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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 08/02/2014 :  17:04:32  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Merci, dear Reverend B. Thank you for your kindness posting the words. A pleasure to see on the page. What is left of your heart is...more than most. Every day...much love from the other side.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 08/02/2014 :  17:23:47  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I'm wary of apples. Forbidden fruit I imagine red. Not Granny Smith. Old-fashioned apples. Taste like Macs. Look like Delicious. In mountains I smell apple perfume. Feel twigs breaking beneath my bare feet. Fig leaves scratching my cheeks as I'm running out of The Garden holding his hand. Adam's. God's hand-made stepson who asked for me. Free will. He should have known better. I watch the traffic on State Route 78 heading toward the orchards in Julian...famous for pie! I research that high town's history looking for a sign. I save all the pictures of him and the rare few of the two of us together.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 08/06/2014 :  15:13:24  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Off early today. Lunch with an old friend.

Well... I was raised in Catholic orphanages and boarding schools. The refectory walls were scenes of the Virgin Martyrs. I ran away often. The holy Sisters made me kneel on rice for Penance. Or they sent me to Monsignor's office. Monsignor was a Navy Chaplin when he was young. He had many pictures of boats, but no martyrs. He was kind and absent-minded. He'd hand me a stack of LIFE magazines and set a kitchen timer to remind him I was there. He had a bottle with a sailing ship on his desk. The sun coming through the windows made the ship's shadow bigger and wavering on the wall. He gave me a tiny tin of Walker's Shortbread Biscuits one Easter which I hid in my uniform pocket. My friend asks me if I'm still Catholic. Yes, I say...and my eyes are still brown.
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Joe Z
Windchimer

USA
1820 Posts

Posted - 08/08/2014 :  13:10:02  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
A psychedelic ride on a Newbury song... performed by The Uniques

http://www.colnelcrazyrecords.com/748.mp3
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San Diego
Swinger

515 Posts

Posted - 08/08/2014 :  17:58:45  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Oh, my gosh, Joe. Where do you find these things?!

My new reading glasses are waiting on Number II.

Love you,

Ro

Edited by - San Diego on 10/05/2014 16:45:51
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 08/08/2014 :  18:05:44  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
How wild he was when he pulled the chopsticks out of her hair. Let it fly out the window with the detective's tale undone. Stuck-up, he called her. Hahaha.
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Karen Runk
Firefly

USA
4925 Posts

Posted - 08/08/2014 :  18:48:37  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send Karen Runk an AOL message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
quote:
Originally posted by Joe Z

A psychedelic ride on a Newbury song... performed by The Uniques

http://www.colnelcrazyrecords.com/748.mp3


I've not heard this song before. where DID you find it???

Karen Runk
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Joe Z
Windchimer

USA
1820 Posts

Posted - 08/08/2014 :  19:34:09  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Hello Ladies,

The name of the song is "I Sure Feel More (Like I Do Than I Did When I Got Here)." The Uniques were a Louisiana band, which featured Joe Stampley.

Love ya,

Joe

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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 08/13/2014 :  18:36:48  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Hey, hey, hey! You just go all over the place," she said, the first time she heard one of his stories. "I saw things change," he said. It was a windy season in a city more his than hers. Often colder inside than out. Curtains lifting from the sill and flames flickering the burners though the kitchen windows were closed. They'd come home and slip on another layer of clothes and stand at the stove eating chowder. Their two spoons scraping the bottom of the pan. Outside scarlet geraniums thrived. How the nights fell down around them.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 08/17/2014 :  16:00:57  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Sunday breakfast at Sunrise Retirement. Grain breads and granola. Eggs and make-believe eggs. The new widow, colossal with grief. (What to do...what to say...? Hold her hands.) "Is the air conditioning too cold for you?" I ask. A shawl in her lap she holds onto like a life preserver. I drape it across her small shoulders and give Robber the tea sign. Hot! With honey. Robber (Roberta Barron) could run this place single-handedly. Instinctively on alert. Inherently kind. And her entertaining tattoos need looooonng explanations. Later Marco will appear with the WELCOME cake.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 08/18/2014 :  19:48:24  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"I know everything about you," he says, before she knows him one hour, "...come back tomorrow..." and he quick-steps across some cracks in the sidewalk as the fault line shivers beneath him, "...ya see what I'm sayin'?" he says, "hahaha." His today always has some yesterday in it.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 08/18/2014 :  19:51:47  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Nights in the limo under low stars. Her rustling silk skirts. His dark suit lapels. A world sliding by tinted windows. Denny's on Sunset. Lou D's maple butter with muffins to go. Call ahead and he runs it out to the curb.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 08/18/2014 :  19:57:37  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Cheery guide popping Swedish Fish into her mouth taking them down under the dam. Tour busses and boats and Lake Mead above them. Winged Figures of the Republic keychain he slips into her pocket because she loves the road. "...save it all...save it all..." his creed.

