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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 04/11/2015 :  17:08:52  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I meet her at the Daily Grill in Palm Desert, "...where they still know how to make a whisky sour." Marcella Delight. Appropriate name. Remarkably beautiful. (Those high cheekbones her famous photographer mined so originally in black and white.) "Some men break your heart making history," she said after I knew her a while. A world traveler who fled NYC after a 40-hour blizzard in 2008. Now she lives in Rancho Mirage and occasionally dines with the displaced Ventura ophthalmologist who, "...insists you have 'surreal vision'," she's laughing. He's also joined her in a poetry workshop, "Quite humorous," she's serious now. "The rest... Ah, well...I get on with it. You know how that is..." After lunch we wander through Clementine Market where I find treats for my children who live in another world.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 04/11/2015 :  17:18:49  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
It's a long drive up and over the menacing Santa Rosas. A dangerous vertigo climb past the big horn sheep lookout. Wooden crosses and plastic lilies at Carrizo Road. I pull over for a few moments. Turn off the AC and roll the windows down.

Surreal vision. His lightning-sliced palms interrupted lifelines. Water skiing off Route 66 in the middle of the Mojave. Any close encounter at the Bagdad Café. "...stopping everyone without chains on the mountain," he said. 109 degrees on the desert floor.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 04/22/2015 :  18:39:07  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
She bakes loaves in the yard oven beyond a blur of smoke trees. He made the oven from bricks and broken stone. He showed her how to arrange the stones to adjust the temperature. He's uncannily mechanically inclined. And industrious. He places the easel in the center of the overgrown courtyard where mornings spread open and the prolific vineyards unfold. Steep steps on a sloping hillside. His voice rising and falling. His animated sermon of light.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 04/26/2015 :  18:36:28  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Down the sand blown road the coast curves to commerce. Hand-made chess sets. Cuban cigars. Corn in cones on every corner. Mariachis and oyster bars.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 04/26/2015 :  19:35:37  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Fever dreams on the other side. Ink-stained sheets and dog-eared pages. Snow on the bureau in a souvenir globe. The couple inside perpetually dancing. Tall hotels. Dominos down the beach. Desperately beautiful. She won't deny that.
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1824 Posts

Posted - 04/28/2015 :  19:19:48  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
She carried it all deep inside her, the rolling waves and the thunder drumming loudly. Darkness was a mirror in her heart, that reflected the sadness in her eyes. Lightning everywhere, slamming down with enough power to light the brightest star even more . But, she was looking for the sun. She was always looking for the sun.

Edited by - BarbraG on 04/29/2015 12:23:36
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 04/30/2015 :  19:44:37  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Vertigo Hill. He's driving looking down on clouds. "...There...that one alone...an orphan." Indelible words he said perilous lifetimes ago.

