't dare spoil the priveledge. Even though I was 9 years younger, I knew when something was just too cool to ruin.

Some nights he would load up his tape player with those huge batteries, and bring it outside with us. Pink Floyd was a recurring soundtrack... though there were others. It didn't matter to me, though. As long as I was included in the ritual, I would listen to anything he wanted. And that's how we would lay there side by side on our sleeping bags, staring up at the stars.

So, summer has begun... and it's time for me to carry on this ritual. I'll watch for falling stars and sattelites, just like I did back then. I might even slip 'Dark Side of the Moon' into my MP3 player, just for the heck of it. And I'll just gaze up at the Big Dipper... and appreciate this little piece of timeless tradition, here on the hill above the valley.

Remember the rainbow I told you about a week or so ago? Well, here it is at last. My husband took two photos, and I spliced them together so you could see the full sweep of the rainbow.

The golden veil beneath the arch is the downpour of rain that had just passed by us. Just click on the photo to enlarge it.