…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.


“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”


“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.



…….mr brasil comes to town…..

A very old friend, younger by years but plenty of history between us, just Begged me for more stories!  Can you believe it?  It’s Just what I want to hear, my darlings, and it only takes a bit of encouragement for me to shift into gear, drop what I am doing, and prattle on with my memoirs.  Don’t you love what those French words add to your tastebuds…

Must admit, the Brasil saga comes to mind, not just because it was the last real and deeply touching adventure I had, but also because there is something about those people in general, and Alcir in specific, that sticks like gum that has perma dried under the theatre seat.  It’s there for eternity, all its dirty, messy, germ laden mass, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

When I met Alcir, I was definitely in my prime on all counts.  (shall I post pictures sometime?)  I was feelin my power, and was quite attractive.  Now What i attracted was another story, as I have frequently wondered ‘What the What?’, when it comes to that issue…. just What is it that brings in the strange and neurotic, the needy and the distant, and the occaisional unclassifiable ?   He was one of the last.

I had a friend named Steven.  He was relatively new in town, strange and a little Other, yet a Mensa member, and he was entertaining at a time that i had lots of energy for casual entertainment.  I had a great house, kids coming and going, a little cottage industry making jesters and jack in the boxes, and life was quite lovely.

Steven was one of those lost boys, misunderstood, yet not demanding in any unwanted way.  He wasn’t my type as a Guy, but he was amusing.   So after sharing the occasional dinner with him, it was the night He had agreed to cook dinner for Us.  Me and my two younger daughters.  Shana was at college, and Tod was in his own cabin on the acreage I rented.  Sweet.

So it’s nine o’clock, and the door knocks, and there stand two fellows, one i recognize, one i don’t, and they’re both drunk off their jolly well asses.   I neglected to tell you that he Had called from the bar, and asked to bring this new fellow home, and I sort of shrugged an OK.  Whatever, just get over here and do what you’d said you’d do…..

So they both do this weird Asian bow, and it was only later that I realized it was because I was wearing a kimono, which I was really into at the time…. kimonos were available by the hundred pound bale out of Honolulu, and I had been buying them for a store I was partners in.   So Ok, these funny giddy fellows tumble in with a Frozen Chicken, and proceed to start dinner.  Oh this is going to be interesting…

I am introduced to this Latin guy, and I really didn’t look at him that much.  It was only later I saw those Eyes, that indian hair, that brown skin and the devastating, white toothed grin.  He was different, but I really didn’t pick up on it til he stood looking at this framed picture i had over my stove.  There was no window there, and I had always gazed at it as I cooked, as tho it were  a portal into another realm.  It was one of those reverse paintings, where they paint on the back of the glass, and then arrange these Irridescent Blue Morpho Butterfly wings, to make the sky and sea.   Gorgeous, and I have a huge collection of them now.

So this fellow, with an unusual accent that I didn’t recognize, stands there and says… in his winsome Desi Arnez way….. “WHAT eeeez  theees wooooman doooing weeeeth theees in her keeetchin?  I have grown up loooooking at theeees very sceeeeene.  WHAT eeeez Theeeees wooooman dooooing weeeeth theeees theeeeng?”  It was a scene of Pao d’Asucar, or Sugar Loaf as we Americans call it.  Palm trees, the rolling hills of Rio, the whole bit….

“Oh!…. you’re a Brasilian? “… came my rather startled response.  I’d never met a Brasilian.

“Yessss…. What ?….. deeed yoouuu theeenk I waz a stoooopid Mexicaaan?   They don eeven care eenuf about theees countreee to learn the language.”

Ouch.  Later I found out that he was frequently mistaken for Mexican, which insulted him… I mean how many Brasilians visit the Mendo Coast?  and oh ya… he spoke Five languages, and came from an old aristocratic family.  He had studied in the most prestigious school in Brasil, in Rio, where when you graduate from High School, you have learned the equivalent of two years of College.  He spoke French, Spanish, English, Brazilian Portuguese, and several Indigenous dialects.

I looked him over a bit more at that point….  High tech expensive sports shoes… Varnet sunglasses…. a very expensive diver’s watch.  His hands were gorgeous.  And his eyes.  Wicked Intelligence sprang out of them, and they were dark, huge and wrap around, with a certain slanted corner to them.   Oh yes, he was different alright.   His voice was deep, and had that sort of powerful texture that Jose Ferrer has…. or some black actors.  Brazil is a combination of the Portuguese sailors who moved on in, the Black Slaves they kidnapped to do their dirty work, and the Indiginous tribes who to this day just want to be left alone.  He seemed Portuguese, with refined European feature, but the skin, hair and eyes seemed Indian, (his Grandmother was Indian, and he had Her eyes)… and somehow I do believe a little of black had slipped in, although the aristocratic families are always in denial.   His eyes…. his voice….

Through the evening, he constantly made us laugh.  He was hip, made lots of puns with a language that wasn’t native to him, double entendres galore.  And…. at times when no one else was looking, he would stare at me across the room.  Staring?  like boring holes in my temples, blasting a message into eyeballs, past the forebrain, and down into lizard brain land.   He was not subtle per se, but in a non verbal sense he was, for there were no gropings or obvious come ons.  Just that deadly stare across the room.
I silently mouthed “…stop that..!”…. and he smiled.

Ok….. back to work.  Mmmmm it’s fun remembering…..  Encourage me, encourage me, and i shall continue my stories for You!