…now and then….

I admit it.  I am putting off going into my storage, my deep dark pile of the past, and retrieving those journals that strip me bare, and tell me word for word just what transpired, long time past.

Yes, I wrote them for myself.  Yes, I am curious.  Yes, I wonder how my memories stack up against what I wrote in the moment.  I also want really badly to put aside such deep and emotional touchings right now.  Why… ?  because I have armored myself against the hurt.  Yes, Me…. The one always ready for feeling… I have just reached some sort of limit in my life, and have finally become protective of Myself.

And this is not a bad thing.  No, indeed.  I have just now learned the lesson that I might have well learned long time past, when I was young and full of so much…

So do not despair, those of you who await the next chapter, the next word, the next Phase… they will come…..but…. frankly, it’s All a phase, Dear Reader…. and it will come, but….

Just accept the fact….  It’s All a phase, every single day, every single chapter, every single decade………it will pass, and something new and unknown will come along, something you never even dreamed of, and it will overtake your being, your heart, your spirit, and you will say in retrospect…. Damn!  That was the Best!

 

 

…a few weeks of bliss…

Over the next few weeks, he would call every two or three days.  I liked that.  He wasn’t oppressive and demanding, nor was he showing insecurities, which I hate…. he left me space.  And he didn’t leave me hanging during these times… it was rather a perfect start.

And I might add, he never failed to deliver in that interpersonal realm, definitely making up a thousand times for that first funny “bad impression of Brasilians” … I had thought he was a bit boyish, and he was in ways… but believe me when I say he was one of the most wonderful and most Present lovers I’ve ever experienced.   And his skin was electric…  He told me that divers are the cleanest, because of all the salt water, and how many times they rinse off each day.  But it was more than that.  The energy coming off of him in those times was in big wide swaths, like he was on fire from the very center of his soul.

The phone rang.

“Hello..?”

“Heellooo…”  deep voice… I know that voice…….“So…… how Are you?”

“Oh… the wind is making me Restless and Bored …”

“Reeelly?  Can I come over an take advantage of that?”

(soft snickers on both ends…)

“oh I suppose…”

“gooooood.  I’ll be there…”

…..and he’d hop on his bicycle and peddle the short half mile along the ridge road to my house.   He was camping at a friend’s house just up the road.

How cute, I thought.  This manly man, this worldly cultured man, hoping on a bicycle to come visit me.  He was quite winsome.

Once I looked out to see him surfing the top of his buddy’s white van as it drove in.  Surfing it all along the bumpy and unkempt little road from the street to my front door, past the little pond, past the cabin where my son lived, and up the drive to be delivered at my door…. Like fresh milk, or the daily news or the most delicious meal, cooked to perfection and just for me.

Our times alone were pure magic.  Years later, he would tell me he was mesmerized.  Great word, mesmerized.  It comes from a magician, or hypnotist or something,  named Mesmer, I’m pretty sure….

And I… I was swept away.  He pleased my eye so, this artist was enchanted by beauty, intrigued by his wit, and searching for the truth of just who this being could be.

He loved Opus and Bill the Cat.  He said he was voting for Opus for President.  He would sit reading the paper, and mumble to himself about the news from home.

“Stupid fucking Brasilians” he would curse.  “ they deserve everything they get”.   He was furious, the way they dealt with the rainforest, the Indigenous tribes, the natural resources of that most gorgeous country.

He loved “Monthy Pyton”, and I would laugh and gently correct him.  He always had a hard time with that difference, the T and the Th.  But it was endearing, and sometimes I’d tease him, calling out “Lucy….. I’m Home!….”.

Then came a time where I hadn’t seen or heard from him in days, which was unusual.  I had his number in Tahoe, and one night with great trepidation, I dialed the number.

A woman answered … the one he called “the woman who lives in my house”…

“Is Alcir there?”

She called him to the phone.

“Oh, you’ve made a woman here very unhappy” he scolded.

“Oh I’m so sorry.  I shouldn’t have called.”

“No no, it’s alright.  I’m just going to be here for a while…”

Short and sweet, uncomfortable and strange… I hung up.

I had known he had someone in Tahoe.  Not much else.  I justified everything by the notion that he couldn’t be That happy there, if what was going on here was going on…

I remember the second or third time we were together, when we came back down to earth, and he sat up abruptly, and said “Oh noooo, I cannt Dooo theeees.  I leeeve weeth someone. “

“I know”,  I replied.  “Are you in love with her?”

“I don know….…I don know” he trailed off.

“Well, you’re here now” and I shrugged.  He looked long and hard at me.

And then he dressed and left to dive.

And right around that same time, early on, and I’m not counting that first time when he snuck into my bed like the bandido he was, …. As was our way, we went into another reality, our world where there was no time, no ground, no division between us.  It was truly mystical… and then he sat up quickly.

“Oh Nooo”….. he shook his head, his hands like they were holding it on.

“I deeed not know eet would bee like theees…” his voice soft and a bit lost, his head slowly moving from side to side.

“I did” I replied. “that’s why I kept you away for that week”

“Reeeely?”

