…on the move…

The party had partied itself to yesterday, and she was
ready for her next motion moments…
Her friend went back to her life, and she to her future.

Still, the still life memories of the space she’d enjoyed
lingered in her imagery, full of color and calm.

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Next a visit with another friend nearby, where they made
enchiladas and dined on leftover chocolate fondue….

Soon she would settle in to her new space, the house sitting
abode with dog and cat, the cosmic hippie haven on the
Hilo side, where green lushness filled the air, welcome
moisture once again soothing her skin and curling her hair.



…the party house…

Today her friend was making plans.  Her husband was
having a monumental birthday party, with many friends
and associates, and massive foods and drinks were in order.
They had traveled to the huge home that the husband and
his group had built for one of the friends, and it was quite
spectacular, atop the golden hills of the Big Island, West
side, with a sweeping view of blueness, and acreage.

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This place was Gigantic, with 8 or 10 bedrooms, hallways
where one could get lost (and did), decks and views of the
sloping, rolling hillside, dramatic and shrubby, palms
added here and there.
There were little guest houses too, and it would seem
perfect for conferences, or entire tribal getogethers.
Yet there was a cozyness about it al, that Island Casual
thing that she lovedl.

The Kitchen was a dream, completely stocked with stations
and work areas appropriate for feeding large crowds.
She was in heaven.

She had known it was part of the plan before she arrived,
and had included her several Fondue Pots in her luggage,
as this was to be her contribution to the festivities.
She loved to cook, loved feeding parties, and had wonderful
plans for several flavors and lots of things to fork and dip.

Meanwhile her friend was list making, while she did her best
to extract numbers and timings, so she could plan too.

“Gosh, we’ll need two black slaves to carry our things from
the stores,” she laughed…
“Well, that’s you babe,” came the quick response, and she
immediately checked her friend, to be sure this was a joke…
apparently it was not.
When she did her best to make light of the comment, her friend
suggested she put on her black face…
“Hmmm…I think my friend’s a little tense,” she mumbled to herself.

The shopping turns to her and two of the wives, and they all swing
and stagger through the isles of several island stores, with weighty
lists and last minute thoughts.
Lots of people, more each day are added, and there must be
enough of the appetizers, the main dishes, the desserts,
the drinks and wines, and of course… the cake!
So much to think of…

She hopes she can pull it together, as everyone seems a little
scattered, and who is doing what begins to be confusing…

Still, the excitement builds, she has her own little room to
herself, and just looking across this landscape of brush and
small trees and rocky hillsides excites her imagination.

She’d lived in the islands, and never seen this particular vast
western side, where the moisture has been stolen before it
could pass the mountains, and those rain laced laden Tradewinds
arrive dry and arrid, freed of their burden, and creating an
entirely different world.

Tomorrow they start cleaning and chopping and arranging for
the big afternoon, very soon to come.

She gets out her three little Vintage Fondue Pots, each with its
own stand and warming candle.
There are eight or ten little Forks to each pot, and the whole group
together, with its Retro avocado, orange and mustard colors,
and ‘modern’ lines, takes her back to the early sixties,
when Fondue Parties were quite the thing.

Parties were so civilized and jolly then, she thought.
A nice glass of wine, some jazz in the air, everyone dressed for
the evening, a small fire in the fireplace…  Yes….

…boat dreams…

She watched the sea, a still, steel blue calm of a background
to dry golden hills.  Hills that brought back days of sonoma
and chatsworth, the SoCal days.

What a strange time in her life, a time of throwing herself
to the wind literally.  A kite without a string.
Exhilarating and terrifying.
She longed for her man, the male counterpart she’d
waited for, for so long… in general, yes, but
also quite specifically.
She’d called him this morning, and he’d been napping…

“Oh, I hate it when someone takes me out of my dream.
When I go to sleep, I always think I may dream of my boat.
And when I do, and a call takes me away…”

“Well….Sorry!” she mocked…
She knew it wasn’t just that way with her call…

“Oh Nooo…but to trade a dream for a dream, that’s ok…”
he soothed, coming more into the present.

“So…you were dreaming of your boat?”

“Yes…. it was so goooood…”

The longing tide that crouched in her belly sang songs
of sun and warm skin.
Soft brown warm skin there for the touching.
She loved reaching out for him in the the night, and just
resting her fingertips against his borders.
The borders of him, inside him, him really there…

Now she could not succumb to it…… No..
The tide must rest, like some pacing tiger
in the closet of her heart…
Can’t come out yet, she thought….
……..or it will surely Eat me.



…island time…

So it’s Wednesday morning, and after a good sleep and
some island coffee with cream and honey, she ventures
to once again dial his number.  And he answers…

“The phones were out all day yesterday” he offers, “but now
there you are!  You sound so goooood!”
“oh I am” she smiles, wishing he were here right now, letting
the palmy breezes blow through his brain cells for a while.

He is in a happy mood, and sounds solid…. she is relieved.
“So… Buquinha will be looking for our house now, because
George is too busy.  Oh babe…. it’s gonna be goooood.”

Now it’s down to the beach, a wide sandy shore, long and
straight, and her friend is paddling with a crew of girls, as
she does several times a week.

She walks the long stretch, concentrating on the sand feels
between her toes.  A light breeze is blowing.
Her eyes take in the expanses of blues and greens.
That alone changes everything.

And the sound.  Glorious white sound of
water and waves and rocks and pulls of the sky to
join the clouds in swirling celebration of just being alive
here and now on this
majestic and magical planet.

Her feet are now begging for sea, and she succumbs to salt water
lapping over her legs, feet sinking in sand, eyes filled with blue.

Later, they go to a Luncheon at the Queen’s Summer Palace for
a tour, gorgeous buffet, and just touching in to the beauty
of all of it…. Hawaii and her past.
Her friend volunteers in this group that maintains the Palace and
raises moneys, and they sit outside in shaded dining areas and
elegant ladies trade the microphones with greetings and news.

Tres Elegant, she thinks.  What an interesting life my friend leads.
No children, a successful husband, the life of a lady.
We must catch up, for in the old days, we each lived in the woods
in rustic environs, me home birthing babies and growing gardens
and milking goats, she growing herbs and creating wholesome
skin products in her kitchen sink, back in the days when
that was cutting edge.

Her oils and unguents are still in production, but now instead of
making them at home with a blender, they are produced somehow
without her, and her biggest concerns seem to be about the labels,
on which she has spent bundles and keeps redesigning.

The market has changed drastically for her, and large companies
with ‘natural ingredients’ on the label are now taking over the market.
She seems concerned, but on the other hand, there is no survival
pressures like there used to be in the old days, so she has several
clients for massage work in luxury spas, and can use and share
her products there.
Tonite it’s the movie theater, with queen Latifa.

Next day is more of the wholesome life here, coffee at seven, friend
comes by, off to the farmers’ market and bring home fresh local
produce, go splash in the sea, walk for an hour on the warm sands,
then back home to relax.
Visiting, cooking, relaxing, all the while the island air dominates
the senses, and she once again falls deeply into
blissful sleeps til dawn.