I watched the crows in the parking lot this morning. Mythic Motel getting a 21st Century facelift.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 08/31/2014 :  17:54:06  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Sunday morning brunch. Lucille, Yolanda, and Claire, (the new widow),
reading their LA Times horoscopes out loud and honeying up their biscuits. Lots of cars in the parking lot with party pinatas. Grand and great-grand children spilling orange juice in the Day Room.

Later: "...glass of wine, OK? Margarita?" Big grin. Robber's plating "Cardiff Crack" from Seaside Market. My son and daughter-in-law decorating desserts. In love with squeegee bottles.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 08/31/2014 :  18:07:20  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
She's watching him watch sea birds touch down on a weather-worn deck in September. He's telling three-masted stories. Charting his way on some uncharted ocean. Diaphanous light unspooling. Acid-etched clouds. Clear edges like glass. Blue-domed sky blinking through.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 08/31/2014 :  18:13:56  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"This ocean... I knew it before I knew you," she says, "it's coldness." "Wrong on both counts," he says, "hahaha..." And certainly it's warm where they are. Their salt-dusted skin burning quicker. He says the orchid light at sunset is worth it. So many words with sails and a blurred moon silvering the horizon. Sometime in the night he kicks the covers free and sleeps with his feet escaping. Her sunburn shivers then.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 09/03/2014 :  20:10:35  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Sometimes she wakes up in the middle of the night and he is beside her under white sheets. "White sheets..." he says, "the better to see you dreaming." "Red Riding Hood," she says. He says, "Who...?"
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 09/16/2014 :  16:21:00  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
In the hotel business the bar is the last room to close. My daddy would sit me up next to the cash register with my blanket and Raggedy Ann. I'd fall asleep in a din of Irishmen arguing Sweepstakes and Revolution. They wore white shirts and long black aprons. They folded crisp linen napkins over their arms. When the dining rooms closed they drank whiskey and laughed and slapped each other heartily on the back. Sometimes they broke into song. My father looked like Spencer Tracy. He had a thick brogue. He'd lock up and carry me back to my bed along the pathway where the ocean was loud. He'd whisper close in my ear and point out the stars that were mine. "...Aye, and that one too..." he'd say, and I'd nod my sleepy head. I loved the way he said 'too.' Like a promise or a guarantee.

He sips his coffee, "...don't stop talkin'..." he says. He doesn't blink. He knows where the pictures are from that time. He's separated the black and white from the sepia.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 09/16/2014 :  21:36:10  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
...and the pictures of them laughing with the checkpoint guards playing cowboys and cowboys. Arches and alcoves in the small house at the end of a dead-end dirt road. Wrap-around porch with a metal glider overlooking the vineyard's misty irrigation. Monet light in the morning. He paints blue edges on odd-size cardboard pieces. "A puzzle in a puzzle..." he says. She prints spice labels in alphabetical order. India ink. A calligraphy pen. Angels stare in through the wavery glass, curious and still. God eavesdrops above the treetops.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 09/19/2014 :  19:55:33  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Pictures in the memory attic. Dinosaur diner out on the 10. Velvet Elvis and T Rex "Endless Breakfast" menu. Scorpion paperweights at the check stand. Snakeskin belts and bolo ties. Miles of semis and freight trains rolling across the desert floor. Pinwheel wind farm's dust and weedy wonders. Web of adrenaline shivering the backs of her knees burning that high octane fuel.
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