“Yes….”    For from the first, I knew that once I stepped off that cliff, it would never be the same for me.

When he came to retrieve his things once more, and it was funny, for he always seemed to leave something to come back for….I walked into my studio and as I began to ascend the ladder, I asked how he was doing…

“Oh much better now” he grinned, looking up, and as I glanced back, I understood the wicked pleasure in his smile.

Once when we were making love, and he was above me, staring into my eyes as he so often did, his body stroking mine in every way possible, words came from his lips in a soft dark voice…

“Oh, yooo’re a Gooooood Wooooman………. What am I going to doooo weeth you?”

”You’ll think of something…” I whispered.

I loved my house.  It was my hippie haven, with little rooms here and there, places to sit outside, decks and landings.  Handmade, pieced together, I didn’t care.  I truly loved it.  It was a sculpture that took form over many years with many owners, and it resonnated with my lifestyle.  There came a time, as often did in my renter’s life, that the owner wanted, needed to sell.   It had been on the market for many months, but nothing had really taken shape.  Now the owner took charge, and as it turned out, took charge of my Life.  There was one time that I Really hated my status as a single self employed mother, and wished there was a Man behind me when I spoke with the owner man guy.

His situation was desperate I guess, and so much so that he and his family came out from Colorado and asked me to leave while they Lived there (yes!…can you believe it?) and proceeded to sell it themselves.  It was Terrible.

My girls and my animals and I all had to camp around during that week, I couldn’t get any work done in my studio, and I was Sure he wouldn’t sell it…….. but he did.  It was devastating.  He and his family really never acknowledged what they put me through, and after that, I had a month to move out.

Rentals were hard to find, especially for a single woman with children and animals, and self employed to top it off.  I was part timing at St Orres, a glamorous inn and restaurant on a hill of Hwy 1.  with panoramic ocean views and the best food… but still, I lived precariously.

To add even more stress, it was Renaissance Faire time, and right now I have no idea how I managed to accomplish it all.  The Faire means Three Months of weekends, building a booth, studying Renaissance lingo and costumes…they kept changing the rules every year…. and Making Stuff to Sell.  It tires me just remembering …  but somehow I found a Wonderful, but very different house, and the owner was a woman…. a single woman!  Yeah!… and she decided she’d let me rent it.  I remember arriving at my faire booth and calling out to my faire partner….”I got it!  I got my house!”  and we did a happy dance.

And What a house.  I called it my Glam House.  Somehow I knew I wouldn’t be there a long time, but I decided I would enjoy it while I could.

Get this:  Five Levels.  Two master bedrooms with bath.  Three smaller bedrooms… and they left me a Huge couch that wrapped around one corner of the level with windows and a big screen TV… big for then anyway.  The entire house was wall to wall carpets… Shelves for books, window views, Two Acres which had a lot of woods, and even a large …no Super large aluminum shed/workshop thing that could have eventually been rented out to someone as well.  The kitchen was super, and the lower deck… there were several… had a hot tub that could easily handle a party of twelve.   Oh yes, and an attached single car garage to use as a studio.  All for $600 a month… unbelievable, No?  …..this was 1986.

I was sad to leave my little boat house, that had cradled and nourished and protected me for three years, and the last day crept quickly near.  Then it was the last night.  I recall a thought blurting out from my brain, erupting without hindrance… oh if only I had someone here to share my last night with.  If only He was here.  But it seemed too much to ask.

He’d been gone for several weeks, and I can’t remember if it was because of the urchin season… they had breaks that they had to abide by… or his business in Tahoe, which I never really understood… something about a snow cleaning business….but anyway, he was gone.

My girls and I were in the far end, the bedroom with bath that had been my oldest daughters room, before she left for college.  We were watching TV, I was on the floor enveloped in a bean bag chair, the same sucking me in to the netherlands of the floor, sinking me down, cradling me in soft surrender….and very mellow from eats and wine…

A knock came…

Piney went to the door, and then rushed back to me.

“Mom! Mom!! Oh my god mom…. You’ll never guess who’s here!  Get up, Get up!”  and I remember groaning and slowly rolling off that beanbag world, wishing I could just stay there forever, I was so tired.

I literally crawled to the doorway, with a clear view to the entry way.  And who stood there, hands on hips, in his bright green BARBADOS SWIM TEAM sweatshirt, Varnet sunglasses and a big fat grin…

I swear, I was awake and up and over to him, and I began punching his  shoulder, yelling…

“I don’t know whether to kiss you or kill you”, …..and then falling into his arms.

It was always like that.  The joy always overcame the frustrating and unpredictable side of him that drove me mad.

He walked to the open door, hung off the railing and called to his diving buddy in the van….

“See?  She’s happy to see me!  Jest looook at dat smile…” and drew me close.  We were both grinning from ear to ear…

The next day, knowing I was moving, he left to dive, and said he’d be back to help.  And he was.  Along with several friends with trucks and hands, we managed to cart out almost everything of mine, and drop it into the next house.

When he saw the new house, he took a deep breath.