She said "...sleep..." and rolled the window down. "Not now," he said, his mouth full of smoke. His words on fire, "...one more thing an' it's...it's...it's..." Red Flag Warning when the traffic light turned his profile green. A three-masted two-lane outta town story. Match books and menus and paper napkins. An invented dictionary.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 05/04/2015 :  19:16:28  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
They sit on windy corners with cups in their hands watching jets clear the parking garage. Under the flight paths roar and rumble they read each other's lips. They move in and out of white-washed rooms flooded with sunlight on India Street where something is always occurring. Plus-tides coming up through the floorboards. Stones turning and murmuring under their bed. Fairytale lights in market-tree branches blinking in the window all night. High-wire acts in a seaside city where trumpet vines climb the crumbling cliffs stealthy as twilight.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 05/05/2015 :  20:01:21  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The mute Fortune Teller talks to The Sailor in Sign. A bridge in the picture. Shore birds cries.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 05/05/2015 :  20:22:54  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He has a safecracker's ear and truth serum in his show-and-telling. "...do you remember...?" he says as the head towards Little Italy. Blick Art and Mona Lisa's sly smile and Specialty Pizza Menu. "Every night. Every morning before I open my eyes," she signs. They walk along the Embarcadero. There's the Star of India rocking in the harbor. Cruise ships with their Shangri-La promise. The Coaster, the Amtrak, the Metrolink, the trolley. The beautiful curved Coronado Bridge.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 05/10/2015 :  00:25:26  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
House at the top of Carrizo Road off Pines to Palms CA 74 where the wind never stops blowing. Top of the final world finally. Pavement ends. "Why?" people ask. "Why would anyone choose to live here?"
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 05/11/2015 :  17:11:23  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Carrizo Road. All rock, chaparral and pinon pine. And a treacherous unpaved road in case the Fire Department had to race up to Jack and Dorothy's. Dorothy was Texas, and Jack, Oklahoma. He took a lot of ribbing for that. "Jus imagine! Me! Marrin' an Okie!" (43 years wed.) She'd stand behind him at the kitchen table. Her small palms resting on the back of his chair. Her fingertips dancing some tune on his shoulders. She Blue-Ribbon gardened in the half-dozen raised beds he made. Wore her aprons inside-out to protect the printed side. Jack was a collector. Old pistols and maps. He gave me a map of California before Interstates 5, 10, and 15. We met them in an antique shop waiting to get off the mountain without chains. "Gotta get yourselves a place up here. Get shuck of the world and closer to the Lord," he said one night when we were all sitting on their wide deck listening to the wind name the stars.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 05/13/2015 :  22:11:09  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
A sudden rain scours the air and suds the oil-slick freeways. She's waiting in the car rental lot overlooking the runways blinking traffic. A jump-suited crew is sweeping the water away. Mirror-smooth blacktop where his boots appear as if he's been standing there forever. She's afraid to fly and steals things when she's anxious. Newspapers. Plastic forks if they're white. Sugar-In-The-Raw packets by the handful. He has a theory about that. He takes her hand and they head towards the terminal.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 05/17/2015 :  19:09:55  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He stands on the tiny mosaic balcony. Insistent brushes in his steady hand. The easel anchored with bungee cords. Chipped step and wrought iron rail. She leans over the clothesline three stories high. Chickens and roosters in the courtyard below. The girls as loud as the boys. And the clamorous shout-out maze of harbor vendors pitching their wares at the edge of the sea. Oysters in puddles. Cognac-grilled shrimps. Sea urchin and abalone. Sun-wide days falling down on their shoulders. His paintings shining with plenary light.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 05/18/2015 :  17:26:20  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He tips back in his gravity-defying chair. A satisfied grin on his face. He could balance that thing on a tightrope. "Showoff," she says. He leans back even further. Almost horizontal with the floor. This time he's going over. But no. It's as if the air becomes complicit and won't let him fall. She's examined the chair many times. Solid oak and sturdy enough to stand on. Never pretty. The anchor in the kitchen he carved his initials on.

Edited by - Ailinn on 10/16/2017 08:56:57
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 05/28/2015 :  20:54:32  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
San Ysidro Gate. Nine lanes open and only "...100 minute delay." Maps and bag of chips on the dashboard. "Anything to declare?" Camera in hand she shoots the Border Patrol. They smile. They raise their hands in surrender.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 05/28/2015 :  20:57:59  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
One day they're waved over to Secondary. They cool their heels on the concrete divide while the guards kick the tires and the dogs sniff around. Mustaches and mirrored sunglasses. Badges and holsters with guns. Iridescent exhaust fumes caught in their throats. A twentieth century dinner for two.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 06/01/2015 :  20:44:22  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Days gone by...
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Craig
Firefly

Kyrgyzstan
3793 Posts

Posted - 06/03/2015 :  20:12:24  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Booty wrote, back in 2006...

I was shocked, confused, bewildered
as I entered Heaven's door,
Not by the beauty of it all,
nor the lights or its decor.

But it was the folks in Heaven
who made me sputter and gasp --
the thieves, the liars, the sinners,
the alcoholics, the trash.

There stood the kid from seventh grade
who swiped my lunch money twice.
Next to him was my old neighbor
who never said anything nice.

Herb, who I always thought
was rotting away in hell,
was sitting pretty on cloud nine,
looking incredibly well.

I nudged Jesus, "What's the deal?
I would love to hear your take.
How'd all these sinners get up here?
God must've made a mistake.

"And why's everyone so quiet,
so somber? Give me a clue."
"Hush, child," said He, "they're all in shock.
No one thought they'd be seeing you."

Judge NOT.

Booty...

"Lord today there's no salvation..."

craig

Edited by - Craig on 06/04/2015 10:04:55
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 06/04/2015 :  21:56:19  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Baja life. An old pickup in the yard with half a tank. Duct taped bench seat. He drives with his right arm around her shoulders. His left hand on the wheel. It's gravel and dirt and more gravel. Some loose stuff rattling around in the bed. His voice rich with longing. Painted holidays and holy days and all the days in between.
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