“You do VooDoo?  How deeed you fine this house?   You dooo voodoo for meee…. I wan a meeelion doelars… eeets worth ten pearcent, an a month in Montecarlo”

“OK…!  I can do some visualizations…”

“It’s a good thing you showed up when you did…. you wouldn’t have known where I was!” I chided…

“Naaaaa…. I’d have found you” he scoffed, and it pleased me to no end, the way his confidence created confidence.

Long time later, when I reminded him of his offer, he laughed out loud and told me…

“Ha! Ten Pearcent?  No way!!  I might as well just maaaarry you…”

The next couple days, I settled in, and he came over to help get that hot tub started.  Oh, he couldn’t wait.  He walked out onto the deck, which had to be 5 feet off the ground, took hold of top of the over 3 feet tall railing, and in one perfect movement, went over it, landing on the ground below… like a cat.  He looked up briefly, just to make sure I had been watching, then proceeded to check everything, reset the motor, and get it going.

And oh my, did we enjoy that hot tub.  It was simply amazing, under the stars, slow swims across, melting together in the middle of nothing but us, nothing but our breath, our bodies…..and our hearts.

 

 

….. in a Rio cafe…

As I proof read these pages, I think to myself that no one will actually believe this is real.  I know, it sounds like a movie.  And I’m not even referring back to my journals right now, because somehow as I take it step by step, it all comes back in its most minute details, and I can hear his voice, and know exactly the words he chose, and when a word isn’t quite right, I just know it.  That’s how deep the cut was…

Many years later, as we sat drinking ice cold beer in the little café bar with one side open to the wandering street, the cobblestone street, the one that winds up the hill to one of the oldest districts in Rio, the one that, as the story goes, that woman came down after the wild party, walking on her hands, to save the precious nectar inside her.  Later she would produce a child who sprang from the loins of the king of Rock n Roll… Mick the man.

Yes indeedy, sprang from a party up that hill, in some luxurious mansion, and now whenever the Stones play Rio, he visits the kid at his exclusive school.  And she?  She now has a talk show, and is an edgy bitchy and rich celebrity with very stripey like a zebra, highlighted hair.

Go figure.

Anyways, so he’s telling me these tales of Rio and streets and the kids at his school, and it’s hot and steamy, and the beer is so cold it’s almost a slushy, and it feels like we could be anywhere right now.  There are these darling young women sitting nearby, they have accents,  obviously European, and now and then they glance at us and smile.  Alcir of course thinks it’s because he’s so cute ….  Soon they join us at the table, and they are tittering away with soft giggles, telling us that they are on a journey from Germany, and staying in Brasil for a couple weeks.  They are intelligent, well educated, and speak very good English.  We begin to  answer their questions of who and why We are…..how an American comes to be here with a Brasilian in Rio, and I mention that it is all a movie, that it needs to Be a movie, and then of course, Alcir smiles and asks…

”So….. who weeell play Meee?”  ……and we all laugh.

“Benicio del Toro” return the girls, and there is a pause… Alcir obviously approves, smiles, nods his head, and the chatter turns to travels and more stories.

That was his edgy side, the side those girls picked up on.  The side that was more than a little dangerous, mysterious, thrilling and scarey…… and scarred.  He loved danger.  Craved it.

His family was an old aristocratic group that had pretty much lost it all.  They lived in a multi level home, with rooms and shuttered windows, each staying away from the other, hate and disgust seething from every floor.  The house was unkempt, and slowly melting away, but at one time exemplified class and grandeur.

A karmic layer cake, I used to call it.

When he was 14, he and his buddies used to steal cars and drive them to Uruguay to sell.  He didn’t need the money, just the thrills, the bad boy thrills.  His dad paid the tab at the local bar, but he needed more.  Defiant, he was beaten continually as a child until he stood up one day at 15 and announced to his father that right now,  if he laid a hand on him, he would beat the holy crap out of him.  And he never touched him again, not physically anyway.

But cruelty ran in the group, a very convoluted history that went back generations.

His mother never wanted a child, tried to rid herself of this creature inside her that would ruin her life and her figure, was unsuccessful, and never stopped reminding him of that.  Once while I was there, she came beating on his door at 6 am, screaming that she should have killed him then, she wished she had, and now she hated him, that he was ruining her life.

His grandmother had been his salvation….. his mother’s mother.  She adored him, somehow instinctively understood him, and from the pictures I’ve seen, she was a very sad woman later in life.  But absolutely Gorgeous as a young Indian woman.  Haunting…And that is another chapter in itself, the story of the young Indian girl, and the man who waited and watched for two years, until her father gave permission for him to marry her….  that was one set of grandparents.

When she died, Alcir was the one to wash her body, dress her, and make her ready to be laid down.  She had given him his haunting, dark slanting eyes, and his ferocious spirit, wild and untamable.  She had loved him singularly, and was quite alone in her understanding.

See?  That’s what I mean.  So many facets to this man, so much anger and pain, so much tenderness and depth, so much beauty.  It was a puzzlement that I had to unwind.